Mr. Big Shot

“Hello there!” barked a loud Scottish voice in my left ear.
“Splash” went my biscuit into the oily coffee, as an unwanted head appeared through the office window like an old cover of ‘Mad’ magazine.
“Oh…er….hello there” I echoed feebly.
Because he was allergic to the front door, this was the nearest our ‘Locality Director’ ever got to the unit and we lived in dread of one of his rare unannounced visits coinciding with our tea breaks. He invariably appeared at the window when we were admiring the lingerie brochures which fell out of the local paper, or when we were stuffing ourselves with purloined sandwiches from the food trolley, or when we were pulling our flies up. He always reminded me of the old silent film Nosferatu leering through the porthole of a Whitby bound ship at a young maiden preparing for bed; blissfully unaware of her fate until she turned around. He had the ecstatic grin of a sadistic, inbred Mediaeval torturer.
“Is your manager anywhere about laddie?” he roared.
“Aye…..er……yes…..er….no” I said. “He’s in another meeting with the inspectors.”
“What are their main impressions?” he boomed.
“Er….well….I’m not really sure, but most people can do Frank Spencer and Prince Charles…..”
“No! No! What do they think about your unit?”
“Oh…sorry…..er…..I don’t really know….. but Richard said he had things well in hand.”
“I’ll let you get back to work then laddie!”
“Slam!”
The old sash window fell like a well-greased guillotine on the King’s scrawny neck, and I watched with grim satisfaction as the Director’s purple lips slowly mouthed the words:
“Oh, God. Please help me”.
“Speak up would you?” I said “You seem to have got something stuck in your throat.”
“Help…. Help”
“Oh, very well then, but I’ll have to ring the porters first – they wouldn’t want me to encroach on their job description.”
“Help…Help”
“Please don’t be impatient. I’ll have to complete the incident form first, just in case I forget some of the facts.”
“Help.”
“Oh, my goodness!”
“What? What?”
“I thought I saw a donkey with an erection coming towards you, but it was just an illusion.”
“Oh, please help.”
“I’m sure there’s a protocol for this in the new Trust Non-Personnel Policy Yellow binder Edition 12. Or perhaps that was the one applicable to chimpanzees who happened to get their heads stuck.”
“Help.”
“Sorry for being apparently awkward, but I wouldn’t want the unit to be exposed to any litigation if I accidentally dropped the window as I was lifting it without proper training and authority.”
“Help.”
“No, I’m not at all happy with this. We ought to have a planning meeting first and invite half the Administration Block for coffee and sandwiches.”
“Help.”
“It would only take me an hour to set up the flipchart stand. Or perhaps a full Powerpoint presentation would be more professional. I feel strongly that everybody ought to be up to speed on this, before we begin. Yes, a presentation would be the best solution, I think”
“Help. Help. For God’s sake help.”
“Oh, very well. On your head be it” And I lifted the window.
“Crash!”
“Eeeeaaach!”
“Oops, sorry – I am a butter fingers. Don’t worry, I’ll try again”
Up it went.
“Thank you” he croaked.
“I’d go home sick, if I was you”.
“Yes…Yes…I was going to do that tomorrow anyway” he agreed ”sob…..sob.”
“Oh, dear. There’s no need to get so upset. It’s just a bit of shock setting in.”
“No (sniff) it’s not that.”
“What is it then?”
“I’m a bit disappointed about the donkey, that’s all.”

http://www.windowsofmadness.co.uk

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