Czech in

I ended up interviewing a few people yesterday, and the (un)suprising result of it was that the Eastern European girl got the job.

I was very impressed with her enthusiasm, and her commitment to "go out of her way to ensure a sale". When it comes to interviews, she's got the buzz-phrases down pat. The fact that one of my other interviewees looked mildly like a horse had nothing to do with it.

Speaking of horses, does anyone want to buy a zebra? I realise this sounds like an odd request, but this is something we have been discussing recently. You can pick up a zebra - a couple of years old with pretty low mileage and a full service history for about $8000.

I truly believe there could be a niche in the market here - if you're down at Bournemouth beach and there are a load of old guys there with donkeys, what would you rather your kids had the experience of? The same goes for pony-trekking. In fairness, I've also been investigating hybrids - no, not ones that run on fuel or gas, but cross breeds. If all else fails - who fancies a zonkey?

I don't work with morons

"It's simple", I said in a knowing, desk thumping way.

"You're here to sell houses. If you're not going to do that, then you can go and work somewhere where you don't have to"

By the book, rocket up the ass motivation.

So when I arrived at the office this morning, mercifully without a hangover, and noted that the perpetually late subject of my previous post was sitting at his desk, wearing his tie, I had a pretty good idea how my morning was going to shape up.

You guessed it, there is the first victim of Ribby's reign of terror. Admittedly, he was a little disapointed that I would be holding him to his notice period. More so when he realised that this meant he still has to work this weekend while his boss is getting hammered in France.

It appears he was a little upset about a number of things - working weekends, having a lack of a full in-the-pub lunch hour, and being required to sell something. Not, as I thought, unreasonable demands upon a salesman. Perhaps I'm wrong.

A little later on, perhaps by conicidence, perhaps by design, a thoroughly gorgeous creature darkened my doors. Young, slim and Eastern European, she stated that she was very interested in a career in estate agency. When questioned a little further, it transpired that while she was in retail at present and had been looking to "make her career go up" into a management position, she would be prepared to go down for the right job.

She's got an interview tomorrow.

2nd time lucky

I can do this. I really can.

I keep promising to bring the Rib Shack back on line, and every time I fail. Maybe this time I'll prove myself, and all you buggers wrong.

"What's changed?", I hear you cry. "What the fuck is this?", I hear frustrated teenagers cry as they land upon this site in the endless search of a blog written by a girl, whilst not wearing any clothes. That could apply to the girl or the onanists of course.

Anyway, I've moved along the career path a little since we last spoke. At the start of March I changed from senior negotiator at the little local agency, to branch manager of one of the big boys on the block. It's a different job, that's for certain - instead of whoring out substandard housing, I'm whoring myself to obtain the instructions on substandard housing so my chattering sales-monkeys can earn themselves a measly percentage. In fairness, with one of them it's all he deserves. That can be left to another day - the return of the "I work with morons" series of posts.

Only about 5 weeks left to the wedding - hope some of you are nice and fit for the England v France football match.