D’ya know what I mean?

That is one sentence I hear about 100 times a day. If it isn’t customers (we call them clients, I’m really a prostitute) it’s my boss, the 28 year old sycophant who agrees with everything that his boss (my overall boss says). My overall boss of the unit, being a 36 year old bitch troll who is 5ft 3 and comes from a family of 9. So she has something to prove to everyone she meets on a daily basis. Small woman syndrome combined with large family competing for parents love syndrome.

 The 28 year old, torn between his love for his wife and newly born daughter, and his wild carefree days of playing five a side football at night followed by several pints of Carlsberg until pubs closed, then on weekends going to see his beloved Irish league football team, is a communications executive. Yet, spot the irony, he cannot communicate with anyone and constantly throws into conversations “D’ya know what I mean?” If I was a client and I wouldn’t be, I would love to say, “No I don’t know what you mean, that’s why I am paying you to explain why my business isn’t getting the coverage I think it deserves, if I did know what you mean, I wouldn’t have asked the question, nor would I be here.”

 He also wears yellow or pink shirts with a black t-shirt underneeth. Yellow/pink shirts are bad enough, who does he think he is? The Great Gatsby? Stupid man. But when he asks you to do something, he can’t communicate what he actually wants you to do cos he gets lost mid sentence and starts up something else. Then when it isn’t done right, bitch troll comes in and gives off, but because bitch troll loves babies, she gets on really well with conflicted football father, I get the blame of everything.

 It’s really bloody irritating because I don’t have a crystal ball, d’ya know what I mean?

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