“Do you want an apprentice?” asked Bossman out of nowhere. He just appeared. I haven’t seen him on the train for a while and to be honest, I had forgotten about his… abrupt forwardness.
It’s my own fault; the other day I told an American that I appreciated their kindness, after they’d emailed me with a message that said, “I do not like your work. Let’s chat.”
Now that was abrupt forwardness! But I’d been surprised at myself for finding it genuinely refreshing. The bossman on the train had suddenly jumped into more abrupt forwardness as though I was just kicking off level 2.
I slipped my headphones out of my ears and relaxed my startled face. His nephew needs a job.
The conversation on the train as Oxfordshire flew by, led inexorably to me actually finding out Bossman’s name; he added it to my phone in case I found an opportunity for his nephew to apprentice as… well, I’m not quite sure what he thought it is that I do. Cyber security something or other? (I think he said).
Bossman had “thought of” me (a random bloke whose name he didn’t know by the way but who admittedly sort of works in cyber security) and had then been determined to ask me whether I could help his nephew.
I’m still going to call him Bossman.
I think you’ve got to be smart with ‘abrupt forwardness’. It’s always context-based, and, like using a laser to crack open a walnut, it might not be as appropriate as it is effective, and it is worth considering carefully.
I didn’t say that to the American. No, if anything I thanked them for the ‘laser’ because I’ve never seen a ‘walnut’ so precisely sliced. They did apologise though, so you know, it was kind of alright.
As for Bossman. Is it weird that he still doesn’t know my name? Probably. But easier than the other way round.
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