New agony uncle Nathan Grind rips into the entitlement generation
Q. I’m really compromised by what my firm considers to be ‘correct’ business attire. (Most of my peers have accounts at Roderick Charles.) I’d like to push the sartorial envelope a little, but am afraid I’ll be told off or worse still, ostracised. Any ideas?
Compromised? Compromised? I wonder if you might have taken a wrong turn out of the lifts at the milk round and instead of RuPaul’s Drag Race you ended up in a City law firm. You are not employed – at, by the way, a salary which is a) both hilariously disproportionate to your actual market value and b) more than 99% of the rest of the UK population – to strike enlivening sartorial notes. You are employed to get your fracking head down and learn how to be a lawyer so that the hundreds of thousands of pounds being invested in your training will, one day, show some kind of return to your investors. You could try wearing a pair of salmon socks or a flamboyant tie, but you will look like a dick and either be ostracised by your colleagues or hog-tied and left naked and covered in BBQ sauce in the disabled toilet at the Christmas party. Or hopefully both. Now piss off and do some work.
Q. My partner, on the rare occasions she’s at her desk, listens to music on her iPhone all the time. Not only is this bad management practice, it’s also terrible music. (Eighties synth pop keeps leaking out of the headphones.) How can I discourage her?
I take it by ‘my partner’ you mean your boss, and not the delicious waif with porcelain skin you met at Uni and are busy embittering with a string of cancelled dates, dried-up meals and failure to perform even the most basic of sexual duties? If so, you need to wake up and smell the stale sweat of yet another 1am trapped in a document room. Your partner owns you, and you therefore neither have the right to discourage her, nor the wisdom to realise that 80s synth-pop is the foundation of the insipid electroclash crap you dance to like a stick-insect after a major stroke at the overpriced, low-ceilinged dump in Hoxton you think is a nightclub but which is in fact simply a skip with a roof and a sound-system. If you want to ingratiate yourself with her and solve your idiotic First World Problem in one go, try buying her a pair of noise-cancelling in-ear buds, and then mention at your next appraisal that you might benefit from more regular pellets from the sweet Pez-dispenser of her immense lawyery goodness. Until then, go listen to some real music.
Q. I’m having a relationship with a married peer. I’m happy to find a new job, but how do I explain the situation to my recruitment consultant?
I have just had to have a look at my calendar to make sure that it is not Stupid Day, and you are simply acting like you have a single brain cell. It is, in fact, Stupid Day, but only in Turks & Caicos, which is nowhere near as nice as it sounds, in fact it’s a sh*thole, but I digress. You are stupid. Not only are you stupid enough to be having an affair with someone who’s married – get this into your thick skull, if the message is capable of piercing the inch-deep layer of foundation you have lathered on your face in your pitiful attempts to keep your sexual paramour interested: he is NEVER going to leave her – you are also stupid enough to think you have to explain it to your recruitment consultant. What the hell has it got to do with him or her? Explain it to your therapist and ask them to talk to you about co-dependent enablers and their chance of turning lying turds like your ‘peer’ into faithful partners. Tell your recruiter you want more money or better options or whatever the hell you like. Better yet, dump the duplicitous sack of crap who is using you as a parking garage for his pork sword, stay at the firm and then call his house and leave a saucy message on his ansafone so his wife can give him a nice black eye when he next comes in from schtupping one of the other dim-witted saddoes he is doubtlessly stiffing at the same time as you. Men like that never learn until you break into their flat and cut all their clothes in half. Now go download ‘First Wives Club’ on Netflix and never darken my doors again. NG