It’s been coming; the notice from my manager, the weak, wet, ineffectual but friendly man who was going to tell me that theres being a cabinet reshuffle and unfortunately, because I lie in the periphery, geographically, I will have to go.
Not go; go, but just go to another manager, a man with a napoleon complex, who wears tight clothes because he tries to squeeze himself into clothes which he buys himself, the same size as he was years ago, get a fucking track suit you nonce, but there again you’re not 14 so maybe a tracksuit isn’t the most sensible opotion. My daughter bought a brown tracksuit, a cropped one, so you can see her tummy, she looks like a pretty Chewbacca with impeccably manicured hair, which is, of course, ridiculous. But what the hell do I know sat here in my cheap lumberjack shirt and jeans, like an outdoor Clarkson but with far better taste in music, fed to him by the overpaid producers of that fucking car programme he presents.
My old wet Boss was insistent that we should all still stay in touch and that it had little or nothing to do with his pay grade; the rejigging of the areas, but he had to listen to his manager and such is the situation. I know what i’m doing and have honed my “craft/skills” for 21 years now at this place of “work” which is more like a game if i’m honest, a brainteaser, a puzzle. Call it what you will and having a several conversations today, i’ve realised that the company I work for seems to be existing, but what I do for the company seems to be in part important, but in part completely irrelevant, and this makes me question what the fuck I am doing here, its a cushty number, granted, but I wonder sometimes what some of the data I supply to them is used for. But then on the other hand I think to myself, we’ve just moved house, there’s stuff to do, and a life to live going forward outside of work and so I will do my job in silence speaking to the good ones and ignoring the cunts.
Which is, I think, a Mantra for life.
Plus the cricket is on the telly again so all is good.