Watching them sweat…

Loueng has belly ache apparently.  When I suggest it may be anxiety he quickly brushes this off claiming it started on Sunday night.  Which only serves to add further credence to my claim that it is indeed anxiety if you don’t mind me saying!!!!

Even though the temperatures is circa minus 3 in here the poor bloke has beads of sweat on his brow.  Every sentence he utters is punctuated with a nervous laugh as he desperately scans the room looking for allies in the disengaged but apparently not hostile crowd.

In his defence, he’s pretty much a lamb to the slaughter out there.  The numpty that is Sophea has failed miserably to prepare everything in time, leaving Loueng without the requisite materials to effectively carry out the agreed plan.

Sophea grins inanely as he paces in and out of the room waiting for Chnay, the poor girl who actually does all of the work around here, to come back.  I approach him and ask where the leadership quotes are.  He grins, squirms and mutters ‘soon’ before running out of the room, presumably to crumble into a heap somewhere.

The materials are finally here.  Loueng visibly relaxes and gets into his stride.  I’m still witnessing a carcrash but at least it’s not just one where Loueng lectures the participants into submission anymore.

I’ve done it again.  I’ve made the mistake of sticking my nose in.  The flipping handouts are all stapled together – and in the wrong bloody order.  Loueng utters ‘Oh My God’ at least 6 times when I tell him and I take myself a long deep breath before summoning Sophea to try to explain.  More grinning and squirming whilst I patiently explain, then demonstrate what we actually need (all the while biting my tongue and fighting the urge to scream “just like we discussed on Friday!!!!!” at the top of my voice).  A stapler is sought out and the process begins.  2 handouts in and we run out of staples, he scuttles off to get some more.  I leave him to it and return to my writing but each time I look up I catch him looking sheepishly in my direction, desperate for my approval for his handling of the situation.

Meanwhile, back in the room. The trainees have the stage.  Unlike their hosts, my colleagues, they display confidence as they explain their group findings to the assembled mass. Loueng uses it as an opportunity to check his emails and visibly jumps at the sound of applause which ends the narration up front.

He takes the stage again, it’s all going swimmingly, the double doors are flung open, a washing machine sized box appears pushed by 2 scruffy looking delivery men.  They proceed to push the box straight across the front of the room before wandering out.

Sophea jumps into action.  Well, to be honest he kind of shuffles but you know what I mean.  Before we know it the back doors have been opened, another box has appeared and is expertly pushed straight into the chair of the unfortunate trainee sat nearest to the door…

I can’t take any more.  It’s my time to shuffle out and find a corner in which to crumple and cry

 

 

 

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