Hob Nobbin’

Martin is really quiet. He’s not really got much to say for himself, but he stinks of ale.

I am his mentor and have the task of ‘Inducing’ him into the ways of the Call Centre, as Penny puts it. I’ve tried to find some common ground with some ‘off the shelf’ small talk, but it didn’t work.

He became animated when we started to talk about biscuits, of all things, he seems to be a world authority on them, “I like a hob nob with my afternoon tea. Where’s the kettle? I’ll make us a brew.”

“We can’t have one. Heath and safety won’t let us,” I explained. “But, we have a great vending machine; it makes everything taste like hot dog sausage brine.”

He looked wounded and carried on with his biscuit lecture, “You know, I’ve never been one for ginger nuts. It’s really weird because I don’t not like them nor do I like them.”

Martin, that’s not weird, its just indifference.

Welcome to my world.