So. Dr Shoemaker says that I should write an online journal in order to help me with my stress. I’m not exactly sure how that can help, but I think she likes Sherlock too much, if you ask me.
Anyway, here I am. Let’s see if this works.
First things first: I won’t use real names here. I work for a company that deals with delicate business affairs; doing otherwise would be breaching my confidentiality clause. And if you know what I’m talking about, you’ll agree with me that would be a big mistake.
This week was a nightmare. Dr Shoemaker says I should also try to improve my sense of order, so I think I’d better try to tell it all chronologically.
We have a briefing every Monday morning. You know, we review what we achieved the previous week and plan for the current one. But Alan wasn’t there. And Alan is always there on Monday mornings: he was there the day they took his appendix off. He came in ten minutes late, and all we had to do was look at his eyes.
We were just about to lose the Reading account. That account alone represents ten per cent of our revenue. Alan was the contact with Reading, and he was almost hysterical. He left at once and we didn’t see him in days.
In Tuesday, the Japanese minister sexual scandal exploded. It was everywhere, I don’t need to explain it here. Or maybe I do, since it wasn’t in Japan, or a minister, or a sexual scandal. Ha. Anyway, it hit us hard, because we were deep into negotiations with the Japanese government and all of a sudden we had lost our interlocutor. Moreover, the government had declared that they were going to take a deeper look into all the affairs the minister had been involved in. Just great for us.
But that wasn’t all. During lunch break on Wednesday, Megan came in and told us the people from Hell’s Chef were withdrawing. Apparently, they were considering other offers. We couldn’t believe it: we were well past the stage of the “other offers”. Mind you, the amount we could lose wasn’t such a big deal: the problem was the loss of visibility that being right there with the top culinary TV program would have given us.
On Thursday I was trying to put out fires everywhere. We had tried to clamp our problems out, but apparently there had been leaks. Customers big and small kept phoning for news. Phoning! Never mind Twitter or, good heavens, email! I was seriously considering leaving for an impromptu session with Dr Shoemaker.
But then Alan walked back in, with a smile in his face. He reminded me of Gene Kelly in Dancin’ in the Rain, that’s how happy he was. He had clenched the Reading account. There were literal cheers in the office.
Someone called out and pumped up the volume of the telly. The Japanese minister had been exonerated: apparently the guy involved in the scandal wasn’t him but his twin brother. I know it sounds improbable, but I swear it’s true. We were safe there!
And you guessed it: Megan also succeeded in securing the Hell’s Chef contract. During a dinner with the chef himself, can you believe it? I was feeling so confused by then that the unscheduled session looked more and more attractive. But it seemed that the week was going to end well, after all.
It was then that the demolition ball from the adjacent building site struck down the office next to mine.
As soon as I saw the picture, I had the idea of the demolition ball striking. Look at the picture: the ball is there, to the man’s right. If that’s not a demolition ball, what is it? The idea was stronger than anything else on the photo, so I went with it. And had some fun.