We're held up somewhere in Norwegia furiously birthing rebate contracts for impatient supply chain managers and their hungry masters. Our hotel room kicks senses with its break room microwave size, temperature and funk as we hurl persusives at the void in our laptop which demands more, faster. The pitchfork we employ to furrow hunky prospects through our engorged sales funnel is presently sharp with market-ideal new products and cashy development projects at multinational planet owners . We're the street wise Herculeses whom keep the pumped blood from falling out of your global economy. You need us...until the morning light.
The cab driver escorting us to our next great triumph keeps singing ' it's okay' after every U turn and icy fishtail. We question his allegiance to the traffic laws of this socialist republic when he passes a caravan by racing through an adjacent car park. Its ok. Sure it is Laslov, our doubts reflect off your shiny forehead and back into our frightened cringes.
Achebrained from bosss' monologue surrounding a 3000 krona bottle of wine and too many expenses classed OTHER, we hold the phone up to Laslov's unsolicited reassurances . It's okay. Look sire, if you can find the one pep dealer in south Finway who takes chip n pin, then let us know. Till then, stop bringing it up, it's making us anxious.
We finally pull up to a medical device manufacturer you'd definitely recognize and thank Laslov with exact change. It's okay?
Our prep for this visit is mighty, our proposal, murderous and confidence, godlike. We are the Delta.
Stay warm loopsiders. See you soon