I hate everyone who has enjoyed that.
I hate everyone who has enjoyed that.
I'm a twit
Cos it's cold in Siberia, innit? Durrrr.Originally Posted by Jimmy Floyd
(Siberia is usually hotter than here in the Summer and has been on fire for about 2 years)
Yeah the equivalent hilarious joke picture in my office was someone photoshopping my head on to a subway worker making a sandwich, that had been photoshopped into a shit sandwich. I still have it somewhere.
I can feel a new avatar coming on.
In my previous place, a research center, there was an Expendables poster with people from the office photoshopped on top of the actors, which was very cringey. They did also have a picture from an aerodynamic study of Godzilla though so it made up for it.
Post it please.
That's Spikey's avatar sorted, presumably, so I can be confused when I see his posts all over again.
Lofty looks very like a lad I work with in that.
Look how happy Lofty looks to be asking "What salad with that?".
Beautiful.
Sadly it's impossible to fit both face and turd sandwich in.
Still, that really leaves it to the imagination what he's doing with his gloved hands just out of shot.
Are we getting the background to that hilarious joke?
I had made several errors at once that led to a sizeable shit sandwich and me gaining the moniker 'the chef' for a while, also resulting in the verb to 'chef' something meaning fuck it up. Obviously that record didn't continue or I'd be out of a job.
Hopefully we get to call Kikó that soon.
Then when it starts to die down somebody changes it to 'shit barm' and they get another year out of it.
Did you relent, or did some director come down on his side?
I don't think the Germans call it a barm.
Shiesse brot.
Shiessewurst surely.
I relented, obvs.
Flexible working's being touted. Given how quick the last two years have gone, I'm all for it.
You are now in possession of what insiders call a 'chit'.
Got to plan the football special train for my hometown club's away day at Carlisle this saturday which was nice.
When I die they'll sprinkle my grave with thousands of the damn things.
The boss is really starting to grind my fucking gears at the moment. Every day he sends me a load of absolute guff to translate to send in an email to our biggest customer in Spain (the guy in the mining town). I send the translation back (this is usually a good 45 minutes of work) and then immediately the boss says RING HIM PLEASE AND MAKE SURE HE UNDERSTANDS. When I don't do it for 30-45 minutes because the prospect is about the most stressful thing I can imagine, the boss rings me again and gets on my back for not doing it.
I fucking hate any phone calls in my own language, let alone open-ended phone calls, let alone open-ended completely unnecessary phone calls in my third language to the owner of the company (remember, some minion like me ringing up and asking for the owner is not really the done thing, is it?) in order to assuage the boss's massive insecurity about business.
It also implies that he doesn't trust my translation which he asks me to do, and I'm fucking done with it.
Yeah all of that can fuck off.
Shouldn't you be in Peru by now Jim?
That's for 2022, Yev. We've still got the France Christmas special to come.
OK so here's a rough company structure with ages of the people concerned (bear with me on this).
Chairman (82) --- Partner (80)
MD (49)
Regional sales managers: Middle East (67) Europe (69 - The boss) Africa (40s) Asia-Pacific (60s) Latin America (79)
Office sales managers: 2 (Russia and India - 40s)
Sales minions: 4 (including me - all 30s)
Partner, with the blessing of Chairman and MD, has offered me succession into the Latin America job, which means in effect I currently work as support to both Latin America and Europe, even though MD, Russia and India all have a more direct line of management towards me.
However, what isn't yet clear is when Latin America (age 79, remember) is going to bite the bullet and retire. He's based in Mexico City and has worked for Partner there since 1979, however he recently made an illicit 2 month trip back to the UK to scout out retirement houses, something which angered Chairman.
As such I am currently in stasis waiting to see what happens with all these very, very old men as their careers and indeed lives wind down. The promise is there, but who knows what will actually happen.
I presume your professional development plan is just a photo of Tim Vickery.
I'm a twit
In a structure blessed with experience like that, how on earth do you have a 49 year old MD? Is he someone's kid?
The 79 year old must be good considering how long he's been there.
I often wonder why you let them push you around so passively, then I'm reminded of their ages and realise you don't really have a choice. It's pointless arguing with old people. Doubly so when they own the company you work for and have been doing things their way for half a century. Never mind. Once one goes the others will fall like Dominoes and you'll be at the wheel soon enough.
I look forward to Jimmy posting from Montevideo in 2063 complaining about how the bastards have brought in some 30 year old to be his future replacement when he's still clearly in his prime.
I've been piecing it all together and think I've finally worked it out. I reckon Chairman wanted to sell up a few years back, and for the company to be attractive at the price he wants you need a young MD in place (so that the buyer doesn't have to piss about too much reorganising). As such, out went former MD Nigel (in his 70s, still pops back in occasionally) and in came this fella who used to be sales director.
However, no one would buy at the price he wanted, so that idea went out the window and instead, in came Partner with his own people and market reach. Now, at some stage, either they are going to die at their desks, or Chairman will need to buy Partner out to sell on. Partner therefore wants to keep the value of his share as high as he can, and a key part of that is the Latin American performance. 79 year old is on the way out, so he needs someone who can take over that job. First up he hired a Spanish bloke, but he was fucking useless and quickly sacked. Next he turned to me, already in place speaking Spanish and 'knowing the club' as it were.
I am therefore basically ballast in this cold war between the two octogenarian partners, watching and waiting to see what happens and if hanging on for this much more senior job is indeed the prudent idea that it seems to be at the moment.
The Sales Binman.
Try popping a bag of crisps in the office. That might take a couple of them out.
None of those people are retiring. You’ll be waiting for them to die. It’s a big thing in law practices at the moment.
I can’t wrap my head around a company hierarchy working til they drop.
It’s a perfect blend of thinking they know better and knowing if they stop working they’ll die because they have absolutely nothing else going on.
The top two are both self-made men who have sold multiple companies and worth £10-30 million each. They're convinced that retirement would put them in the ground.
Both come into the office for full-time hours and are at their desks as I speak. One has already had a quadruple bypass. I dunno. It's a way of thinking.
Unless you're incredibly lucky you've got to be driven and enjoy it in the first place to be that successful, which I've always figured is something that you're usually stuck with, no matter how much money you're sat on.
The partner was telling me a story the other day about when he was running one of his previous companies. Part of the story involved the governor of the Reserve Bank of Australia, Sir Harold Knight. I googled Sir Harold and this placed the story in the mid to late 1970s. My mind was slightly blown.
Jim ending up like Partridge at the fateful moment his second series is about to be signed off seems the most likely outcome.
The latter half of that rings true with an old dear I work with. I'd never have a go at her for staying on but I don't want to spend my sixties grafting.
A major babe has joined the team.
I'm a twit
Alright Jonny Bravo.
hubba hubba.
Annual leave secured over the festive period. Ten consecutive days off.
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