My Services Are No Longer Required.
On an average working day I am often found walking very quickly down corridors. My speed of movement gives the impression that I am in the middle of something Important. The truth is that I strongly dislike most physical activity and prefer to get it out of the way as quickly as possible.
Often I will find myself heading toward Odd-Looking Colleague, shambling along the opposite way with his usual air of being slightly put-upon.
I will feel my shoulders involuntarily tense. Here it comes, I think.
We begin to pass each other. On cue, he raises his eyebrows in a world-weary manner and says
‘Alright fella?’ in a tone that suggests some mutual complicity in his woe.
Fella. For goodness sake.
Anyway.
It’s the middle of the afternoon. Something has been troubling me. I realise what it is, and turn to Uncannily Similar to Myself Colleague.
Me: I haven’t seen Odd-Looking all day. Do you know where he is?
USTMC: [With an entirely unwarranted explosive vehemence] In HELL I fucking hope.
Silence.
Me: Ehm.
USTMC spins in his chair and fixes me with an alarmingly intense stare.
USTMC: Fella. Fella! He must be some sort of cock if he thinks it’s ok to fucking call anyone ‘fella’. Fuck me. Either you know someone well enough to have learnt their name, or you just don’t fucking TALK TO THEM AT ALL. I don’t know who the fuck he is. So why’s he walking around like some sort of fucking I don’t fucking know what calling me fucking ‘fella’?
USTMC fixes Odd-Looking’s empty desk with a look of the blackest malevolence.
USTMC: [Clearly re-living a past situation involving the use of the word ‘fella’] Cunt.
He swivels back to his own desk and resumes whatever it was he was doing. And is promptly completely alright again.
Identity theft is one thing, but this man has stolen my personality. Who do I call for that one?
Often I will find myself heading toward Odd-Looking Colleague, shambling along the opposite way with his usual air of being slightly put-upon.
I will feel my shoulders involuntarily tense. Here it comes, I think.
We begin to pass each other. On cue, he raises his eyebrows in a world-weary manner and says
‘Alright fella?’ in a tone that suggests some mutual complicity in his woe.
Fella. For goodness sake.
Anyway.
It’s the middle of the afternoon. Something has been troubling me. I realise what it is, and turn to Uncannily Similar to Myself Colleague.
Me: I haven’t seen Odd-Looking all day. Do you know where he is?
USTMC: [With an entirely unwarranted explosive vehemence] In HELL I fucking hope.
Silence.
Me: Ehm.
USTMC spins in his chair and fixes me with an alarmingly intense stare.
USTMC: Fella. Fella! He must be some sort of cock if he thinks it’s ok to fucking call anyone ‘fella’. Fuck me. Either you know someone well enough to have learnt their name, or you just don’t fucking TALK TO THEM AT ALL. I don’t know who the fuck he is. So why’s he walking around like some sort of fucking I don’t fucking know what calling me fucking ‘fella’?
USTMC fixes Odd-Looking’s empty desk with a look of the blackest malevolence.
USTMC: [Clearly re-living a past situation involving the use of the word ‘fella’] Cunt.
He swivels back to his own desk and resumes whatever it was he was doing. And is promptly completely alright again.
Identity theft is one thing, but this man has stolen my personality. Who do I call for that one?
posted by Tired Dad at
4:24 pm
20 Comments:
You've been cloned? Fuckin hell fella. Careful. Look what happened to Dolly the sheep.
He is Ginger. I am not. I win.
Fella.
Yes, but what has happend to Odd-Looking?
has USTMC "done him in?"
mabe he fellaffa cliff
I prefer 'cunt'. 'Tis a useful thing.
Despite your affinity with this man, there is only one option. He must be *DEALT WITH*. Quickly.
And his blog URL would be.....?
So now you know where Mr Angry works.
I have been wondering about Mr Angry for a while, thanks for clearing this up. Are you all the modern version of Mr Men?
If you're trying to aviod work at work, I too have found walking somewhere (nowhere) quickly does the trick.
You can add to this by carrying a piece of A4 paper folded once (to disguise the fact that it's blank)
back at the desk it's helpful to keep it in a mess.
If you know someone's not in that day you can go to his office and say "where's Phil?" "When's he back?" "I'll sort it my self." ect.
And when the boss comes in act as if you were just going to see him by saying something like "Ah just the man. we need another 950 units put they say there's a bulk reduction once you get to 1000. Shall I just get 1000?"
Asking stupid questions makes him think you need him, and value his opinion.
As for you last post on what they don't tell you. You're right. They do it so you don't decide that having money and free time and fun might be a better way to go.
i feel for you, i really do.
inspector gadget?
Boris: He's back now. I haven't asked.
Pup: Good one.
Anon: Yup.
M_G: But what if he's actually me? You know, in some sort of Tyler Durden way? What then?
Missy: *shrug*
Farty: I find the Angry thing a bit laboured to be honest. But I'm pretty sure it's not him. Not EVERYONE has a blog. I think.
Honey: Christ. How many doppelgangers do I need?
Spleen-chap: Hello. Um. Ok. Very good.
Eliza: Please explain.
You obviously didn't have a decent security system put in place. For shame!
Indeed. What was I thinking?
bloody brilliant writing as always ... it's actually kind of scary when someone says the stuff that's ours, in our way ... then dammit they get credit while it seems like, hey, who're you-me anyway? disconcerting ...
TD: The only way you'll be able to tell is by administering a savge blow to the head with a blunt instrument, and then base your conclusion on whether you wind up with concussion.
It's the only way I found out.
Shell: Thanks. I think he's quite funny, but no-one else does. They don't think I'm funny either. What's going on?
M_G: This is true. I spoke to him several times today and he made a face like he was hearing funny voices in his head and didn't answer. I'm not even sure it's me writing this now.
You know who this is. Why don't you stop fucking about and sort your life out?
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