F*ck 'Ems
Excuse the vulgarity of the title of this post: some people just have that effect on arbitrary constant. One such example is Foxtons the estate agents, which has been affectionately renamed "Fuck 'Ems" in this household. Not usually being one given to irrationality, the renaming is what feels like one small victory against the proliferation of the agency's minis and their invariably brash drivers found the country over, as well as said estate agent's generally abhorrent approach to being jumped-up-but-expensive middle men.
In the ongoing battle between Fuck 'Ems and me, though, I'm pleased to report a further small victory. Being at home when the telephone rang, I did what most people do (irrespective of what they are currently doing, which is a peculiarity of answering the phone I've never really understood) and answered it. The caller was someone from Fuck 'Ems who was interested to know whether or not we would still like to have a valuation on our flat, or whether indeed we were thinking of moving. (The back story here is that we'd called Fuck 'Ems around 4 months ago to see if they would be interested in doing a valuation of our flat. Their approach on the phone was so annoying, though, that we flatly refused to continue any sort of communication with them, and their our relationship had lain, unaltered until the phone call.)
"Well," I thought to myself, "the global economic downturn arising from the credit crunch in the US, and the subsequent potential impact on the housing market here in the UK, has reached such proportions that Fuck 'Ems is calling me, being no more than a curious homeowner some four months previous, to see whether or not they can generate business through any move or otherwise I might be considering."
"Well," I said to the eager agent, "I'm assuming your call is as a result of the global economic downturn arising from the credit crunch in the US..."
Obviously, I thought I was being funny and / or clever; clearly, the agent thought I was being an arse (which in itself is an interesting position, because that tallied with my thoughts on them; we were therefore being reciprocal arses, an unusual and creative circumstance, I am sure). This being the case, we both decided to go our separate ways: the agent on to the next half-interested prospective seller or buyer that they probably hope is susceptible to a bit of mini-driving nonsense; and me, back to whatever I was doing before the phone rang, but with a small beat of joy in my heart, brought about by the possibility that all may not be well in the world of Fuck 'Ems.
Filed in General Interest, Personal, Society