Back in the day, running a business was a generic, umbrella term for what it was that the butcher, the baker and the candlestick-maker were happily doing.
In what seems now, like a wildly idealistic bygone age, the doing the baking bit and the speaking to the customer bit were well important (and that).
Business has evolved and is no longer just the place you go to to work, to buy your bread from or to put your money for safe-keeping in case some red-injuns try to steal it.
In a terrifying and unforeseen leap of genetics, it has morphed into a demanding and all-seeing sci-fi entity that goes by the name of The-Bizznuss.
The-Bizznuss has taken up residence on the Death-Star and is well into its twenty year plan to dominate the globe.
The-Bizznuss has no time for any human emotion whatsoever. The-Bizznuss is not of organic origin and therefore will not compute factors like illness, old-age or child-birth.
You will find that you have been assimilated into The-Bizznuss in any number of ways. I’d hazard a guess that it bought you your house, it probably lent you a credit card and if you are in employment of any kind, then you definitely work for it.
In order to keep the empire functioning it has trained up a team of warrior sentinels, who have been sent to the planet with the express mission of ensuring that The Numbers (that’s you and me folks), keep producing profit. These individuals look like humans, they sound like humans and have even been known, on the odd occasion, to smile.
They call themselves, Bizznuss-People.
You can easily spot them because the pod, in which they made the journey from the Death-Star, was only programed with a few phrases. They listened to these phrases continuously, on a journey that spanned light years and many millions of galaxies. They are, as a result, prone to repeating them with an automaton frequency whenever they are forced to engage in communication with The Numbers.
The give-away phrases include stuff like “It’s not personal, it’s just bizznuss”, “There’s no ‘I’ in team” and my personal favourite, “Leave your home-life at the door”.
The transport pods did however have some other similar peppy-phrases but I don’t have the full listing, so just keep your wits about you.
The most ferocious Bizznuss-People are the ones that look like women. Those buggers will have your throat out without blinking. The blood-red slash that looks like a mouth is blood-red because the Bizznuss-Woman just got through feasting on one of The Numbers who had foolishly taken a personal day to lovingly tend to her dying mother.
The reason that the meeting rooms are always booked is because there are cleaning crews frantically attempting to gather up the chewed-up limbs and mangled remnants of Numbers who either asked if they could have their salary in cash rather than it going straight into the Empire Banking Group, or were ten minutes late to work because they stopped off to pick up a prescription.
Don’t ever cry in front of a Bizznuss-Person. Don’t tell it you aren’t feeling well. Don’t mention your children and for God’s sake never tell it that ‘you are only human’.
And on that note, will anyone else be watching Sir Alan emerging from behind his frosted glass, pod-door on The Apprentice tomorrow?