Francis puts down the phone.
"That bastard's going for my job," he says.
Derek, Francis' former colleague has decided that it's self-promotion time. The headhunter referred to him by Francis has been in touch and an exciting job looks to be his for the taking, thanks to tip top testimonials from every top man in every supermarket. A passion for adhesives obviously gets you a long way - unless, of course, you've accidentally stuck yourself to your office chair.
Buoyed by this success, he's decided to go for broke and is staking everything on a call to the company chairman, offering himself as the ideal successor to Francis, only better.
"He wanted my advice," says Francis, whose lip has curled so much it resembles a party streamer that's retracted in too much of a hurry and may require the application of hair straighteners out if it's ever to look normal again.
"So what did you do?"
"Told him to go for it. Well, what else I could I do?"
"Hang up. Blow a whistle down the phone. Laugh loudly and then say, 'Oh, sorry - wasn't that a joke,' or -"
Francis looks sternly at me. No wonder my own short-lived business career was, indeed, so short-lived. In an environment where team skills, people management and a natural ability to co-operate with every psychopath bearing a company cheque was prized above everything else, my top skill - a burning desire for revenge extended, if necessary, through the children's children's children of my enemies - was never really considered much of an asset.
"You have to go along with it," says Francis. "You never know when you might bump into these people again."
"You do know," I say. "It takes a bit of work but I could guarantee to trap Derak down a dark alley within a week. And I know just where I'd stick all his adhesives, too."
"It wouldn't help," says Francis. "So I've given him a few hints on the best way to play the conversation."
"Was this before or after you had yourself carved up as sacrificial lamb and seved on a plate with a garnish of rosemary and a dash of apple mint jelly?"
Later that day, Derek rings again.
"Excellent. Well done," says Francis. He turns to me. "The chairman's interested. Sounds like it may work out for him."
"Children," I call up the stairs. "Mummy's got a really exciting new game. It's called, 'Blood Feud'. Come down, and we'll play it."
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5 comments:
Francis sounds much too nice for this kind of environment. Even if he does have you as his secret weapon. In all honesty, so do you. Surely a case for Bad Lindy, wouldn't you say? Or perhaps she's got her hands full with Colin and the promise of a plumber. Oh dear. How galling. Let's hope the job turns out to be a poisoned chalice. Derek, indeed! Another nicely observed choice of name, Omega Mum, if I might say so.
Francis is a dear, he really is (except when he's investigating rattles, that is) - and I wish him all the success in the world!
But you know, I think you have got your ideas the wrong way round. It's a dog-eat-dog world out there, or so it has always seemed to me. Team and caring skills are all very well, but the one who gets ahead has always seemed to be the one who head-buts first,and hardest.
I don't wish to be offensive here -but perhaps you ought to try reversing roles for a while? Let Francis stay at home to do the child-minding (though not perhaps the blogging) - while you go out there and take on all comers at the head-hunters', and elsewhere.
Just a thought, as they say....
in the world of
M@L: I may be a weapon but I think one of my many problems is that I'm not a secret - hence my large number of enemies. I think Bad Lindy is a good choice, though, once she's got Colin sorted (thanks for reminding me about the plumber.... I've met him and he is gorgeous.)
IB: It's a really good idea but and one we've discussed but the problem is my ability to bring in the wonga (or is that some deviant sexual practice? Mutley?)
oh God, I am speechless with indignation - do we all have to say the right thing, to the right people, in the right way all of the time. Heaven forbid we should ever meet these people again!
Frances is too nice for all this.
Debio: We're all too nice for this, aren't we - which is why all those Mr Tossers end up at the top.
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