How I've Spent the Last Six Months Part Two

It got even better when the new season’s team arrived and I really went to town on them.

There were two young lads I especially liked playing with. Darren and Matt, they were called. Cocky little salesman types with highlighted hair and cheap suits from Burtons . As soon as they began, I knew that I was going to have fun with them.

Now if you’ve ever worked in a sales environment, you’ve met boys like these. They’re in their early twenties and they think they’re the hottest shit on the scene. Tons of aftershave. Fancy cufflinks. Souped up little hatchbacks (Darren had a Renault Clio Sport and Matt drove a Hyundai Coupe.) They swaggered into my office like they were rockstars or something.

It took me precisely one week to break them.

I’ve already told you how I’m a bitch, so I don’t need to keep repeating myself. But to these boys? I was a super bitch.

In all honesty, though, they had it coming. Within half a day of having me as their new boss, Darren responded to one of my questions with a nonchalant: “Yes, Love.” Now I’m a lot of things, son, but I’m not your fucking ‘love.’ I didn’t work my arse off for six years to get this management position for the cocky little new kid to call me ‘Love’ on his first day. And Matt was his little bum-chum as far as I was concerned. Flirting with my other sales girls (who are young and giggly, the little cows) and whispering and sniggering with Darren whenever those two were together.

As the Americans would say: It’s on.

First thing was first. Darren and Matt stopped being referred to independently. In my Monday morning sales meetings, they were the ‘Petshop Boys.’ With their fucking gormless expressions and highlighted hair, they even looked a bit like Chris Lowe and Neil Tennant. That took the hot air out of their sails, I can tell you.

From then on, it was easy. I needed them to head into town for a presentation? “Oi! Petshop boys!” I’d tell across the office. “Quit sixty-nineing and get over here.” If they were late for a meeting (as they invariably were, taking a million and one fag breaks) I’d kick open the fire exit and bark: “Hey! Rent boys! Quit trawling for business and get in here!”

All COMPLETELY politically incorrect, as you can imagine. I didn’t really mind, though. Stuart’s this gay bloke I’ve got on my team and he didn’t take any offence to any of it. In fact, he once admitted to me: “Those lads are everything that’s worst about gay culture, except neither of them take it up the arse!”

God, we laughed.

Anyway. In less than a week, I’d put those boys firmly in their place. By teaming them up exclusively together, I made sure they never made allies of the rest of my team and with the constant gay remarks, I soon had the rest of my flirty sales girls howling in laughter at them rather than canoodling. They settled in alright in the end, but I cut them down to size before I let them get their feet under the desk.

Now you might wonder what the hell that has to do with anything, but I’ll explain in a bit.