'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.