Excuse me, do you have a name tag?
A reedy voice piped nasally at me like a baby alligator squealing in a sock.
I looked up from my laptop to see which type of neer-do-well was haunting my Thursday office visit.
It was a wispy-looking, middle-aged man with grey skin and incredibly large glasses behind which his eyes swam lazily. I noticed he also had a stain over his left tit that looked suspiciously like egg or the infamous yellow sperm of the Latvian Mafioso.
I hoped for his sake it was egg.
Sorry?
I said perkily, like a well-thumbed nipple.
That would be a nipple of any sexual persuasion. I am an equal opportunities nipple thumber but I don't like hairy ones. Not since that time in Korea in '78
Ahhrum... I am the fire warden for this floor and we're having a Fire test this afternoon. I am taking everyone's names sure that everyone has signed in and I can't see your name tag?
Eggy-Womble coughed almost apologetically but at the same time with a predatory gleam in his eye as if I were a young rabbit and he was in the market for an extra lucky paw.
Inwardly I groaned. My office still hadn't figured out the door entry system and despite being in the new office for ages now, we had to scribble our names on a sign-in sheet every morning.
Needless to say, I never bothered my arse. Life is too short for other people's fucking nonsense.
I don't use a name tag.
I smiled at the wombling fool, hoping that we were sorted.
You don't have one? But you have to, it's the rules?
Eggy-Womble pursed his lips tight, like a lady penguin's under-purse in an arctic wind.
Oh I do have one, somewhere but it's a pain in the arse putting it on my monitor so I don't bother using it.
I wheeled a bit closer to old Eggy-Womble and nudged him jovially with my elbow as if we were two parachute-wearing brohams in a cargo plane at 40,000 feet and we were living for that shit.
Eggy-Womble's face turned ashen.
You what? You can't not just bother with it. It's...It's policy!
His face reddened and dimpled so much that he resembled one of my Aunt Margaret's thighs.
Listen, it's cool. I will put my name tag up next time. I left it in the house. Eh, how's that? We good?
I tried to give him another amigo-nudge but he skipped back angrily.
No, we are not good. I need your name and I will also be mentioning this to your line manager. It is very serious. What if there was a real fire, we need to know who is in and who isn't. Lives could be at stake.
Eggy-Womble Looked into the distance, no doubt imagining me smeared in my own shit and screaming as flames raged around me.
Oh for gaawwwwd sake. Fine. My name is Archer.
I grinned at Egg-sac, nearby Bernie-the-Woman made a coughing noise that sounded suspiciously like a stifled laugh.
And what is your first name Mr. Archer.
Egg-Flambe leaned in close and hissed at me threateningly, like a cat in a biscuit tin.
Archer is my first name mateychops.
I turned my back on him and started inserting a swipey transition in a random PowerPoint slide deck.
Right, that is it. This is appalling. I need to find your manager. I will be back!
Egg-Nog was glistening with rage now like toad skin in the moonlight and strode off in the hunt of someone boss-like.
Right, I am away for lunch. Say you have no idea who I was.
I grabbed my stuff and stood up.
I love hot-desking.
