“Table for one please”. These are the words every 30 plus year old hates to say as they enter a restaurant. Unfortunately, I am forced to say them every evening. After 10 hours of vomiting out repetitive sales pitches that make accountants want to Van Gogh their ears, I have nothing but the company of a dead salmon and the odd ant crawling over a lettuce to cheer me up. If there is a more painful way to die than contracting the current strain of E-coli marching through German cucumbers it is suffering from loneliness. (Or being hung up on during cold calls. Repeatedly. Everyday).
Just as all good candidates are happy in their mundane but extortionately paid jobs, all beautiful women with the prettiest smiles are in relationships with men who can provide them with more than low lithium induced rants about the joy of missing KPI’s.
Last night I thought my fate was set to change. For once I was not the only lonesome soul in the restaurant. As I walked in, on an island of her own, surrounded by happy couples, was a woman possessing eyes so stunning even Dale Winton would have felt a hardening in a certain part of his body by glancing into them. This was my one chance at having something other than a dead salmon to talk to. As I prepared my pitch in the toilet I revised my recruitment inspired objection handling techniques. Then it dawned on me: this is why I am single. I decided to go with the flow. I rushed out, heart pounding, ready to deliver some classic Bayr banter when I saw the seat opposite her had been occupied by another man. Just before I asked the waiter to be Fawlty to my Manuel, smacking a frying pan across my face, I observed hope in the air. They weren’t kissing. They weren’t touching. There was an awkwardness between them. I found myself rummaging for twisted logic in the wreckage of my mind. I desperately prayed to God that they’d be brother and sister. As I opened my eyes God had either: a) revealed the 11th Commandment: though shalt not be a recruiter or b) answered my prayer whilst allowing the anti-Christ Nick Clegg (whose poster once adorned my bedroom wall) to introduce another imbecilic law: legalisation of incest. They were all over each other.
With my heart sinking faster than Greece
Tonight I have a table for one booked at Jamie’s Italian in Covent Garden , 7pm. I would greatly appreciate it if any one of you would pop down just to say hello. Or, if you are one of the dedicated fans who love slating my brilliant cutting edge articles on eFinancialcareers, come down for five minutes and tell me what a low life weener I am. I’d really appreciate that. Seriously. It’s better than being alone.
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