Friday, March 04, 2016
It’s a freezing cold morning here in the North of England. The office I work in has a temperamental heating system that has yet to kick-in.
My boss enters. It’s nearly ten o’clock. Early for him.
Boss: Brisk this morning. Days like this I’m glad of the heated seats in my Porsche.
He twirls the key-ring around his index-finger.
It’s an eighteen year-old 911. It cost less than a Ford Mondeo. The unopened letters from the car finance company are piling-up in his in-tray. But it’s still a Porsche and he still thinks it’s a big deal.
Boss: [Sneering at me] Does the bus you get to work have heated seats, Tired?
Me: No. No, it doesn’t.
He winks at me and goes to make a cup of the Marks and Spencer instant coffee that no-one else is allowed to drink.
“I’ve got to find a new job.” I think to myself.