There is a pestilence upon this land. A plague moving to and fro through the twisting turning corridors of Rhodi. A dark cloud of tumult, powered by its inner wrath and anger - flitting from room to room like the reflection of the sun on the wall bouncing off a watch's surface. This plague can be quenched neither with snack, good news or a massive massive spring/summer order...
I refer of course to Paul Phelan. The Sultan of Sorrow, The Prince of Pessimism, The Duke of Disappointment, The Lord of Loss.
There have been many times lately where our beloved accessories manager has gone over the edge. If i watch him from my desk i can see the rage mounting throughout the day. As i watch he seems to slowly transform into a black hole - spinning slowly on its axis and sucking in all the joy of Rhodi from the surrounding area and spewing out rage and hate. Even now as i tell him that i have resurrected this blog he seems uncaring, cold, aloof - a shadow of the man we all once knew. I suspect one day i will walk into the office and see a small pile of ash where Paul once sat. The rage will finally consume him and he will spontaneously combust leaving only dust in his wake.
Many Paul-related things have occurred in the office since the last update. Most notably the final breaking of the Phelan. Allow me to set the scene. It is a quiet afternoon in the office, people have returned from lunch satisified with their victuals and refreshed, ready to work. As the noise of fingers tapping keys rises i sense a disturbance in the air - a slight scent of something amiss. I ignore the feeling and carry on with my work... But there it is again, a sense of impending peril, a danger untold lurking in the shadows ready to strike at any given moment. Suddenly the strike occurs, a crash, a smash, a shout of abject rage! Keyboard meets monitor, fist meets desk, outcry after outcry of rage pounds upon my eardrums leaving them ringing and raw. The breaking of the Phelan has finally occurred (please see image below for artistic recreation of this event).
Who knows what caused Paul to break? Did he have tuna instead of chicken for lunch? Were his underpants just that little bit too tight? Perhaps his brew was just that tiny bit too milky. Whatever the cause we all knew it was coming. Since that fateful day Paul has not been the man he once was. that playful gleam in his eye has been replaced with a furrowed brow, that boyish skip in his step now just the trudging steps of a dead man walking... and i fear it is spreading. Not ten minutes ago John had a brief moment of rage and frustration. And John sits next to Paul. What can this mean? Will it hit Imran? Am i next - earlier in the day i had slightly lost it at a colleague on the phone. Could this be the first sign of the 'Phelaning' welling up inside? Is there even a cure? Let us hope so for the sales corner of Rhodi is and always must be a place of joy and peace.
Please leave your qualms at the door.
