Mr. Daniel Surname.
INTERIOR.
DAY. THE BOARDROOM OF FUCKING WITH TIRED DAD INC.
THE CEO IS
SAT BEHIND AN ENORMOUS MAHAGONY DESK AND LIGHTS A HUGE CUBAN CIGAR WITH A
BURNING FIFTY-POUND NOTE. ALSO PRESENT IS A NERVOUS-LOOKING EXECUTIVE.
CEO:
[Pausing to sip from a crystal glass filled with the tears of orphaned
children] Report on the progress of Operation Dan.
Exec: Um.
Yes. Ok. Phase One has been successful. He wrote a blog post about it and
everything. Not that anyone reads blogs anymore but…
CEO: ENOUGH!
I will not tolerate negativity in this organization. So?
Exec:
Right. Yes. So. We’ve commenced Phase 2. We should see results soon. Sir?
CEO: Mmm?
Exec: Isn’t
this all a bit trivial? Who is this guy anyway? Who cares?
CEO: It’s
that sort of talk that’ll see you back in the Department For Making Sure USB
Sticks Never Go In The Right Way Round On First Attempt.
Exec: Dear
God no. Anything else, sir?
CEO:
[Rising and undoing his trousers] You KNOW what else.
FADE TO
BLACK.
………………………………………………………………………………………
Somebody is
definitely fucking with me. [This is me now]
Regular
readers will remember my receiving some odd post, before all this ‘going
missing’ nonsense.
I receive
yet another envelope addressed to Daniel Surname but the ‘surname’ itself is
different from the last one. Everything else – including the postcode – is
bang-on.
This is far
too co-incidental. I am hugely uneasy as I open it, which I know I’m not
supposed to do. The postmark is familiar to me, a place near where I used to
live in the South-West of England.
‘HAPPY
BIRTHDAY BROTHER.’ Says the card.
I scratch
my head. It’s nowhere near my birthday.
In biro
within the card:
“Have a
really fab 40th Dan! With lots and lots of love your Big Sis
Surname.”
I'm not named Dan and I'm not 40 years old. I’ve lived
here years. I know the man who lived here before me, who also lived here years
and is not named Dan. Surely a man’s SISTER would know his current address?
What is this?
Enclosed is
a cheque for £20.00 made out to Daniel Surname signed by ‘Big Sis Different
Surname’
This is
outrageous. Not only are strangers sending me musical details of GENUINELY the
worst songs on earth but they are also tormenting me with Twenty Pound cheques
I cannot possibly cash.
This is all
making me deeply uneasy. If I didn’t know any better I would think someone were
doing it on purpose.
posted by Tired Dad at
10:21 pm
5 Comments:
You know, say what you will about Fucking With Tired Dad, Inc., but those guys have their mission and vision statements DOWN SOLID. Also, their supply chain management is simply amazing. The way all their service providers, from their agents at the post office to those wankers among your 'friends' to the 'random' people you encounter on the street, all manage to deliver on their core values? Golden.
So, will I see you at the next corporate retreat? I hear it's a spa.
-Jenertia
Oh, don't be uneasy, TD, in my experience someone IS doing it on purpose, the bastards...
Jen: I seem to have awakened some resentment within you...
Od Dad: That has not made me feel any better. Thanks. A LOT.
I would have thought Phase 2 would have involved some tweeting and hashtags about Mr. Surname. A modern search ... maybe even some Boston style Reddit usage.
BTW - I have no idea what Reddit is. I have drawn a line.
Ellie: Welcome back. I'm not actually THAT interested. And I too have no idea what Reddit is. ('Boston'? Really?)
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