When a friend asked me to go and work for a company that I hated I said: No Mike! I’m not doing it! No way!

I didn’t shout, the exclamation points are just for effect/ affect (which ever is correct… clever use of the ect sound, I know, wink face), if I had shouted I would have obviously just used capitals. Like an angry BF/GF in a Textual argument… maybe about social media. Why do couples always argue about social media?

Anyway, I digress… Mike, who shall remain nameless, called me and said “Yo, Bipolar Attention… you gotta do this.”

I scoffed. Let the script show that I scoffed hard.

“Seriously though, BiPolar Attention, there’s something fishy going on in this company, it’s like investigatory journalism.”

“Like a real journo?” (Industry talk for journalist, I stole that from Green Street, a truly flawed movie.

So to cut a long story to a medium length story, I agreed. I was to record the interview, everything that happened if I should get the job, and let’s be honest, if I was writing this blog, then I obviously got the job (spoiler alert).

On my way to the interview in my dad’s old suit, which whilst being a lie, is funnier than the Zara suit I bought on sale, imagine me swamped in this big old dad suit. HAHA. Laugh with me. Why won’t you laugh with me? At me? You’re boring.

Phone ran out of battery trying to find the place, ended up reverting to one of those printed maps that your mom gives you as preparation. It worked.

So all I had left was an idea… I would get a tape player in Borough Market from a charity seller… smart idea right! 13 Reasons Why, Baby Driver… Tapes are back in fashion. What’s a tape you ask? Shut up! You know what a tape is you digital hippie.

So I’ve pressed Play/Record which is the function to Record obviously, the two buttons simultaneously wedged “On” and it squeals away into a recording device reminiscent of the FBI in 1963. Just before the moon landing was faked. Controversial.

I pep talk myself outside… “Come ONNN Geoff. You fucking got this bruh!” I mean… not Geoff, that’s not my name or anything.

The interview starts… the interviewee is so Northern. Northern English, not American, not Irish… He’s hard to understand. I remember drama class, where I was bullied for being straight-ish, and it all came back to me. I talked to him in Northern Dialect to speak on his level. Oh! How we bonded on a series of streets, roads and schools that I had never heard of.

Simeon Lane! Oh yeah mate, classic, yeah, rough round there.

Parker Avenue? Oh yeah think I remember that ‘are kid… yeah… good one.

May have gone a bit far calling him ‘are kid, which is Mancunian for “friend” or “guy” but he seemed to go with the flow. The only trouble was, I had built myself a prison of character, I think there’s a better phrase for it… hold on… hmmm, and I am genuinely thinking right now. Built my cake now I had to eat it? Na… I’ll come back to it.

In fact, I think that’s enough words for one blog post, I’ll come back for Part 2 with all the hilarious consequences that follow! Note: I am still at work in this company now using their free wi-fi! Spoiler alert! So many LOL’s

This is the blog of Crocodile Books... how potentially exciting. All views are others, we don't actually write... just publish. If you are a writer, author, looking for a job... get in touch. We are hiring.

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