How (not) to make friends

When our new foosball table arrived 2 weeks ago, the guys eagerly installed it, somewhat disgusted at the faces of the players, a curious blend of baroque putto and inflatable sex-aid, and the team duly tried it out with all possible team formations.

In the middle of a heated match with four of us on the new table and two on the old which still hasn't been dismantled, one of the receptionists barged in. None of us had heard her knock. She just wanted us to know that people from the office downstairs had complained about the noise, "it's just because their boss is visiting today and they have a lot of meetings." Sheepishly, we vowed to play in a more quiet fashion and restricted ourselves to the new foosball table. Eager to please their #1 demanding clients, reception promised to get quotes for foam and felt mats. They'd let us know.

The day afterwards, an afternoon match was rudely interrupted by thumps from downstairs. The type usually associated with brooms. We all had a bit of a student-party-déjà-vu.

Big Boss (one of our noisiest players, by the way) decided to embark on a goodwill-mission downstairs, armed with branded merchandise, prominently displaying the Firm's logo. This, together with his promise that we'd restrain ourselves and at least not jump and shout, seemed to appease them. My guess is that it was rather the fact that their lease ends next week anyway and they know that there's light at the end of the tunnel.

In any case, we're waiting for the foam stuff to arrive and meanwhile have our instrument of neighbourly torture propped up on styrofoam blocks and only whisper our cheer and jeer.

Naughty kids.