Naturally, what with the older of the two thugs having promoted the simpleton from the village to be in charge of making the food (fast food, him being the slowest), this was of course, recipe for disaster. It is the bank holiday weekend and that... place was very busy indeed. Upon the older thug's return he was really rather put out (to put it mildly) because the statistics recording the load time (something these... people are obsessed with) were very tardy indeed. Alas, after things had settled down a bit, the older thug asked me, "What happen?" I replied, honestly, that I worked to the very best of my ability. He replied, "Everyone work to best. What happen?"
Now, in one of the more enlightened books I happened to have read, by Manly P. Hall, it is said that a gentleman must never speak badly of anybody. (Something which I quite often fail to do, at least when addressing you dearest diary). In accordance with such sound philosophy, I spoke only well of my colleagues, but omitted mentioning the simpleton from the village. I said, "The brother and sister both worked very well indeed this evening." This older brute is no Sherlock Holmes, but even he, lacking reason and not the sharpest tool in the box could not fail to deduce from such a statement that the only member of staff not mentioned was the very boy he promoted yesterday evening (from a process of elimination). I was honest, but I did not speak my mind. I wanted to say to the older thug (who's still a decade my junior), "Well, that's what can expect when you promote the slowest, youngest, most immature member of staff to a higher rank." Yet I held my tongue, and let the work speak for itself.
Later on that evening, the 'older' sister (just coming up 19) backed me up on this point, asserting that she had wanted to do away with the simpleton. At one point in the very busy evening, when the older thug had returned (and later with reinforcements: a member of staff from another store), the 'older' sister became really quite angry, banging metal trays around, cursing, and at one point became so vehement with a ladle that red sauce splashed all over the wall. For much of the rest of the evening, the sanguine coloured splash gracing the walls of the establishment became a kind of looming, ominous symbol, reminiscent of hightened tensions, stress, and most of all: mismanagement.
Yet this is what one gets when one has a business run by the least intelligent, the least wise, and the youngest of all. The older thug and I had a falling out some months ago, on the day after I was conferred with the honours of my master's degree in classical studies. He said to me, "F-ing 'master'". This grated somewhat, but I held my tongue for a good hour or so, before there was a lull. Then, I was less than courteous and polite (my usual self), not aggressive, but assertive, stating that it had taken me twelve long years of studying to attain that qualification, and listing the qualification itself: Magister Artium in litteris humanioribus cum honoribus (with the rolled 'r's and usual Latin pronunciation - not nobby and Anglicised as public school boys speak it, but well educated, at university). I also happened to mention that our nation's PM studied this very same subject at university, and did not study making fast food. Since then he and I have not seen eye to eye, and the older thug has also since then expressed his displeasure at our PM (yesterday evening, in fact). Therefore it comes as no suprise, him not being a fan of our PM, that since then anyone and everyone has been selected for promotion except myself: even the village idiot. (The poisoned dwarf missed it when she didn't turn up for work, and the other lad, again her age - 17 - had a low frustration tolerance and sometimes turned up late or intoxicated, or stormed out in a huff, and was therefore promptly fired). Yet this is not the golden age of Elizabeth the First. It is not the eldest, nor the most pious, nor even the most capable or well educated that are promoted here: it is the least mature, the most juvenile, the least capable and least well educated. These are the Dark Ages.
I shall have to endeavour to attempt to become self employed (for I do not imagine that holding a master's degree in classical studies, nor my age or ability have any bearing on employability in this once great nation). In the opening section to Albert Pike's Morals and Dogma the General wrote that Julius Caesar was a tyrant and that Cicero was a man of honour (or words to that effect). Likewise, the General also wrote that leadership should be comprised of those that are the brightest souls, the smartest. I confess, this thug from work, has only himself to blame for promoting a simpleton from the village, after the fiasco this evening. I am reminded of the time a customer rang up and asked me (pertaining to the younger of the two brutes - when issuing a number of refunds because we were at capacity), "So what you're telling me, is that the store manager cannot manage the store." to which I replied, honestly, "That is precisely what I am telling you, Sir. You are really quite correct in your assessment."
Max.
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