Scene: The reception desk just inside the door of a recruitment agency in the centre of a southern British city.
Enter, in turns:
A Sikh man wearing a tracksuit and a huge medallion.
A bleached blond boy aggressively giving away advertising calendars.
A South African woman with an eight page CV all in capitals.
An incredibly gorgeous Frenchman with the cutest accent. Ever.
A bearded lady.
A man seeking a job for his wife, who stood meekly behind him.
A woman seeking a job for her daughter, who chewed gum and looked bored, even when addressed directly.
A very polished lady who looked like she worked on a perfume counter, and was most offended at being asked to do a typing test.
A number of shifty, barely-audible characters who stood sideways-on to the desk and refused to meet my eye.
Several Polish girls, two Swedes, and one Dutch person. No Hungarians.
Two people who were looking for other agencies.
None of these people own a copy of Get To The Next Screen. You could.
September 15, 2004
People who came into the office today
Was the bearded lady a poet or an acrobat by any chance?
No, she was a client. It was very hard to talk to her. One didn’t know where to look.
I’d just to like to interrupt this comments box to thank you, Doctor, for the marvellous game of Scrabble throughout today, and apologise for leaving suddenly due to some troublesome idiocy called ‘work’. I would finish the game now, but I’ve lost the last email containing the correct link. But anyway, I believe I was winning, not that I’m gloating or anything. Obviously.
This e-Scrabble addiction is a terrible, terrible thing.
I’m willing to concede that the game was yours, even though you evidently had the Q in your hand.
But that was just the warm up game!
Is this the same Doctor P who is so behind schedule that he refuses to sign into IM in case of distraction?
Refuse? You never asked…
Never mind IM, Karen . . . you could challenge the Doctor and myself to a game of Scrabble.
(Don’t worry, I’m going to get Scrabble aversion therapy at the weekend)
She won’t do that. Karen has never beaten the Doctor at scrabble…
That’s a LIE! It’s Monopoly that I never beat you at. And that’s because, deep down, you are a steenking capitalist pig.
I think you’ll find it’s “pig-dog”. And the only way to prove me wrong on the scrabble front is to join me in a game…
I have work to do.
Me too.
Dry Martini please…
Mwahahahahahaha.
Christ, it’s not Friday already is it?
You can waste a lot of time playing scrabble.
No, Friday’s tomorrow. We’ve still got a game to finish. Must remember to do work also, though. Prevent being sacked, that kind of thing.
Or to prevent one from failing to meet a major deadline next week that you’ve worked half the bloody year to meet, only to fail at the last minute thanks to a newfound scrabble nemesis.
Right.
I get the scrabble thing now.
Slackers.