In these deeply worrying times, one of my critical roles as an Editorial Leader is to reassure the team. Be the calm head. Steer us all through the stormy waters and help rebuild the trust (still trying to figure out what this means...)
That is why, at the Dark Lord's suggestion, I have taken the unprecedented step of kitting out my department with these clandestine keyboard recording devices.
Should be able to tell who is planning to fuck me over pretty sharpish.
If Thommo and Fifi are going to hang my bollocks up for a public whipping at the first sniff of trouble, then I need to make bloody sure I have my house in order.
I have already uncovered:
Jo is spending a lot of time searching for 'gonorrhoeae' and 'cervical swelling' on the internet. She wrote an email to someone in Planning detailing her sexual prowess with a stranger she picked up on the District Line last night. Wow! Vixen alert!
McDonald hates me. He was moaning on Facebook about having to read Pete Doherty's Book of Albion just in-case I decide to commission another film on the drug addict loser. He also spent 2 hours tinkering with his CV when he should have been writing up that one-pager about kids who kill their pets.
My new office temp Julie-Ann thinks I need a shag. She was bitching to 'Sweetcheeks' via MSN about how 'stuck up and humourless' I am. She wrote something about me 'needing a good seeing-to'.
I had no idea she had such a HUGE crush on me (understandable I suppose considering how successful and young I am).
I couldn't make eye contact with her this afternoon - the last thing I need is any more repressed sexual tension in the office.
Shit, how do I sit her down and tell her I'm not interested?
5 comments:
Actually TVC this sounds really good - if you could just work it up into a format. It's the kind of thing we could leave totally unedited and avoid any further accusations.
Obviously we could not cull the material from our own offices (far too revealing of the internal workings of the organisation!) but what about culling the material from ordinary office workers ordinary lives. What about a paper supply office in Slough?
Let the poor girl down easy. It's got to be tough working right next to all of your raw sex appeal.
There's a fascinating series of programmes over on BBC HD tonight. Er, well there's PLANET EARTH with no sound and GALAPOGAS with a guide-track voice-over and a half-finished audio track with no sync effects and incomplete soundtrack.
Er...
You spell her name Julie Ann, not Julie-Ann. She's not used the hyphen since some guru in India told her it was a symbol of patriarchal ownership.
I think you should take more interest in your staff. This will greatly increase your chances to cop a feel, should the need or desire ever surface.
I told you you needed a shag or at least a really good blow job weeks ago. Did you listen or take me up on the offer? No, too insecure I reckon. HoustonHarley x
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