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.