Page 12 of The App Trap
“Fair point,” I agreed.
I stood up, snatched my jacket from the banister, packed my utterly pointless man-bag that contained nothing but a phone charger and shuffled off to work.
After my harmless morning banter with the temp on reception, I sloped off to do some personal printing, only to be pounced on by my ridiculous boss.
Neil was a Yorkshireman that lucked out by marrying a very rich woman that owned a television post-production firm, which he managed.
“Mornington lad,” said Neil as he glided towards me with his ‘I’m a Twat’ mug.
“Morning…ton. Who’s that on reception?”
“Oh, Lucy, from the agency apparently. Joel’s off on holiday to Costa del something or other, so we’ve got someone prettier to look at for a couple of weeks.”
Urgh. Neil spluttered a disgusting, pervy laugh as I curled my lip in dismay. How dare he speak of my work-crush, Joel in such a way? I decided to be the bigger man and move the conversation on anyway.
“What’s the matter with this bloody thing? It keeps saying ‘job cancelled’,” I mumbled.
“Oh yeah, your P45’s in the post, lad!” Neil winked at whoever was in earshot and cracked up way too much at his own joke.
“That’s all right, I had a second interview with The Sound Lab last week. Head of Sound, mate.”
“You what?” said Neil, gobsmacked, worriedly running his stubby fingers through his plaited beard.
“Only joking.” I pointed a finger gun at him with the safety catch on. “They didn't get me back for a second interview,” I mumbled.
“Ha. Right. Sorry, what?” said Neil, anxiously twisting his newly-injected Turkish hair plugs.
“Nothing.”
“Thought not. Heavy night last night then, lad?”
“Something like that, yeah,” I said, trying to end the encounter as abruptly as possible.
“What d’ya get up to?” he probed.
“A date,” I muttered.
“Fucking yes, son! Ay’up, was it one of the ones off them apps? The swipey ones?”
“Yeah, it was pretty swipey,” I replied.
“Fucking yes. Any action?” Neil rotated his hips in a weird figure-of-eight-like motion that looked like the complete opposite of what sex should ever be.
“No. I opted to have my phone stolen instead from a gang of so-called ‘Apple pickers’.”
Neil paused, then burst out laughing. “You’re into some right weird shit, you kids, aren’t ya? ‘Ere, you wanna try that Sliderr. It’s the nuts. Loads of fanny on that.”
“What? You're married, you dirty bastard. Also, it may have escaped your attention, but I’m not after any ‘fanny’,” I said, whilst still trying to process why Neil was using that word in this day and age.
“Oh yeah, I forgot. Anyway, settle down, lad, my brother showed me. Come on, what do you take me for?”
“I thought you only had a sister?” I narrowed my eyes at him.
“Brother-in-LAW, I meant. Christ, what is this, Spanish bloody question time?”
“Hang on, why would your brother-in-law be using a dating site if he’s married to your sister?”
Neil paused and then gave up working out what he was going to say next. “Sliderr. Trust me, lad. Soo-focking-perb. Apparently,” he said, projecting an animated chef’s kiss.
