‘Call me old fashioned…’ I begin.
‘You’re old fashioned.’ Interjects assistant manager T to
barely suppressed hilarity. Not sure what happened to the respect campaign but
when you realise you are starting to sound like one of those grumbling
pensioners you used to think euthanasia was a solution for, self-worth can be
a dwindling commodity.
‘What is it?’ Asks negotiator S kindly. I reckon she was
born too late or I was born too early. Unless I’m as delusional as all those
old crumblies living in over-priced sheltered apartments, thinking they’ll be
leaving a worthwhile asset to their beneficiaries.
‘A bloody email.’ I say contemptuously.
‘You get loads of bloody emails.’ Says T.
‘Not with a sodding digital Christmas card attached.’ I
tell him witheringly.
T and S walk to my computer screen and scan the wretched
download, something with all the, goodwill and peace to all men content of a
land mine, as far as I’m concerned.
‘I think it moves.’ Suggests S leaning in and brushing my
arm with her substantial frontage.
‘Click on it.’ Suggests T as I try not to gulp audibly.
‘Do you mind if I use your mouse?’ Asks S innocently.
There’s only so much unwitting innuendo I can take with my blood pressure. I
nod acquiescence and try not to let the aforementioned red-stuff rush anywhere
but my head.
‘Look it’s rising up.’ Exclaims S to a momentary feeling
of horror until I realise the tacky Santa and sleigh montage is moving in
clunky fashion, as the reindeer take flight and a Merry Christmas
message flashes on the screen like some virtual virus.
‘Seriously?’ I gripe in Scrooge-like fashion.
As the scene plays out to a tinkling digitised
soundtrack, I read the attached message stating sanctimoniously that the sender
company are saving the environment (their franking machine bill) by not using
the physical postal system. Not content with expecting me to swallow that
bullshit, the text informs me that any cost benefit from not mailing the
traditional way will be donated to a charity. One I’ve never heard of.
Now I’m ambivalent about corporate Christmas cards at the
best of times, as the sentiment is more about reciprocal business than
Christian – other religions are available – goodwill. But if you are going to
make a list of recipients who might be of use to you in the coming year, at
least make the effort of actually buying and sending a touch me, feel me, put
me in the office window, three-dimensional piece of tinsel-tinted-tat.
‘You don’t like it then?’ Concludes S moving back to her
desk.
‘It has all the sincerity of a politician claiming they
only do the job to serve their constituents.’ I tell her.
‘You’re so cynical.’ Replies S with a look of
disappointment I’ve seen before.
‘You start idealistic, move on to brutally informed then
migrate to pessimism.’ I respond before adding and instantly regretting: ‘It’s
the circle of life.’
‘That’s more of a linear progression.’ Chips T with a
smug smile.
‘It comes to all of us eventually, particularly if you
stay in this business.’ I tell him, disliking myself even as I spout the
bile-laced response. My romanticism withered after the first few sales fell
through and I realised anyone who stated: “My word is my bond”, was a
pathological liar.
‘So we won’t be sending out any company Christmas cards
then?’ Asks S a hint of sadness in her eyes. I feel like I’ve just told her
Santa won’t be coming to fill her stocking ever again, but I just end up
fighting a shameful image. One that would give the harridans in Human Resources
a whole new inappropriate behaviour chapter to write, on the company standing
orders.
‘He’s got a list on the computer.’ Says T knowingly. He’s
right and at first I believed in it. Thought it was a nice sentiment to
acknowledge those you’ve dealt with all year and to wish them well for the
future. But time, a bean counter boss and a less than healthy profit and loss
account has chipped away at my belief. At best I’m agnostic now.
God help me.
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