‘I’m letting her do all the heavy lifting today, just to prove I’m not a sexist pig’
Phaedra, this new intern I’ve been famously showing the ropes at Shred Focking Everything, really is an amazing worker. There’s less meat on Stella McCortney’s conscience, yet she can carry four bags of documents, two in each hand, like they’re literally nothing – you’d have to say fair focks to pilates.
I’m letting her do all the heavy lifting today, just to prove I’m not a sexist pig, which allows me to follow a few steps behind her, quietly appreciating just how well she fills those trousers.
We collect eight bags of documents of a highly sensitive/incriminating nature from [name removed on legal advice] and then I tell her to get into the front of the van. She looks confused. She’s like, “Are we not going to feed those documents into the shredder?”
“There’s plenty of time for that,” I go. “I think we’ve earned ourselves an early lunch. We could drive down to Powerscourt. My treat.” That beautiful face of hers lights up like the Vegas strip. Staff morale is important to me.
So five minutes later, we’re on the Stillorgan dualler and I’m weaving in and out of the lanes, playing Traffic Tetris, as you do. I’m giving it, “I never thought that work would be my kind of thing. But I have to say that I actually look forward to it these mornings. And most of that, Phaedra, is down to the fact that I get to see you. And that’s not sexual harassment. I’d say that even if you were a total trogdor.”
I wouldn’t, by the way. I really wouldn’t.
She’s like, “Thanks.”
“Hey,” I go, “staff morale is important to me. So what are you up to for the bank holiday weekend? I’ve got permission from Corporate to go out on Saturday night. Corporate is one of the nicer nicknames I have for my wife. We could possibly hook up if you’re in town.”
And that’s when she hits me with it. She goes, “I’ve started seeing someone.”
I can’t believe she’s actually Boyfriend Bombing me.
I’m like, “Seeing someone? Who?”
She goes, “You wouldn’t know him.”
“I don’t like the sound of him.”
“I haven’t told you anything about him.”
“Sometimes you just get a vibe. And I’m definitely getting a vibe about this guy. Human waste – that’s all he is.”
She doesn’t say anything in response that point. But I suddenly slow my speed.
“Actually,” I go, “let’s forget about lunch. Let’s just grab a couple of crappycinos from the petrol station and work through.”
She’s like, “What, because I’m seeing someone?”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I’m the boss – bear that in mind.”
“You’re not my boss. I’m an intern. And by the way, that’s something I wanted to talk to you about.”
Now, I might be as thick as an embassy wall, but I know what’s coming next.
She goes, “When are you going to start paying me?”