Signs

Juicelog Tues 300506: Back many moons ago I used to share an office with a gay boy called Matt J. Working with Matt was a highly enjoyable experience for me as I found him to be a sharp witted chap who inspired me with his impeccable taste in style and design. As a perfectionist there were times when his attention to detail bordered on the obsessive but he always managed to do this with such light heartedness. When Matt finally decided that he had enough of commuting into London and that he wanted to find a job nearer to home (in Brighton) to give himself a better quality of life, my manager was then presented with an extremely difficult challenge of finding a replacement for him. My bosses finally appointed someone called Sandra to take over from Matt.

Sandra on her first few days seemed okay but then after a while everyone started to realise that there was something that wasn’t quite right about her. Apart from being a power freak we also found out she was a bible basher. For the past two years I’ve had the adverse luck to share an office with her (which is not too dissimilar to sharing an office with God). Our daily conversations rarely stray from work stuff, the weather and how busy our weekends were. Luckily, we’ve never been unpleasant to each other as those types of situations never arose.

Last Friday I saw her wearing a badge that simply had the word Signs printed on it in a flame-like font. This got me slightly curious and so I then asked her what the badge was for. She said it was for a motivational training event that she was going to in West Ham Stadium in a couple weeks time. I confused her Signs event with one of those self-help seminars (that are de rigueur in the US) and proceeded to quiz her about which motivational guru was taking the seminar. She proceeded to tell me more about details of the event and tried to persuade me that I should go along to Signs.

Today, like one of those persistent insurance salesperson Sandra gave me a leaflet just in case I had forgotten about the conversation we had the other day. Most people at work have more or less cottoned onto the fact that I am a more of a fan of pizza (i.e. cheese) rather than sushi (i.e. fish). There are a few subtle clues in my office which should assist her in working out what my sexual preference is. Par example:

Now I’m quite certain she has got quite a good inkling and that is why she has never asked me questions about my personal life. Whereas Matt J’s second question on a Monday morning would have usually been “how many and how big?”