I was thinking the other day about all the bosses I’ve ever had and how I only ever had respect for one of them and that was because he was mild mannered and left me alone to do my thang. All of the others have been minor egos of small brain carving out roles such as the best paperclip unclipper in East Catford, the most well thought of arranger of unpacking schedules since the last bloke got promoted to regional unpacker or the most improved keeper of lever arch files in the history of punched dividers. Then I thought it would be interesting to record on the interweb a description of the hairstyles of these bosses as I remember them; for all, as I recall, had awful hairstyles. This may be because I grew to loathe them and loathe everything about them – including hairstyle. However I think on reflection that they really were tonsorially deficient and that this was an outward sign of their inner crapness and why has it taken me so long to recognise this obvious sign of someone that you should not work for? Anyway, on with the show.
Bill was my first boss. He was an owlish man with neatly cut hair that had a natural curl. It was arranged in a classic 1950s cut which suited him perfectly. He was a fifties kinda guy. I liked Bill but left after a year as I couldn’t stand filling in pink forms and then transferring the details to green and white forms and anyway I had a far better offer that involved booze, sex and travel.
My next boss was called Richard but [ and this is an indication of the measure of the man and his general lack of nous ] he liked to be called ‘Dick’. I need not go on as you will now appreciate with that revelation that this was a boss who could never be taken seriously. Yet he compounded this massive credibility blunder by having his straw blond hair cut in a Joe 90 style that framed his corpulent red face making him appear like a strawberry trifle about to explode. I left after three years as I had a better offer that involved booze, money for not working and the chance to go on a high technology bender.
My next boss was Scottish and sported a well coiffed grey curly mop which was piled up on top of his head and attached at either side to a bushy beard – also grey. The whole effect was of a startled hawk [ he had most disconcertingly dead eyes and a hooked nose ] trying to escape from a brillo pad ]. He was a cold steely calculating man who couldn’t be trusted. I found this out when he backstabbed me. I left because I couldn’t stay. A moment longer.
Hair today, more hair tomorrow.
Interesting to see that saintgeorgesflagiatis transcends all socio economic strata. This house in The Royal Borough of Kensington and Chelsea is for sale at Â£1.4 million. I expect that the neighbours are sad to lose this tasteful resident.