Two men in an office

July 30, 2011 § Leave a comment

It’s not what you need on a Monday morning, is it? Barely into the office, just got his jacket off and sat down at his desk. Paula bringing in a cup of coffee – one sugar this morning, to take the edge off the week – whilst his computer starts up. Bloody thing – it’s from the ark.

The telephone’s just rung when Hobson walks in, with some problem with one of the lads on the Warrington job. Well, he starts on about this lad, he did this and he did that, he’s not pulling his weight and he’s a bloody liability. And meanwhile, our man is sitting back in his chair and sighing. Heard it all before, hasn’t he? If not about this lad, then about one of the others, or one of them complaining about Hobson. If not this team, then another.

He knows the phone call will be from the lead for the Stretford job, asking why and when and what sort of outfit are they anyway, but Hobson’s still on about this lad so he leaves it ringing, lets them call back. The first of a dozen calls from them today, no doubt.

Honestly. Eight thirty on a Monday morning, grown men and they’re squabbling like schoolgirls. He’s half a mind to walk out, leave them all to sort themselves out, but the picture of his granddaughter on the desk reminds him he promised the family they’d all go away this summer, and who’s going to pay for that? Bugalugs, that’s who. So he leans forward, tries to pick some sense out of Hobson’s grumblings, clears his throat and begins to speak.

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