The other day I called my bank for some boring administrative reason, and right from the start of the call, the gentleman on the other end just seemed overly chatty. He didn’t want to let me get straight to the business I had called him for and kept asking me questions about the weather, and politics, and how I enjoyed life in London.
I started to feel sorry for him. I thought about how tedious his job must be and how sitting in an office on the phone all day might be quite isolating, so I decided I would give him some time and be patient with the fact that he was obviously just happy for the chance to talk to somebody about something other than bank balances and interest rates.
But in the middle of patting myself on the back for being such a ...
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