Le Boss sashays into the office and up to my desk.
“Can you do me a favour,” he asks. Tiny tinkling alarm bells begin to sound in the empty, echoing recesses of my mind.
“Maybe,” I say as guardedly as if I were surrounded by a 10-foot-tall barbed-wire fence, a dozen machine gun nests and a regiment of Gurkhas. “What is it?”
“Can you take my place on a conference call tomorrow morning?”
“Probably, what’s it about?”
“It’s to do with the Honest Bob the Plumbers contract.” Now, we do a managed service thing for HBtP: call centre, website, etc. This is not my area at all; I only know from Klueless Support; I talk to machines all day, not people.
“But I don’t know anything about that,” I point out.
“Don’t worry,” he replies, “Just go on the call and listen to what everyone’s saying. You won’t need to do or say anything or make any decisions.”
I make a “what-the-flip?” face at him.
“It’s what I always do.” He says, and wanders off to find the kettle or engage in some other similarly critical, high-flying activity..
This is why he's paid more than me, obviously.