Diary of a Grumpy Old Git (4 page)

I strolled up to him with every intention of telling him that the music would damage his ears if I didn’t get to them first. But then I remembered my vow to be more cheerful. Instead, I
asked him what he was listening to and said it sounded really cool. He looked at me with contempt, and he was right to.

The driver waited until I was walking down the stairs before making an emergency stop, which sent me tumbling down to the lower deck. No wonder they need to reserve so many seats for the infirm
and disabled. Most regular bus users probably end up that way.

When I got into work, I was too traumatized to do anything, so I spent the morning on Facebook. Jen has tagged Brad in a photo now. I clicked through to his profile. It turns out he’s an
estate agent.

This is worrying. Steve announced today that we’ve lost the Donaldson Sweepers account. At first I was pleased because it meant I wouldn’t have to write the brochure
and I could concentrate on the Scrabble game I’ve downloaded for my laptop. But then I thought they might have to get rid of someone and it was more likely to be the person who plays board
games all day than the person who finishes their work early and asks for more.

My fear was compounded when Steve popped over to my desk on his way out and said we should catch up first thing on Monday as there was ‘something we need to discuss’.

You can’t do that. You can’t just say there’s ‘something we need to discuss’ and swan off for the weekend. What am I supposed to do now? This was going to be the
weekend I finally got round to my
Sopranos
box set. There’s no way I’ll be able to focus on it now.

I had another peek at Brad’s Facebook profile today. He seems to be one of those people who can’t do anything without posting it for all his friends to see.

These people think we’re all wildly impressed with their choice of holidays, restaurants and friends. They don’t realize that the only thing they’re really communicating is
their unhappiness. They’re so insecure they need constant validation for everything they ever do from everyone they’ve ever met. It’s like they’ve never got past that stage
of running into the kitchen to show their parents the drawing they did at school today.

Look at me, I’m on holiday. Look at me, I’m out with my friends. Look at me, I’m in a restaurant owned by a TV chef. Look at me, I actually paid money to watch some shitty band
in a huge indoor arena.

Well done, you. Let’s give you a pat on the head. Let’s give you a gold star. Let’s stick your entire life up here on the fridge where we’ll all be able to see it.

I notice from Facebook that Brad has taken Sarah to Brussels for the weekend. I’m guessing he takes all his girlfriends there, as it’s the only place in the world
he’s more interesting than.

Look at him with his baseball cap and dark glasses on an overcast day. There he is in front of the Atomium with his jumper draped over his shoulders. I had no idea anyone outside a catalogue
actually did that.

Well, guess what, Brad? You were stupid enough to put your email address and mobile number on Facebook, and now I’m going to give you so much spam you’ll think I’m a dinner
lady from the seventies. Here we go. Would you like text alerts about our great offers? Yes, please. Would you like us to email you with details of our upcoming events? You bet. Please enter the
time when you’d like our support staff to call you back. Can you do five on Saturday morning?

What a loser.

I’m sure there are some who’d point out that I’m the one who’s just spent an entire weekend looking at someone else’s Facebook page, and therefore I’m the
actual loser. But at least I found something to take my mind off tomorrow’s ominous meeting. So I’m a winner, really.

I got in early this morning, as I wanted to be alert and ready to argue back if Steve tried to get rid of me.

I’ve never been on the early train before. Every carriage was full of neat young men and women sipping skinny lattes and prodding their iPhones. They’d probably already thrown
together a PowerPoint presentation, been to the gym and done a charity parachute jump. Now they were racing to their offices to stare smugly at the normal people who stroll blearily in at 9:33.
I’m not saying I wanted the train to crash. But if a train had to crash, that’s the one I’d pick.

Jen was already sitting behind her desk when I got in. Did she even go home? Or did she stay there all night typing, ‘All work and no play makes Jen a dull girl’?

Steve didn’t turn up until half nine, and he faffed around in the kitchen for ages, prolonging my torture. It was almost ten by the time he called me into his office to give me the bad
news.

At least, the sort of bad news. I haven’t been given the sack, but Steve is leaving on Friday, which means I’ll have a new boss on Monday.

Eek.

I’m going to get made redundant, aren’t I? Everyone knows that new bosses clear out the dead wood. And if anyone around here is shedding bark, covered in fungus and blocking the
footpath, it’s me.

I don’t care if I get made redundant. I’ll take a year out to do all the things I’ve always wanted to do.