“Hi, it’s Rebecca Nicholson from Assbury Moron.”
There’s a positive sounding ring to her voice. You can’t tell if it’s the fact that it’s Friday and she’s already packed her bags and ready to take the Eurostar for a shopping weekend in Paris or whether she has something genuinely good to tell you. A trickle of sweat drops onto the desk from your forehead, in anticipation of the make or brake news from Blunderstone that she surely has called to deliver.
It has got to be good. It must. She wouldn’t be so churpy if it weren’t. This is your future she has in her hands. She wouldn’t. Or would she?
“Hi” you reply with a somewhat shakier voice than you intended.
“Can you speak?”
You stand up, walk to a spot where everyone who noticed the suspicious call will at at least not be able to hear the whole conversation.
“Yes, go ahead”
“How are you today? Excellent weather we’re having no?”
This woman is barking mad. There she is, making a call that can change your life completely, and oh so typically English, she begins by speaking of the weather.
“I’m good. Busy. Very busy.”
You posture, pretending you’re super busy and the whole world wants you to advise them.
“Excellent. We’ll you’d better get busier, because Blunderstone want to see you again! You really impressed them”
You jump for joy, thank her and race to your desk. Nobody can tell you’ve just gotten a call from a headhunter. Oh no. Nobody can tell you’ve just gotten good news from a headhunter. Oh no.
You open your diary and pencil in. 8 AM. Monday. Blunderstone offices.