This week seemed to rush past in a blur of paper. It never ceases to amaze me how much paper a law firm can accumulate. All I heard was this week was "You see that huge folder of very important legal stuff and general stuff that is also super important and have you seen how much I make in a year because if you had and we won't talk about this for very long because talking about money is tacky and usually reserved for people that don't make money so, well, that's not me. I make a lot of money, A … Lot but god don't make me talk about it, but you have seen my Mercedes because of that day when I made you rush down to the car park because my life is so busy I can't possibly remember small white plastic cards that actually get me into this place where I accumulate money as fast as I do wives, what number am I on again? That doesn't matter. I'm getting off track here and I'm a busy man, an important busy man, a rich, important busy man and there's nothing better in this world than being that. You don't understand. You never will. For one you're a woman so there's a major problem that's going to take some serious thought to overcome. Another thing is that apparently you write plays. Someone told me this. Whispered it in fact. I didn't believe them. It's easier than actually thinking about what that actually means. Writes play. You're hurting my brain and I don't like that. I'm not alone. Rich, important, busy men don't have time for things that don't fit nicely and securely into white plastic folders …
WHITE PLASTIC FOLDERS! I knew there was a point to this. You see that one there. I need five copies, perfect copies, don't be going and changing things around. I'll be watching. Now that I know you don't fit with perfect plans and things that are white and shiny, like myself, well, I won't look now but the ground beneath my feet is starting to shake slightly. I blame you for this of course. You may look the part with your black pants and your stripy business shirt but we both know that you're not part of this and that is FREAKING ME OUT! You hear what I'm saying? I may need to go call my therapist. In fact you should do that. I'm paying you after all. Like I'm paying him. Like I pay all my wives and the children they insist on having even though I've made it perfectly clear that making money, serious money and turning up to watch Beatrice or Alice or whatever pseudo-upper class name they call them try and whack a ball is not ever going to happen. Why can't they ever actually whack the ball? If they could actually whack the ball and we didn't have to waste so much time telling Clara and Adelaide that we're proud of them for actually trying, then maybe I could squeeze them into my schedule. If they played after midnight that would be a great help. Do you understand what I'm saying? Are you writing this down? Am I going to be a character in your play? I don't know what I think about that and I'm not sure I have the time to have an opinion about that or anything else. I'm making money, I don't have time for ideas as well. I am only one man. A rich important busy man but still … I'm already late for a meeting with the time I've taken telling you that I need five perfect copies of that folder. It's extremely important. Many many dollars depend on the photocopying of those folders so if you could drag yourself away from thinking of all the wonderful things you are going to write about me, that would be wonderful … Thank you."
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