Taxman

‘Hello?’

            ‘Hello. Could I speak to your mother or father, please?’

            ‘Did you want my mother or my father?’

            ‘Either, please.’

            ‘Well, they live in England. And they don’t speak Spanish. How good is your English?’

            ‘Oh, er, I think—’

            ‘Who did you want to talk to?’

            ‘Er, Mr. Michael Crunch?’

            ‘Yes, that’s me.’

            ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

            ‘That’s alright. Lots of people say I don’t sound my age. I’m twenty-one, by the way. Anyway, what can I do you for?’

            ‘Well, I'm ringing from Shitty Bank, and we notice that your tax return was unfavourable this year. Does this worry you at all?’

            ‘Not in the slightest.’

            ‘Oh.’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘I said, “Oh”. You're supposed to say, “Yes”. I don't have a script for “No”.’

            ‘Well, that wasn’t very bright of your boss, was it?’

            ‘No, I suppose not.’

            ‘Would you like me to help you?’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘Would you like me to help you with your script?’

            ‘Well, have you got the time?’

            ‘Yes, it’s half past one.’

            ‘Sorry?’

            ‘Ignore me. OK, then, er, . . . Sorry, I didn’t catch your name?’

            ‘Amanda.’

            ‘That’s a lovely name. OK, then, Amanda, let’s suppose your victim says, “No” . . .’