'It's very provoking,' Humpty Dumpty said after a
long silence, looking away from Alice as he spoke, 'to be called an egg — very!'
'I said you looked like an egg, Sir,' Alice gently
explained. 'And some eggs are very pretty, you know,' she added, hoping to turn
her remark into a sort of compliment.
Through the Looking
Glass by Lewis Carroll
So yesterday the Acting Director,
acting on advice from the Assistant Director ambled over to my neck of the sump
pool where I toil at one of Australia’s almost universally despised federal agencies
and said rather sharply: “The Acting Assistant Secretary will meet with us
shortly”.
Acting Director had a curious look on
her face that suggested brooding trouble. We must meet. We have something to
discuss. You may bring someone along as witness. Gallows?
Of course, my usual buoyancy was temporarily
punctured by this triple decker onslaught from the doyens of authority. It was
a bit like getting smacked with a Triple Decker when you distinctly ordered a Quarter
Pounder at the drive through.
What the fuck is going on? I ask
myself quietly as I ponder the landscape of public servants busily furrowing
away in purgatory, paying attention only with their ears as the devil played
merrily on the merry-go-round.
The eternal optimist within advises
that my humble work station may soon be elevated to some assistant shit-carrier
elsewhere in this vast empire where push is to shove like toilet is to you know
what.
Or so I think. At last my talents have
been recognized no less; rewarded. Perhaps a stint as a baton carrying officer at
the airport or a tazer wielding malingerer on maritime patrol. The options are
endless. What about an island sojourn in a distant land far from prying eyes,
Glock 17 packed for safety purposes only.
This self-congratulatory homage is but
temporary. Quickly smashed when I ask for a heads-up. So what’s the fuss all
about?
Well, old trooper you have been
reported for language unbecoming in modern society, I am advised.
Some not-so-nubile young thing with
cat-like claws on the greasy pole of job promotion opportunity has reported
that you, yes you old 62-year-old savage and Jedi Master to Princess Ruby,
Princess Ari, Princess Charlie and Princess Abbi -- you have used disgustingly
offensive and inappropriate language. Unfunny! Disgusting!
You have caused offence. Not-so-nubile
young thing’s thin-skinned veil of hypocrisy has been shattered by your oafish
indifference to genteel sophistry. Shylock is almost mortally offended.
Bleeding from the lip and busting at the muffin. Bring out the sugar water. Calm the nerves.
Batten down the hatches, the cavalry is coming.
OK so let’s recap. Just before I left
my place of toil for greener pastures some nights ago, not-so-nubile inquired
whether there were important matters on the agenda.
Not at all, I ventured, I watch Foxtel
most nights and if it’s not Barcelona, MSN (meaning in other words Messi,
Suarez and Neymar) doing magic then I remain vaguely disinterested. Otherwise it’s
reality shows. Jerry Springer where are you now that I need you most of all?
No need to tell this little dark dork
that my prostate is squeezing the crap out of my piss, and even less need to
share the secrets of intimate personal dysfunction so irate to every man over
60 and some, more sadly, just a touch over 40. So, for as bit of amusement I advised
smartly: “Aw, I’m just going home and maybe I’ll smack the wife in the head”.
Wrong move funny guy!
Anyway to celebrate 40 years of
marriage we are on our way in a couple of weeks to Spain, Portugal, Morocco and
Dubai and Abu Dhabi and a brief flit through Jordan and check out Petra for a
bit of R&R. On the way through we will pop in at Cape Town before heading
back home. Not a smack in the head in sight.
So folks no more shit talk in the new
year. Always be politically correct.
Happy New Year 2018 to all my friends and readers and stuff those who can’t
handle a joke.
