The Drought (The hilarious laugh-out loud comedy about dating disasters!) (6 page)

I finally
snapped back to reality and looked at Kelly who was grinning. “You
have got a filthy mind, Campbell,” I smiled as Kelly pulled a face
as if to say
what me?
“Come on, we’d better get on the phones then.”

Like so many
graduates fresh out of university I had no idea what to do with my
life and had fallen into the career path of a Media Sales
Executive. Searching for that perfect job in the
Media Guardian
I’d
stumbled across Media Sales. The job descriptions sold themselves
fantastically well. Looking back I shouldn’t have been surprised
seeing as they were written by sales people:

Develop new business dealing
directly with those responsible for advertising and marketing
budgets. We are looking for someone who wants fast career
progression with high levels of drive, enthusiasm, initiative, and
commitment. You need a strong personality and a determination to
succeed, and will be working across both digital and print
media.

Technically that description is
true. However, in the case of my job it failed to mention one or
two important aspects:

Far from being glamorous as the
job title suggests, your soul will no longer be your own. You will
be working for a slave driver, who will constantly berate and
belittle you. You will be speaking to arseholes on the phone all
day who will treat you like a piece of scum on the bottom of their
shoe. You will slowly start to loathe your boss and your job, and
become one of those zombies who live to work.

The first day back at work
after a holiday always drags, but today was particularly bad. I
managed to complete the sales plan by 11am and had emailed it to
Dick. I spent the next hour on the phone. The most annoying part of
my day was trying to speak to the person who held the purse
strings. The key was to get past the gatekeeper, in most cases some
low-ranking jobsworth who follows their instructions and procedure
to the letter. Often just to piss you off and to make them feel
important.

A typical conversation goes
like this:

Me:
Good morning. I was hoping you may be so kind to
help me out. Who do I need to speak to with regards to any
decisions on advertising?

Jobsworth:
I’m afraid I can’t give
out that information.

Me:
Is it possible to be put through to the marketing
department then?

Jobsworth:
You can email me the
information and if the marketing department is interested they will
be in contact.

Me:
And who am I speaking to?

Jobsworth:
My name is Jayne, I work
on reception.

Knowing full well that Jayne
the Jobsworth would never pass my email on, I take a new approach.
Type in the company name and “marketing manager” into Google and
chances are you will find a contact. We then have to go through the
process again.

Me:
Good morning, could I speak to Mr Matthews
please?

Jobsworth:
Who’s calling
please?

Me:
My name is Daniel Hilles and I am calling from
Maxwell Media.

Jobsworth:
Mr Matthews is not
interested.

Me:
You don’t even know why I am calling.

Jobsworth:
What is the nature of
your call?

Me:
Advertising.

Jobsworth:
Please hold.

At this point I would like to
take the opportunity to point something out to all the jobsworths
up and down the country: just because you put your hand over the
receiver, it doesn’t mean I can’t hear you asking Mr Matthews if he
will speak to me.

Jobsworth:
I’ve just checked and Mr
Matthews is not in the office today.

Me:
But I just heard you speaking to him.

Jobsworth:
If you would like to
email me the information I will forward it to him and he can then
decide whether or not he would like to take you up on your
offer.

It doesn’t matter how long you
work in the job, that conversation will always leave you seething
with the same level of frustration. If I had my way, that
conversation would go a little more like this:

Me:
Good morning, could I speak to Mr Matthews
please?

Jobsworth:
Mr Matthews is not
available. Please email the information to me and...

Me:
Listen to me bitch. If you screw with me, I will
come down to your office, bend you over and screw you right
back.

Jobsworth:
I beg your
pardon?

Me:
Beg? You’ll be begging alright, you minimum-wage
old hag. Now put me through and don’t make me come down there and
shove that headset straight up your....

“
Hilles!” Dick
interrupted my daydream by bellowing across the floor. “My office.
Now!”

Kelly raised her eyebrows and
stretched her mouth to the side. “Good luck,” she said as I took a
deep breath and made my way across the office. Whenever I was
summoned by Dick I swear I could hear the death march whistling
through the wind outside the window. I readied myself for the
inevitable. It didn’t matter how good my sales plan was, he would
find something wrong with it. I often wondered if he had any work
to do himself with the amount of time he kept me locked in his
dungeon.

“
Sit down,”
Dick instructed as I entered his office. I closed the door, took my
seat, and braced myself.

Dick leaned across his desk,
peering over his glasses, his eyes levelled straight at me. “This
is not what I asked for.” He waved the sales plan in his hand
before throwing it into the dustbin at the side of his desk. “Are
we jousting with feather dusters here, Hilles?”

I had absolutely no idea what
he meant.

“
I have been
looking at last year’s figures and is it correct we missed budget
by £4,000 in quarter four?”

“
Yes,” I
nodded. “The credit crunch really caught up with us in the build-up
to Christmas.”

Dick shook his
head and held his finger up to his lips. “There is
no
recession,” he
announced. It was one of those ridiculous statements he often made.
While the rest of the world suffered from the economic downturn,
Maxwell Media was oblivious to any financial constraints in the
world of Dick.

“
The problem
is you are not hungry enough. You do not drive this business
forward out there on the floor,” he sat back in his chair, his
hands locked behind his head in one of his typical power poses. It
was a line I had heard all too often. It was all part of the
so-called motivational repertoire he had in his locker.

“
In all
seriousness, that is a sackable offence,” Dick announced pointing
towards my screwed up sales plan now taking pride of place in the
dustbin. “Missing budget by such a small amount I mean.”

“
Don’t worry,
I plan on missing budget by a much larger amount in the next
quarter.” I couldn’t help myself. He sat forward, both hands on the
desk, glaring at me. I attempted to hold my ground and hated myself
for diverting my eyes.

“
I want you to
go back and do this report again, this time with a plan on how we
are going to make up the money you lost!” Dick snapped at
me.

“
Yes,
Richard,” I said, and got up and left his office.

“
I prefer
Dick!”

I stepped outside and Shaila
was staring straight at me. She must have heard the whole sorry
thing. I tried to shrug it off and hand gestured how Dick had
droned on by bringing my fingers and thumb together. But Shaila
simply turned her attention back to her computer screen and went
about her day. That was not a good sign.

My face must have given it away
when I came back to my desk.

“
That bad
huh?” Kelly asked.

*

Lunch break could not come soon
enough. I needed to get out of the office and cool down. I headed
towards Liverpool Street. I had quit smoking about eight months
ago, but at that moment I was tempted to buy a packet just so I
could have a quick puff to de-stress myself.

“
Hi, excuse
me,” the gorgeous brunette startled me. “Have you got five
minutes?”

Five minutes? I’d give this
girl five hours. “Yeah, of course. How can I help you?”

“
I’m working
for a charity helping children in Africa. Did you know that 19,000
children die in Africa each day?”

Bollocks. I’d
walked into a minefield of charity street workers – charity muggers
or
chuggers.
Groups of animated young people, carrying clipboards and
trying to separate you from your money, all in the name of a good
cause. Don’t get me wrong, I am not a heartless bastard. I give
money to charity. Three pounds comes out of my wage packet each
month in a
Just Giving
scheme set-up by work. I felt terrible that there were
children living in Third World countries who were
starving.

It’s just that I only had an
hour for lunch.

I kicked myself for being duped
by her looks and fantastic legs, exposed by black leggings under a
frilly mini skirt. The blue bib with the name of the charity
scrawled across it in big bold white writing should have given it
away, but sometimes you miss the small details.

“
For just £15
a month you could sponsor a child, offering them a better life,”
the pretty brunette continued. I nodded, desperately trying to
pretend I was interested in what she was saying, but in reality I
was only interested in what was under the blue bib. Sordid little
thoughts raced around my brain, ricocheting from one side to the
other like a bumper car. Then it struck me. For the first time in
three years I was single, and here I was standing opposite a really
hot girl. I started to think what would Rob do in this position? Of
course he’d be so super cool it would make me sick. But I had seen
him in action, loads of times. Surely I could muster a small
fraction of that Rob magic.

“
Excuse me,
what’s your name?” I cut her off as she was explaining how my money
could help send a child to school.

“
Carla,” she
said, somewhat perplexed.

“
Look, Carla,
I would love to do more for the children of Africa, but perhaps I
could spend the money on taking you out instead?” Even Rob would’ve
been proud how I had just handled that. Pretty damn smooth if I do
say so myself.

“
What?” she
raised her eyebrows, hands on her hips, and head slightly cocked to
one side. Immediately I realised how my question could be viewed in
slightly bad taste.

I panicked. “No, what I meant
was if I sponsor a child then you have to have a drink with me.”
Casanova could not have put it better himself.

“
So, now you
are blackmailing me into going for a drink with you?”

“
No, what I
meant was...”

She held her clipboard up to my
mouth. “I wouldn’t go out with an insensitive prick like you if you
were the last man on earth.”

That seemed pretty final, but
just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, Carla decided to
announce my faux pas to her colleagues. “Hey, this guy will only
help the starving children of Africa if I allow him to get into my
pants.”

Technically that isn’t what I
had suggested, although if the children of Africa could see this
girl I think they would understand. Still, facing a sea of angry
clipboard holders and fellow city workers, I decided to cut my
losses and make a dignified exit.

I ran.

I got back to the office as
quickly as I could. What the hell just happened? I tried not to
dwell on it. After all, I had only been single for four days. I
just needed to dust the cobwebs down and get some match practice in
and I’d be as right as rain.

Clearing my head, I got back on
the phone. The second half of the day seemed to pass more quickly
than the first, and by the time 5.30pm rolled round I realised I
had not even started on the second draft of my sales plan.

“
I’m off now,
Dan,” Kelly said. “Are you coming?”

“
Nah, I’ve got
to finish this report,” I told her.

“
You sure
there isn’t anything I can do to help?”

“
Thanks, but
I’ll be okay.”

“
Okay, have a
good evening. Don’t stay too late.”

I sat back and stared at the
screen. One by one people started to leave the office. I cracked my
knuckles and decided to get stuck in. But before I could get into
my flow I was interrupted by the voice of an angel.

“
You’re Don
Hilles, aren’t you?” Shaila said looking at a piece of paper, and
then glancing back at me.

“
That’s...
er... that’s right,” I sputtered out. Hey, Don was close enough for
me. This girl could call me whatever she wanted.

“
I need to
tell you something,” Shaila continued. This was it. She was
probably going to tell me that she too had shared our moment
earlier today, but had been too shy to say anything before. Maybe
this day wasn’t going to end up as a total disaster after
all.