It's the first day at work among the Nerd Herd at Cillian's office, and between the pow-wows and the pep talks somebody's head is going to be wrecked
It feels like, I don't know, the first day of school - unfamiliar faces, new names to remember, the smell of fresh-pressed shirts. No one's tried to give me a wedgie yet but then this is Pricewaterhouse whatever-they're-called and I'm sure they restrict that kind of thing to the Christmas porty.
I'm in the door five minutes and I have to say, roysh, I'm already seeing Cillian in a different light.
See, stick someone like him in a place like Lillies or, I don't know, Krystle, and he looks like what he is - a dweeb in an affordable suit.
But in here, this is his arena - and he knows it.
He's at the coffee station, changing the filter on the percolator and there's, like, 10 or 11 other members of the Nerd Herd surrounding him, hanging on his every word.
He might as well be talking Irish for all I understand of it. All I'm getting is the odd word or expression. It's all, adverse opinion this and statutory obligations that and Section Six the other.
But whatever it means, roysh, these geeks are lapping it up. He's like a God for the terminally uncool.
"Let's hope 2008 doesn't turn out to be one of those years," he eventually goes, "like the third quarter of 2005!" And they all stort cracking their holes laughing and slapping the thighs of their slacks.
If that passes for humour in here, wait'll they get a load of my act - I'll be like Ricky Gervais in this place.
"Ahem," I go, to try to get the focker's attention.
He turns around. "Ross!" he goes, sounding actually happy to see me.
"You made it!" I'm like, "Just about - it was a total mare getting here." And the whole Dork Nation turns around at the same time and - get this - they look me up and down. They actually look me up and down.
"You're just in time to meet the team," he goes. "Everybody, this is Ross . . . Kelly?" and I nod. "My new PA," he goes, and I'm pretty sure I hear one or two, like, sniggers.
Then he introduces me to his team. They have actual names but I'm calling them Nigels one to 11. They're the worst advertisement I've ever seen for, like, learning shit at school.
"Ross," he goes, "let's go into my office for a pow-wow." A pow-wow - what does Sorcha see in this tosspot? I go in and sit down. "Er, that's my side of the desk," he goes.
I'm like, "Does it matter?" and he's like, "Well, call me precious - but it does to me," and I end up having to get up and to walk around the other side.
I'm actually going to have a bit of fun wrecking this goy's head.
He sits there on the other side of the desk, making, like, a steeple out of his fingers. "What do you know about PricewaterhouseCoopers?" he goes.
"Just that it's a 20-minute walk from Pearse Street Dort Station," I go, "and that you don't put on a shuttle bus." He laughs. "Oh, that'd explain why you arrived at 11.15," he goes but he's not, like, bollocking me over it - he's too busy trying to be my new bezzy mate.
"PricewaterhouseCoopers is the biggest accountancy firm in the world," he goes. "It was formed in 1998 after the merger between two London firms - Price Waterhouse and Coopers & Lybrand. We have three main service lines - audit and assurance, tax planning and compliance and advisory consulting . . ." I'm there, "Be still, my beating hort . . ." which he decides to ignore.
"The company currently employs almost 150,000 people in 150 countries and its total worldwide revenues last year amounted to 25 billion US dollars. I'm fortunate enough to have just moved into one of the more exciting areas - global political risk assessment . . ."
I actually yawn in his face.
"Yes, well," he goes, "I can always, er, fill you in on the ins and outs of that another time. Look, Ross, can I say something to you . . ."
I'm like, "You're the boss." He's there, "I am - and I know you think I'm somehow getting off on having you work for me. Especially because you were married to Sorcha . . ." "Still am," I go.
He's like, "You're still married to her - whatever. Look, I know you'd rather not be here but your financial circumstances mean you have no choice. Why not let's all make the best of it? This could be a huge opportunity for you, Ross - and an opportunity for us . . ."
"Meaning?" "Well, I can't claim to know the first thing about rugby - although I was at the two Croke Park games last year and I'm taking Sorcha to Paris - but I think it's well known in this city that you possess certain . . . leadership skills? You're a leader and you're a winner - and a company like this can only benefit from having someone like you on the payroll." He knows what buttons to press with me, in fairness to him.
"Look, I've got a job for you to do right now. It's pretty onerous, I'm afraid. I need you to photocopy this report for me," he goes and he slaps this big 1,500-page book down on the desk in front of me.
Of course, I don't even move. Photocopying - is he ripping the actual piss? "Mundane stuff, I know," he goes, "but very, very important."
So, being basically too nice for my own good, I grab it and make my way down to the photocopier, which I notice, much to my relief, is big enough to photocopy two pages at the same time. But it still takes me, like, six hours, because every couple of minutes one of the Nigels storts hovering and, when I turn around, goes, "Can I just get in and do one."
I swear to God, roysh, I'm that long standing over the thing that I'm going to end up with a suntan. And it's only towards the end, when I've got, like, eight pages left to do that I actually bother to look at the report.
And I totally flip.
I burst into Cillian's office without even knocking.
"You've got me photocopying the Golden Pages!" I go.
He doesn't even look up from his work, just goes, "How far did you get before you realised?"
I'm like, "Water filtration and purification equipment . . ."
He points at me and storts, like, shouting at me. He goes, "And that will teach you not to show up here more than two and a half hours late and think it's funny. You start work here at 8.30am and your first job of the day is to have a coffee on my desk. Make sure it's strong and black with two sugars and if it's not, you better hide when you see me coming. After that you do whatever the hell I tell you to do and you never, ever yawn in my company again.
"And, Ross," he goes, as I turn to leave. "As for having Sorcha's husband working for me - you better believe I'm getting off on it."