It was suburban rockstar Huey Lewis who crooned: "I'm taking what they're giving, 'cos I'm working for a living."As contributions to modern philosophy go, it's not exactly profound. But he's absolutely right. Here in America, the key to survival is to get up off your arse and get a job.
So until one of my job applications pans out (I've applied for a fantastic radio job) I'm workin' for a living at a pharmaceutical marketing company.
This has presented me with a problem. My life has turned into that Fast Show sketch called "The Unpronouncables."
Here I am, vending my drugs for nervous bladders, and the conversations run like this:
"Hello! I'm Roland from [insert name of pharmaceutical company here.] I'm here to speak to Doctor Siz... Schziz... Erm. Sniz? Sizzle Cow Ski? Schnizikowski, that's it."
That's the first hurdle. Then it moves onto:
"I'd like to send you samples of our new drug, Boy... Buy.. Byosk.. Boyosckafellin? Buy oxes and fell them? You know, I've got a leaflet."
Then they ask how it works. And I know this. I know more about nervous bladders than anybody unconnected to the medical industry rightly should by now.
"Well, it's an anticoller... artichocker... anticholi... auntie coller in yer neck. Anticholinergic. That's it. It releases an antagonist that prevents the ace tailor cow lean... acetylcholine... from binding with the receivers... receptors, I mean. And that stops the trousers from relaxing."
Pause.
"Did I say The Trousers? I meant Detrusor."
And after this mangled presentation, the response is:
"Oh my God. Your ACCENT. Are you from England?"
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