Where are you now ???
As a travelling sales bod you hear this alot through the course of your working day. The Imperialist scum office manager rings you up for a location report; to see if you’re actually going to make it to Windsor for the three-thirty appointment to talk to nice Mr Patel about some sort of insurance cover he probably doesn't want or need. I remember a time before mobiles when public phoneboxes were my friend. I chose when I’d ring work to give them an update on where - in point of fact - the fuck I was. And thanks to the wonderfully effecient dynamism of the British Telecom repair department, nine times out of ten the interior of the phone box looked like the Tasmanian Devil, armed with a couple of sledgehammers had just done that whirly, spinny thing he does for about half an hour. I never minded the reek of piss, the used johnnies hanging off the receiver like some kind of elegant telephone after-dinner headgear, or the occasional steamy turd you’d find strategically placed on the yellow pages counter – no, fuck those. As long as the phonebox wasn't working it was fine by me. At least I could say, with all sincerity, that I'd tried to call the office. Ane even in the unlikely event I'd find a phonebox that worked, at least I could choose when I wanted to ring my manager; a bloke who made Hitler appear like a left-wing liberal hipster-type who owned a camper van and promoted the use of low-level narcotics for personal use to help communicate with our friends from Alpha Centuri.

But then along came mobile phones... and suddenly life became alot harder. It’s the working equivalent of being fitted with an electronic tag.

Even to this day I’m blighted by the works mobile phone. Notable conversations are as follows:

Boss: “Are you in Walthamstow yet, you lazy cunt?”
Me: “Yes! Been here for an hour, mate.”
Boss: “That’s strange, in that case I’ve just seen your dopple-fucking-ganger sitting in Buger King in Liverpool Street Station wearing your stupid fucking Pixies baseball cap eating a fucking whopper while reading the same fucking book you were reading in the office this morning. Finish your fucking buger and get to fucking Walthamstow PRONTO, you tit!”

And:

Boss: “Are you in Canning Town yet?”
Mate: “Spanky’s just gone for a slash, mate. He’ll be back in a minute.”
Boss: “Who is this???”
Mate: “Who’s this???”
Boss: “...are you in a pub???”
Mate: “Wassit to you, mate???”

And:

Boss: “Is Slough sorted? You manage to make it ok?”
Me: “Sure! No probs! Just finishing up there now, in fact.”
POW – POW – POW – HAKKA – HAKKA – HAKKA – HAKKA – POW – POW – POW, DESTORY ALL HUMANS!!! EEEEE-OOOO-WWWWWW-EEEEE!!!
Boss: “.........???........ Are you in a fucking amusement arcade???”
Me: “Erm, yes... yes I am...”

Fucking mobile phones... can’t wait for the time when apes walk and talk like men and ride round on the backs of horses rounding up us humans with nets and putting us in cages. I’d settle for that; the chance of being stuffed and mounted on a pedastal in some orangutan civil servants office – at least there wouldn’t be anymore annoying work-related mobile phone conversations to contend with.
( SpankyHanky, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 10:38, 7 replies)

Works phones
are a crime against humanity. Love the convo's. *click*
(Accounts Dracula, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 13:31, closed)

or you could've... you know... done your job

( likeajackhammer, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 13:48, closed)

I was thinking the same thing
But I realised that since I'm currently reading b3ta instead of working, pointing it out would be a tad hypocritical.
(oball needs Satan more than he needs me, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 5:48, closed)

*click*
Only 'cos I went out on the knock (double glazing, a long, long time ago)
I actually miss the strange, metallic smell of those iron-framed phone boxes.

And you had a Pixies baseball cap...
(Beer Elf Thought this was like a campfire, anyhow, on, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 17:26, closed)

Agreed
The Pixies baseball cap is what made the story for me.


In fact, if you give me said cap, I can 'run interference' for you by sitting in Liverpool St station, eating burgers and reading ;-)
(Pope Jamiroquai III, Mon 3 Aug 2009, 22:47, closed)

Seconded (or thirded?)
The Pixies baseball cap seals the deal.

*Clickety-click*
(SonoraAeroClub "OH SWEET HELEN OF BALLS!", Tue 4 Aug 2009, 12:43, closed)

Big grin right here
All too familiar mate. *click*
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 4 Aug 2009, 2:05, closed)