ex-boss
Jag har bett min före detta chef och vän från det gamla jobbet att skriva ngt slags arbetsintyg till mig...han gick loss. Det ger en ordentligt skev bild av mig (?) hoppas jag verkligen, fast är otroligt kul:
"What if I submitted this for my "write up" on you? Could you imagine? Here's my "fictional story" of you:
Summarizing your work experience.
His first major accomplishment was falling in with the stockholm brat pack. He perfected the "looK"; 3 days carefully trimmed stubble, hair grown out in a reminiscent-of-Vikings-in-cartoons hair style, silk scarf around the neck tied "just so", gold framed, mirrored-lens Chanel sunglasses, snug unbuttoned silk shirts, tight jeans and Tod's loafers. After years of chillin' on Sturgaten with the scions of fallen aristocratic families, he grew tired of their constant discussions on how influential and connected their grand-uncle's, third cousin's, brother-in-law was in King Oscar's court. The partying began to get tiring too. Always the same story, getting together to do blow and have sex with hot Swedish babes (boys, girls, didn't matter) in shabby, poorly maintained castles. And those omni-present oil paintings in everyone's livng-room/orgy room were so distracting: it was difficult enough to maintain an aquavit erection, but always in the center of the room, subtly lit via hidden track lighting, was somebody's Grand Uncle Gustaf peering down on the mess with a jaundiced eye. You could hear Old Uncle Gustaf sniffing with disdain, "aristocrats in our day actually participated in the arts, letters and politics, look at these miscreants". Enough was enough for you. He head heard about the bourgeois notions of "education" and "work" and decided to try his hand at both.
He got an education. While at times the studying was painful and tedious, he managed to cajole, influence and negotiate his way through term papers and final grades. Blowing that math professor for the A at "Le Ecole" was worth it in the long run. After graduating, he decided he should check out what all the "fuss" was about work. After all, where do these millions of bourgeoisie go every day when they get in their cars, buses, trains and "go to work"? What do they DO there?
He found a boutique training company, a place where he had heard you didn't have to work too hard to get paid. Just get in front of a room, read off slides, and collect a small paycheck to supplement your inheritance (at least it "looked like" you were working). Here he learned about presentations, travel, and how to use a computer. He found that he liked this "work idea" more than he expected. He began to grow as a consultant. He was in high demand with many clients. He traveled to other countries and saw how the non-swedish, non-aristocratic, dark-haired, poor people all over the world lived and he felt sorry for them. He once saw a black retriever pupply with a limp and befriended it [yes, linking to 'Meet the Parents' here].
After a while he achieved a certain degree of success. He fancied himself a thoroughbred horse: carefully brushed, oiled and maintained with nice white tape wrapped around its slender ankles.. A plush, five star trailer ride and, voila, he would arrive at a client site with chin up and be trotted out in front of another group of dazzled customers.
Eventually, he came to America. He had trouble adjusting at first. How do I know who to hang out with when there are no aristocratic families to separate the "special" people from the unwashed masses? Those Kennedy's, Duponts and Rockefellers are sooooo hard to hang out with! There are no status-communicating oil paintings on living room walls? Men who actually wear men's jeans and not women's? The only people that look like my friends on Sturgatan are the gay guys in The Castro? And, of course, "Ick, what's wrong with these people, why do they work so hard?"
ah, if I had time to write more... :-)"
Jag låter som en riktig stekar-fjolla....åh om det åtmistone var sant!
"What if I submitted this for my "write up" on you? Could you imagine? Here's my "fictional story" of you:
Summarizing your work experience.
His first major accomplishment was falling in with the stockholm brat pack. He perfected the "looK"; 3 days carefully trimmed stubble, hair grown out in a reminiscent-of-Vikings-in-cartoons hair style, silk scarf around the neck tied "just so", gold framed, mirrored-lens Chanel sunglasses, snug unbuttoned silk shirts, tight jeans and Tod's loafers. After years of chillin' on Sturgaten with the scions of fallen aristocratic families, he grew tired of their constant discussions on how influential and connected their grand-uncle's, third cousin's, brother-in-law was in King Oscar's court. The partying began to get tiring too. Always the same story, getting together to do blow and have sex with hot Swedish babes (boys, girls, didn't matter) in shabby, poorly maintained castles. And those omni-present oil paintings in everyone's livng-room/orgy room were so distracting: it was difficult enough to maintain an aquavit erection, but always in the center of the room, subtly lit via hidden track lighting, was somebody's Grand Uncle Gustaf peering down on the mess with a jaundiced eye. You could hear Old Uncle Gustaf sniffing with disdain, "aristocrats in our day actually participated in the arts, letters and politics, look at these miscreants". Enough was enough for you. He head heard about the bourgeois notions of "education" and "work" and decided to try his hand at both.
He got an education. While at times the studying was painful and tedious, he managed to cajole, influence and negotiate his way through term papers and final grades. Blowing that math professor for the A at "Le Ecole" was worth it in the long run. After graduating, he decided he should check out what all the "fuss" was about work. After all, where do these millions of bourgeoisie go every day when they get in their cars, buses, trains and "go to work"? What do they DO there?
He found a boutique training company, a place where he had heard you didn't have to work too hard to get paid. Just get in front of a room, read off slides, and collect a small paycheck to supplement your inheritance (at least it "looked like" you were working). Here he learned about presentations, travel, and how to use a computer. He found that he liked this "work idea" more than he expected. He began to grow as a consultant. He was in high demand with many clients. He traveled to other countries and saw how the non-swedish, non-aristocratic, dark-haired, poor people all over the world lived and he felt sorry for them. He once saw a black retriever pupply with a limp and befriended it [yes, linking to 'Meet the Parents' here].
After a while he achieved a certain degree of success. He fancied himself a thoroughbred horse: carefully brushed, oiled and maintained with nice white tape wrapped around its slender ankles.. A plush, five star trailer ride and, voila, he would arrive at a client site with chin up and be trotted out in front of another group of dazzled customers.
Eventually, he came to America. He had trouble adjusting at first. How do I know who to hang out with when there are no aristocratic families to separate the "special" people from the unwashed masses? Those Kennedy's, Duponts and Rockefellers are sooooo hard to hang out with! There are no status-communicating oil paintings on living room walls? Men who actually wear men's jeans and not women's? The only people that look like my friends on Sturgatan are the gay guys in The Castro? And, of course, "Ick, what's wrong with these people, why do they work so hard?"
ah, if I had time to write more... :-)"
Jag låter som en riktig stekar-fjolla....åh om det åtmistone var sant!
posted by varanen at 08:27
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