Final Warning

Guy faces a perilous situation, but finds further evidence that he might be related to God.

Transcript

Welcome to the one-hundred-and-nineteenth episode of The Undercover Intern podcast, coming to you live from the centre of London Luton Airport. I'm your host, Guy Snapdragon, and today is Monday the 12th of May 2025.

We are sponsored this week by The Maywentery Golf Course. Welcoming men of all abilities since 1923. Congratulations to Bryan Ferry, lithe frontman for Roxy Music, who got a hole-in-one at the par-3 fifth hole last week, the first hole-in-one on the course in over a year. Pending an investigation into claims that he was aided by a giant grey squirrel, Bryan’s prize will be a clubhouse lunch with whichever Brian Cox he prefers.

I’m beginning to realise that I just won’t have the impact at Focgee—where the client is loved two point zero— that I had in my previous internships at Carpet Culture and the California Clock Company. Maybe C is my lucky letter after all. It’s beautiful to look at: more mysterious than ‘O’, less stuck-up than ‘K’. Also, capital ‘C’ is just a grown-up version of its lowercase self which is as nature intended - none of this messing around with new shapes for capital letters, like you have with the self-important vowels like ‘A’ or ‘E’. Maybe I should do a whole episode on letter shapes, actually? What’s your lucky letter? Do we need more letters in our alphabet, or do we have enough? Please don’t write in; correspondence is banned.

Anyway, my networking attempts have not come to any real fruition. In my defence, this is largely because Focgee—where the client is loved two point zero— is in the middle of a rather extensive rationalisation and they announced publicly this week that it has hired its last human. Back in episode 106 I spoke of artificial intelligence and was maybe a bit complacent in thinking that it would not affect us good interns. I certainly did not expect that Focgee—where the client is loved two point zero— would reduce its global workforce from over 35,000 to just one hundred and twenty in a matter of months.

Quote: First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—because I was not a socialist; Then they came for the homosexuals, and I did not speak out-because I was definitely not a homosexual. Then they came for the interns, and I did not speak out—because I was not an intern.” That’s from Martin Niemöller and I think that the People Success Team at Focgee—where the client is loved so much we might as well marry them—should pay heed to this message, because after you’ve done the dirty work, artificial intelligence will be coming for the People Success Team and there will be nobody left to speak for you.

I went for my evening walk to feed the ducks on Wednesday - they have come to rely on me, and I find them to be good listeners. I’d sent David home early and regretted it because I was accosted outside Marks & Spencers by god knows how many men and shoved into a van, my duck bread flying everywhere. I wasn’t blindfolded but even if I had been I would have known where we were going, and indeed two hours or so later we were mere yards from where I speak to you now, at London Luton Airport near Milton Keynes. Shoved out of the van by god knows how many men, I found myself in the company of colleagues that, until this point, I’d only seen the digital heads of. We were kettled by god knows how many men and forced to board a plane - thankfully an Airbus rather than Boeing - but nevertheless I knew this wasn’t going to be a pleasant experience. Actually I watched the two most recent Mad Max movies on the flight, which I’d always been too scared to do, and enjoyed them very much, though I expected to see more crocodiles and dingos. Perhaps we were flying to Australia and I’d get to learn more about this strange country?  Alas, we were heading in a different direction and eventually landed in an icy land that I can only guess was Greenland. Maybe Canada - can you get to Canada in two Mad Max films or does it take longer? Please don’t write in.

Each of us was given a final written warning as we disembarked, along with a pair of ice skates and a whistle. I immediately threw my whistle to the ground because I can whistle two ways anyway and I suspected that the whistle’s extra weight would be a burden. I read my written warning, which was given because of my solicitation of The Maywentery Golf Course for sustainability services, and then I put the written warning in the nearest paper recycling bin as I suspected that the warning’s extra weight would be a burden. Despite the cold, I took off my t-shirt and wrapped it around my head. I’m not sure why. Then I took off my flip-flops and put on the ice skates. I threw the flip flops to the ground because I suspected that the flip flops’s extra weight would be a burden. I was ready.

I was ready too early, and over the next hour plane after plane landed, all full with what I assume were colleagues from Focgee—where the Sustainability Marketing team are experts at greenwashing. I put my t-shirt on for a bit because the cold was biting and all of my nipples were bleeding. In the end there were at least two Squid Games’ worth of us, perhaps over a thousand colleagues clad in ice skates. We were all kettled on to an ice rink by god knows how many border collies and the sound of gunfire signalled the beginning of the game. Regular listeners might know that I am blessed with ice skating grace, and can even go backwards. But many of my colleagues were clumsy novices, falling down like drunken skittles in a skittle alley. I sensed that I needed to be away from the main group, and an almighty crash from behind told me that I was right; some hundred or so bodies penetrating the ice, their whistling resonating in the freezing evening air.

We were literally skating on thin ice! I had to admire the creativity from Focgee—where the interns go missing without a trace—and their devotion to spectacle. I knew I needed to stay near the center of the rink, where the ice would be stronger. My skills gave me an advantage, but I had over the past months turned into a fat person, so was not totally safe. That said, I couldn’t help looking upon some of my even fatter colleagues with pity - they looked pathetic, clinging to the edge of the rink, falling in the water or stuck flailing on the ice like an overturned ice beetle. What losers. Within five minutes I’d say that half of my colleagues were already retired.

Things calmed down after that and I almost enjoyed the next twenty minutes or so. They were playing this cool tune for us – I’ll play it for you at the end of the episode. I was at peace and actually made a real connection with some of my fellow skaters. I had a lovely chat with an intern from our Cape Town office, who obviously knew me and was after an autograph. Obviously not possible but being worshipped rather than hunted gave me great comfort. I was able to practise my Camel Spin which is a spin with one leg extended parallel to the ice. I didn’t want this to end; for the first time in months I felt something approaching flow. 

I want to read an excerpt from the weekly newsletter that Focgee - where the client gets to set employees on fire- sends out to its premium clients, to give you a sense of those final few minutes. Quote, This month’s flamethrower downsizing event was the most spectacular of the year so far, with 926 retirees including eight fatalities. The main sponsor, ExxonMobil, went for the direct option with their sponsored flamethrower, and Wayne Collins’s head was set on fire and he had little option but to jump into the water to avoid being burned alive. Alas, he did eventually die. Monsanto managed to get their flamethrower to skid over 300 metres across the ice, retiring three along the way. Perhaps the most exciting moment came with British American Tobacco’s cigarette-shaped flamethrower, which was placed next to an unknown employee from San Francisco, who picked it up and began targeting his colleagues like a disgruntled postal worker with a gun. He skated towards Guy Snapdragon, an elderly intern from the UK who ripped the blood-stained t-shirt that for some reason was wrapped around his head, flipped over, his man-breasts wobbling around like jelly on a trampoline, dodged the incoming flames, and managed to entangle the shirt around his attacker’s skate. The young man from San Francisco took a dramatic tumble, his fall breaking the ice and sealing his demise. Guy, his nimble movements belying his aging flabby hairless body, then struck a power pose and declared, 'I am Jesus Christ The Second.' Nobody on the ice dared to contest his proclamation. End newsletter excerpt.

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There were barely a hundred of us left at the end. Our jobs were safe, for now at least. I went and found my flip flops and headed for the plane. To my horror I saw now only Max 737s on the icy runway and for the second time that day had to admire the audacity of Focgee—where the client is taken for all they’ve got—for their sense of drama. Maybe I would be retired today, after all.

I’ve been your host, Guy Snapdragon. My producer is Lee Buckingham. Michael Webb is Chief Legal Officer and Legal support comes from Paul Tout, Simon Warwick, Murray Mackay and Matthew Rook. Accountancy from Graham Cree. Security from David Jarrett. May you use your time wisely, and may your use of wise be timely.