After managing to avoid any further unpleasantness with Mrs. Prendergast, I found myself at that familiar juncture of trying to sell my soul for the percentage that I’m attempting to justify today. I was mired in explaining the very concept of social media to Mrs. Prendergast, I might as well have told her that I would advertise her property on the moon for all the good it was doing. I just wanted it to be over already.
And there it was, a knock at the door, the cavalry had arrived. The most unlikely of cavalries, but as Tom Panos says there is no such thing as bad news. Just badly packaged good news or some bollocks like that.
I looked up and peered through the front window to see who it was, and there he stood, the lanky streak of piss that was my main competitor, Sean Greener of Greener & Co.
This was the twat that no one had heard of three years ago and thanks to some clever advertising and some kamikaze discounting wars, had bought himself the lion’s share of the market. His adverts all peddled the same vision of freshness and uncomplicated slickness, carrying the line that had poached a thousand clients: “Because the grass is always greener with Greener & Co.”
You have to be ready to admit when you have been defeated, outgunned and outclassed. But like the end of Butch Cassidy & The Sundance Kid, you have to go out fighting in order to stand a chance of being remembered as being a hero.
In the ten seconds of awkward silence that hung in the air, I leapt forward and took Greener by the hand and said “Roger!” as loud as I could. Even Sean was confused, he was working out why I would introduce myself so enthusiastically to someone who already knows me. The shock and awe tactics had worked because the next sweet words out of his mouth were:
“Er, yes, Roger..”
I cut him off before he was able to elaborate any further and I merely said:
“I’m going to let you take over here. I really hope you get it.”
“Er, thanks.” The poor man didn’t know what was about to befall him.
I turned to Mrs. Prendergast before I left and handed her a folded piece of paper with the words “Read me now” written on the outside. Without any further ado, I was out the door and down the path before any further explanations were necessary.
The note simply said: “The man sat opposite you is Greener the pervert. Don’t worry I am calling the police for you.”
Apparently the police held Greener for an hour whilst Mrs. Prendergast issued a tearful list of fictitious sexual misdemeanours against Greener.
After much unpleasantness, and as ogling at a pair of breasts, is not strictly speaking a Class A sexual assault, Greener was released. There was little to hold him with as the confusion grew even further as Mrs. Prendergast forgot everybody’s names and Greener’s case of mistaken identity became lost in Mrs. P’s special brand of dementia.
I sat in the car watching as this all played out in wonderful technicolour with surround sound.
I totally agree with the self help gurus. Success is more about setting more realistic goals and about doing what makes you feel good.
It’s all well and good being self confident when you’ve achieved one of your goals, but you can’t leave anything to chance so I called the local newspaper and gave them an anonymous tip off that was all too rare for them to pass up. Granny shagging is always guaranteed to get you on page one of the newspaper. Greener should be paying me, not even he could afford to buy that much publicity so quickly.
Maybe this week wasn’t going to be too bad, after all.