A few weeks ago I posted that we were looking to move. Things escalated quickly - we accepted an offer on our place, found somewhere we wanted to move to, got the solicitors involved and I'm guessing that exchange of contracts is in the not too distant future.
We made a decision that we'll get people in to help us pack and move. Trying to do everything ourselves with two little children just doesn't feel plausible. So I got a few quotes in. One of the companies asked if they could come round to have a look and tot things up properly. Fair enough. Like the initiative.
The doorbell rang at the arranged time (good sign that he's prompt) and I went and opened it. The guy (let's call him Jim Davidson for the purpose of this post) marched straight through the hallway, past me completely, in order to shake K's hand and introduce himself. Hello? What am I? Scotch mist?
For the next 30 minutes he proceeded to totally overlook me. "What job you in K?" "And how's work going then K?". "What's the market doing to your job K?". K was starting to look fairly uncomfortable by this stage. Jim then started on the banter about the "little women" and how they "bleed us dry - am I right, eh, am I right?". At this point K's face was saying "abort, abort!!! My wife is about to explode".
Now don't get me wrong, I'm 100% sure that Jim can do his job, and it's more than likely we'll go with his company. After all, he showed initiative, turned up on time, gave us a good quote and obviously knew his stuff. However, if in the time he's moving us I hear one more sexist quip he may well be getting a tongue lashing in return.