Knobs

I’m always reluctant to discuss work colleagues on this blog. But then again, there was The Penis and Angry Little Man, who I felt if I hadn’t mentioned them, I’d be doing you, my readers, a disservice. So I find myself once more with this quandary. I have battled and the need to share has won again. So here we go.

I am surrounded by knobs.

Honestly, I am like a moth to their knob flame. Due to my low tolerance of people, I had to check with Partner D to see if I was being harsh. He had quite rightly not informed me of their knobage upon my return from holiday incase it tarnish my view of them. Turns out they are knobs. Big ones. Big, brass, posh, brown nosing knobs. I applaud people with enough of a blindly optimistic love of advertising to have the desire to climb the ladder, but for the love of shelf wobblers, be subtle about it. Please, I have a highly sensitive advertising gag reflex.

Let me recount yesterday’s conversation with them.

Scene: I have just got into work. It’s been raining and I have an umbrella in my hand. It’s 9:30 am, official creative start time.

Me: Hi
Knobs: Hi, is it raining outside?
Me: Yep
Knobs: That’s what you get for being late.

WHAT. THE. FUCK. This would be the third time the time police have mentioned what time I get in.

Knobs.