No, you didn't imagine that. I started with a nun sex joke. I felt it appropriate to lower the tone from the off. Any lingering respect for my character should be held at that level from the outset, because it shall get no better from this point. More likely, if you are one of those people who converses with me, you won't continue to be after this.
Also, I had an evil twin.
Doobs came about in the course of conspiring to avoid facing the horrors and travails of working life within the arena I found myself. More specifically, his genesis was rooted in my commitment to taking a week long Spanish holiday, as malicious doppelgangers are wont to do. Classic evil twin origin story stuff.
I tended to have my work for the week finished in 3 days. In fact, given her spectacular ineptitude, I tended to have my boss's work done for her in 3 days. There's a belief that states that people are continually promoted until they reach one level higher than their ability enables them to perform at. This is called the Peter Principle and I have long since espoused the accuracy of its tenets, largely based upon this experience. My superior had, presumably, been a committed employee of sufficient merit as to be deemed worthy of promotion to the lofty perch upon which she found herself. Yet (to take the bird metaphor and run with it here....fly with it?) she seemed now quite content to cling to that perch, staring at herself in the mirror and squawking gibberish without any true comprehension outside of her little cage. I'll admit this may have helped to colour my opinion of her as a person, but she was also a quite detestable creature. Perhaps outside of the role she was a lovely woman, full of joy, laughter, sunshine and rainbow coloured unicorns of delight and whimsy, but whilst behind that desk she was a behemoth of benevolence and torturous turmoil.
Nonetheless, occasional verbal sparring aside, I managed to contain my growing hostility towards her and not allow it to outwardly effect my performance....when I was in. Doobs was quelled and restrained.
She did once attempt to give me a verbal dressing down in front of the office for my allegedly poor punctuality, conveniently failing to pick up on the fact that we had discussed the difficult transport links delaying my arrival each morning. Apparently I was not working a full day, as my starting work 15 or 30 minutes later than regular would suggest, and thus letting the team down. When she took issue with me in such a public fashion on this occasion, all bets were off. I loudly corrected the several inconsistencies in her accusations and pointed out that I was, as we had previously arranged, staying late in order to account for the time I couldn't make in the morning. In fact, in doing so, I was working longer hours than stipulated and accepting it as unpaid overtime. Unpaid overtime that was made necessary by her handing tasks off to me at her day's end that were in fact solely her responsibility. And just like that she was put back in her box and instead requested a private word.
Foolish woman. She had released the Doobs.
From this point, I made a point of doing my work (and doing it damn well, might I say), accepting whatever else was placed in front of me, but no longer volunteering to help her and ease the burden of her workload. Given that she spent most of her time engaged and engrossed in personal phone calls (probably comparing and contrasting the cuteness of the cats she'd spent all day Googling), her workload could not have been all that severe anyway. Just enough to turn her into a stressed-out bitch-monster beyond rhyme, reason or choclate based bribery. And I was sitting on a ticket to Spain, booked before I'd even taken on this thankless job. I'd been hesistant about declaring it in the first place, as I was wary that it could queer the deal (sometimes, I just like to find excuses to use phrases that are in my mind at a given moment). Screw it, if they weren't going to acquiesce to my demands and grant me my holiday, I would have no option but to hand in my resignation. Given the devilishly restrictive deadlines of the massive project we were working on, I knew that the granting of my freedom would be unlikely. My resignation was typed up and burning a hole in my back pocket as I prepared to throw it in her fat, frumpy, ferret-featured face....like a gentleman. I requested a private moment of her precious time and we descended the staircase that would lead me into unemployment once more.
....but I do like money....
....PLAN B!
It was time for a fantastical tale. I surrendered myself to Doobs and let that bastard take the wheel. This is the point that any lingering respect will dissipate. Read on if you still think it wise....or if you already know the bastardry of which I am capable..
Boss Monster: "So, what do you need to talk to me regarding, David?" (chalk one up to overly formal speech in a work environment....and THAT name)
Deebs: "I felt I should talk to you to let you know that I'm going to need to take some time off work next month."
Boss Monster: *eyebrows raise quizically; first one, then the other struggling to match its incline* (this gave her the appearance of a confused and constipated child about to have the facts of life explained to her)
Deebs: "You see....er...."
****Enter Doobs****
Doobs: "It's my cousin, see? He's got problems. I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but he's got a drinking problem. It's been tearing the family apart. They tried to talk to him, a bit like an intervention, but he just ran out on them. Thing is, I'm the only one in the family he talks to. We're very close. And they want me to try to get through to him. Problem is, he's fled to his mum's place in Spain. I've managed to get him talking, but I'm going to need to go out to Spain for a week or so to try to bring him home to get the help he needs."
I knew it was ridiculous. I knew it was a low move to pull. More importantly, I knew it wasn't going to work. I would have known that much without even looking at her face, still contorted in that awkwardly bemused state. I reached for the letter in my back pocket....
....her face thawed, and released her from its ice-cold grip of apprehensive quandery, or stroke, or whatever it was.
Boss Monster: "Oh, I understand completely. I really do. A member of my family is an alcoholic. It's so awful. You go, and take as much time as you need."
OK, so this looks bad for me. I know that my conscience should have Jiminy Cricketed into action at this point. I should have found some way to back down. This woman had suffered through the horrors of alcoholism. She knew the pain all too well that I was attempting to fabricate. I could have sworn a tear was beginning to form in her eye. Abort! Abort!
Doobs was in control now. Deebs was captain of this damned ship. Doobs was not going to back down. Doobs was going on a holiday with my girlfriend. And that man was cold. He did not waiver, even as my boss came acropper with some personal troubles that reduced her to tears in work on more than one occasion. Even then she would periodically check in with Doobs, to see how this fictional cousin was getting on.
Boss Human: "Look at me, making a fuss when you've got your own problems to deal with.*wiping tears from her eyes* How is your cousin?"
Doobs: "It's a journey. One day at a time, but I really think he's getting there."
And you better believe that "cousin" showed convenient signs of relapsing whenever I needed a lie in.
But what if I don't have an evil twin? Deebs had a steady job, luscious locks, a long-term girlfriend, relatively promising career prospects and a puzzling inability to grow facial hair. Doobs was a hard-drinking cad with none of these things.
What if I am Doobs? Maybe Deebs is that guy whose body I stuffed in a cellar off Cockburn Street.
I have some deep thinking to do on this subject....twirling my moustache and laughing until my monocle shatters on the floor.
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