Chapter Three
Smythe did his usual early morning run through the park opposite his apartment, everyday he lived but the same schedule: wake up, run/walk (depending on his ‘gammy ankles’), coffee, emails and football news, and then anything.
This was the one problem in his life, he did nothing because he couldn’t do anything. After the morning session he might catch up with friends but he didn’t exactly want to invite himself over did he?
But this morning when he checked his emails, there was 3 in the inbox, which was strange. He wasn’t normally this popular.
He checked the first one which was just news from the blackpoolfc.com site and the next was spam which had somehow eluded the ‘Junk Email’folder on his Outlook.
The third, however, was from a different address, the email address read: [email protected]. Smythe looked puzzled at the address and then slowly began to read the email.
The email read something like this:
Smythe couldn’t believe it, he was being offered the job of a club! He had never bothered applying but this email was like an application to get him.
He sat there, mouth gaping open. How is this even possible? he told himself.
And how on earth was Walton correct? he smirked, and then realised that he had to reply.
How to reply, how to reply, was the only thought on Smythe’s mind now, it needed to be formal and he needed to organise it. Smythe was never good at anything like this, this is why he needed a Personal Assistant/Secretary.
After five minutes mulling over how to start it he finally though of something formal (Smythe found it extremly difficult). He started off with ‘Dear Mr. Asukas’, was this formal enough?
But Smythe skipped it and went straight to the first paragraph. Where was the best place for a meeting? Because Smythe wasn't an expert in organising meetings, he just chose to do it in the hotel club.
“I am happy to meet you at the Ritz Hotel in Mayfair, if that is alright for you. Maybe for lunch at 12:30 London time. There we can further discuss my interest for the VPS Job”.
Smythe read it over. It sounded like one thing: The Queen. Smythe rewrote the whole thing because if he was anything, it wasn't posh. He did live in a very nice apartment in Mayfair that overlooked Hyde Park but that didn't make him posh.
After another ten or so minutes mulling over writing decisions, he decided to just write something and sending it because he had wasted fourty minutes with word choices.
He sent it off and breathed a sigh of relief. But then remembered to write the date down somewhere other wise he would easily forget and would leave the VPS officials by themselves in the Ritz.
He wrote it down on a sticky note and stuck it on his bench, looking at it every hour until he just couldn’t forget it.
It only just kicked in that this was a job for Smythe, a purpose in life, something to do. Smythe smiled at the prospect of this, no more sitting down doing nothing.
He thought all evening about the interview and lunch, and thought so much about it he had completely tuned out of the murder mystery on the TV.
“Oh damn,” he told himself. “No point watching it now,” and he turned on the English Premier League, the score read 2-0 Chelsea.
He watched the rest of the game which ended in Chelsea’s favour. Which was good. He turned off the TV after the analysis and went to sleep, well tried at least, because he couldn’t get the bloody job offer out of his head!
He sat there, mouth gaping open. How is this even possible? he told himself.
And how on earth was Walton correct? he smirked, and then realised that he had to reply.
How to reply, how to reply, was the only thought on Smythe’s mind now, it needed to be formal and he needed to organise it. Smythe was never good at anything like this, this is why he needed a Personal Assistant/Secretary.
After five minutes mulling over how to start it he finally though of something formal (Smythe found it extremly difficult). He started off with ‘Dear Mr. Asukas’, was this formal enough?
But Smythe skipped it and went straight to the first paragraph. Where was the best place for a meeting? Because Smythe wasn't an expert in organising meetings, he just chose to do it in the hotel club.
“I am happy to meet you at the Ritz Hotel in Mayfair, if that is alright for you. Maybe for lunch at 12:30 London time. There we can further discuss my interest for the VPS Job”.
Smythe read it over. It sounded like one thing: The Queen. Smythe rewrote the whole thing because if he was anything, it wasn't posh. He did live in a very nice apartment in Mayfair that overlooked Hyde Park but that didn't make him posh.
After another ten or so minutes mulling over writing decisions, he decided to just write something and sending it because he had wasted fourty minutes with word choices.
He sent it off and breathed a sigh of relief. But then remembered to write the date down somewhere other wise he would easily forget and would leave the VPS officials by themselves in the Ritz.
He wrote it down on a sticky note and stuck it on his bench, looking at it every hour until he just couldn’t forget it.
It only just kicked in that this was a job for Smythe, a purpose in life, something to do. Smythe smiled at the prospect of this, no more sitting down doing nothing.
He thought all evening about the interview and lunch, and thought so much about it he had completely tuned out of the murder mystery on the TV.
“Oh damn,” he told himself. “No point watching it now,” and he turned on the English Premier League, the score read 2-0 Chelsea.
He watched the rest of the game which ended in Chelsea’s favour. Which was good. He turned off the TV after the analysis and went to sleep, well tried at least, because he couldn’t get the bloody job offer out of his head!
This is great stuff, keep it up!
Veikkausliiga
2-2 Myllykoksen
3-2 FC Inter
0-2 FC Lahti
