Life is good at the moment, bar a few minor things that need a little work (friendless, childless, drunk by noon). I’m almost like a male Bridget Jones except my underwear is better (remember, one pair – one wear, that’s my motto).
Today I’d like to tell you a quick anecdote about my days in the building game and how those wonderful times made me the man I am, and all the fun I’ve had. Well, those and my years cleaning out the jacks in a local hostelry, good times – but more on that another day.
Sorry, I digress. I’ve told you how I once earned a nice pudgy paycheck selling an unfinished, subsiding four-storey firetrap to an elderly couple, did I mention they were wheelchair bound? Well, a little part of me felt slightly bad about this, just a little part. To make up for it in some token way I left a few scaffolding planks behind on the run up to the front door before I disappeared, a ramp of sorts – a little bonus, like the way you get a better room in a hotel or a free meal if you complain about pretty much anything these days.
For example, I once complained about the colour of the carpet in a hotel lobby, right after I’d walked in the front door. I blathered on and on loudly in my best ‘yaw’ accent about how it looked like something barfed up by Salvador Dali and Jackson Pollock after a night on the lash. I told em’ it could trigger a seizure if you looked at it from the wrong angle. Lo and behold, after ten minutes of my BS the manager called in favours, then he made threats, and then he begged – all to get another hotel to take me, any hotel apparently. They even paid for an upgrade. The best part was (whisper it), I didn’t even have a reservation, I was only there to take a leak and a couple of selfies in front of the fibre-glass Venus de Milo in the lobby. Good times.
You see folks, if you only learn one thing from Carrington MacGillycuddy, it’s that a sense of entitlement will get you a very long way in this world. Just imagine what you can achieve if you only speak your mind – and the louder the better!
Heed this lesson folks I implore you. Why you ask? The answer is simple. It’s because otherwise you are going to be left behind in the second coming of our Lord – the Celtic Tiger. Ol’ stripey is currently doing a Frankenstein’s Monster or a Herbert West depending on what class of geek you are. Watch out for the signs?
- Those who tell us the weather are ‘celebrities.’
- TV will soon start showing programmes with titles like ‘such ‘n such a country’s 10 Wealthiest’.
- National newspapers mention that Claudine Keane’s blazer cost €1500 as if that’s normal ffs, as the indo did recently and had the smarts to use the word ‘understated’ in the same sentence (double ffs).
- You go to the bank to withdraw a tenner and they offer you a loan for that boat you’ve ‘always wanted’.
- The guy fixing your dishwasher talks about how Parmesan must be ‘shaved’ and not grated.
And lots, lots more meaty, intellectual crap like that. Remember how I got the hotel room folks? Well that’s the type of shit you’re going to be knee deep in very soon, if not already. This is what shops and restaurants and hotels and service personnel everywhere have to look forward to in the coming years. The time is now for you to choose which side of this crap fence you want to be on. Do you want to dish it out or lick it up?
I suggest you choose Team Carrington (note to self: re-read Twilight).
So, the next time you’re leaning against the bonnet of your Berlingo outside Centra, washing down your Benson & Hedges and your Jumbo Breakfast Roll with a half-fat, non-dairy, canderel ridden Moccachino – you stand proud. Be safe in the knowledge that you’ll soon not only be able to afford those fur-lined wellington boots, you’re also going to be needing them for the amount of BS you’ll be wading through.
Sorry, I digress. What was I talking about? Oh yes, an anecdote about my days in the building trade. I’m exhausted now so to cut a long story short – it involved a game of pitch and toss with a builder’s arse and the butt of a cigarette , what a laugh. Tell you later, promise.
Got any service counter tales of your own, let me know with a comment.