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Friday 31st August, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlEvery year we make employment offers to summer interns, usually academic types who’ve completed a Masters in business or finance. Although I’ve noticed recently that a few creative ones have been lured in, seduced by the golden handshake of a few thousand pounds, in return for their adventurous streak, demonstrated on their CV as still-life modelling, or such like.

As a welcome to City reality – also known as leaving your soul at the reception desk every morning – we managers are required to host an induction day. Each of us has to attend the whole day and talk for an hour about each of our business areas to a bunch of wide-eyed new starters holed up in a conference room in a five-star hotel.

The day always starts with a cringe ­inducing ice-breaker exercise, where if I had a tenner for each of the times I’ve heard a new-start

Friday 24th August, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlI usually love this time of year. The office is quiet and the annoying ones are away on holiday. However, this time around things haven’t quite gone to plan.

First to ruin the glorious work hiatus was a well-known stickler for detail. Stickler Man hadn’t even made it through Customs when he was on the phone panicking about having forgotten to set up his out-of-office message alert on his email account. Of course, I was happy to oblige when he asked if I would “be a love” and do it for him.

I’m pleased to say he now has a personalised message informing his clients that he’s busy looking for a child bride in Thailand. Naturally, a couple of his clients have already inquired about the procedure for changing to a new account manager, and the message has been active for only a couple of days.

Friday 17th August, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlWhat goes around really does come around. I found this out to my detriment recently when I sneaked a break to acquire a coffee.

I was waiting in the queue when two young traders I’d stitched up last week, after spotting them bunking off from work in the Aston Martin garage, entered. Making much noise about “only wanting a coffee”, they jumped the queue, almost shoving a young girly over.

A silent but deadly atmosphere enveloped­ the queue, with a muttering of “blooming cheek” from a maverick IT-type man. When the cheeky traders ignored the many dark looks, IT-type Man upped the ante.

“There’s a queue, if you hadn’t noticed,” he bellowed, to which one Cheeky Trader said cockily: “So that’s why you’re all standing there. Never would have guessed.”

A queue-rage incident erupted. IT-type Man s

Friday 10th August, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlPreviously when I’ve bought a car, the sales manager at the dealership has whizzed around to my office to indulge me in a test drive. This time, however, I fancied visiting the garage itself, so booked an afternoon off work.

I arrived at the Aston Martin dealership and was busy discussing the merits of the DB9 versus the V8 Vantage when a toilet break was required.

After sampling the Molton Brown handwash, I was attempting the marble-floored walk back to the showroom when I was accosted by a Lottery-winner type. “’Ave you got a cloth? My kid ’as dropped ’is ice cream.” he hollered. Glancing towards the doors, I saw Lottery Boy jumping in a pool of pink sludge, causing it to splash on to the £128,000 V8 Vantage Roadster, while his Pat Butcher lookalike mother yelled into her Swarovski crystal-stickered  phone.


Friday 3rd August, 2007 posted by City Girl
City GirlIn the team managers’ meeting this week, the hottest topic on the agenda was the recent web patrol implementation – where managers were provided with a report detailing the websites staff visited and the time they clocked up surfing.

A male colleague nearing retirement wasted no time cutting to the chase and sharing with us his thoughts on the web usage report for his team.

“Hilarious! I’ve looked at some of the websites they’ve been wasting their time on.

I can’t wait to question them,” Retirement Man said. I sat there ­marvelling at how he found the time to waste on such pursuits.

Another colleague, a twentysomething female with a personal PR campaign on constant overdrive, started twittering on about how shocked she was at being forced to see such filth. One of her team had looked at a rap site. Af

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