If it wasn't for her, I wouldn't have had Tuesday off this week as well as Monday. O Your Maj, how I do love the privilege you bestow upon me and my fellow Servants on your 'official' birthday. Now if The Crown would just loosen its purse strings enough to pay me a decent wage I might approach a state where I don't have complete contempt for my job.
Failing that, make me an MP and I'll pay it to myself...
Saturday, 30 May 2009
Tuesday, 12 May 2009
Hell is other people's inadequacy
Half my job is dealing with other people's mistakes (actually it's much more than that, but half sounds better). I've learnt to accept this. Many of the people I deal with are imbeciles. I've learnt to accept this too. Some of the people I work with are also imbeciles. That last one always catches me out; I keep falling into the trap of expecting some level of adequacy from fellow employees when history has shown that they typify why your tax pounds aren't always hard at work.
Take the Legal Advisor who invaded my territory today, seeking to use the photocopier. Let's call him Mr Slug. Mr Slug has been working for the court service for longer than I've been alive (and I'm touching 30) and I'm sure he must be doing something right to have maintained his job for that long, in spite of what some of the ushers whisper about him. Mr Slug likes to create training materials for other people - this is a Good Thing. Mr Slug likes to use my photocopier in the production of said materials - this is Not A Good Thing.
It used to be the case that he would sneak in on a night, just as we were leaving our particular hole, and go to work, leaving us to deal with the unholy mess that was invariably left during his exertions when we returned the following day. We got wise to this and started locking the office before going home. No more Slug trails.
Mr Slug took to coming in during the day instead, usually at some point in the afternoon when we were invariably busy. He would make his usual mess, but also cause the machine to jam, which would necessitate one of us breaking off from whatever vital task we were doing in order to help him. Today was one such day. Today (all week in fact) I'm in the office on my own trying to do the jobs of 3 people myself. You can imagine how enthralled I was to see him slither into the office just as I was trying to meet two deadlines at once with my usual aplomb.
It took 2 minutes for him to jam the photocopier. I cleared it. He watched me. The photocopier jammed again 3 minutes later. He tried to clear it. He failed. I tried to clear it. I succeeded. Three minutes later it jammed again. This time, leaving him to work out how to sort the damn thing out for himself, I shouted from the other room that copying double-sided on coloured paper invariably causes this copier to jam as it's an old machine and the paper we use is cheap and nasty. I suggest going downstairs to use one of the newer machines, which he seems to like as a suggestion as I tell him they're much less likely to jam.
Over the hour that followed, Mr Slug insisted on using the photocopier, jamming it every few minutes, trying to sort it out and - to my intense irritation - stating: "I think I'll go downstairs and try that photocopier instead, if it's less likely to jam." He must have said this a dozen times or more, each time failing to leave and re-entering the same tedious cycle of stop-start double-sided copying. I'm not equipped to understand what kind of intelligence underpins such actions.
Finally, after a lifetime during which I had to remind myself I was already on a written warning and couldn't blurt out exactly what I thought of him in order to get rid of him, he had enough and left. I ventured tentatively into the photocopying room and looked at the carnage left behind. It was like an explosion had gone off at a gay pride parade. Multicoloured paper was strewn everywhere, reams of it wasted by Mr Slug's efforts. Somewhere a tree in an empty forest shed a tear for the saplings that had died to make this grim scene a reality. Me? I did what I always do - cleaned up his mistakes and went back to doing three people's jobs.
But even after all that, I'm calm. I bought a kilo bag of salt today - I'm ready if the fucker comes back.
Take the Legal Advisor who invaded my territory today, seeking to use the photocopier. Let's call him Mr Slug. Mr Slug has been working for the court service for longer than I've been alive (and I'm touching 30) and I'm sure he must be doing something right to have maintained his job for that long, in spite of what some of the ushers whisper about him. Mr Slug likes to create training materials for other people - this is a Good Thing. Mr Slug likes to use my photocopier in the production of said materials - this is Not A Good Thing.
It used to be the case that he would sneak in on a night, just as we were leaving our particular hole, and go to work, leaving us to deal with the unholy mess that was invariably left during his exertions when we returned the following day. We got wise to this and started locking the office before going home. No more Slug trails.
Mr Slug took to coming in during the day instead, usually at some point in the afternoon when we were invariably busy. He would make his usual mess, but also cause the machine to jam, which would necessitate one of us breaking off from whatever vital task we were doing in order to help him. Today was one such day. Today (all week in fact) I'm in the office on my own trying to do the jobs of 3 people myself. You can imagine how enthralled I was to see him slither into the office just as I was trying to meet two deadlines at once with my usual aplomb.
It took 2 minutes for him to jam the photocopier. I cleared it. He watched me. The photocopier jammed again 3 minutes later. He tried to clear it. He failed. I tried to clear it. I succeeded. Three minutes later it jammed again. This time, leaving him to work out how to sort the damn thing out for himself, I shouted from the other room that copying double-sided on coloured paper invariably causes this copier to jam as it's an old machine and the paper we use is cheap and nasty. I suggest going downstairs to use one of the newer machines, which he seems to like as a suggestion as I tell him they're much less likely to jam.
Over the hour that followed, Mr Slug insisted on using the photocopier, jamming it every few minutes, trying to sort it out and - to my intense irritation - stating: "I think I'll go downstairs and try that photocopier instead, if it's less likely to jam." He must have said this a dozen times or more, each time failing to leave and re-entering the same tedious cycle of stop-start double-sided copying. I'm not equipped to understand what kind of intelligence underpins such actions.
Finally, after a lifetime during which I had to remind myself I was already on a written warning and couldn't blurt out exactly what I thought of him in order to get rid of him, he had enough and left. I ventured tentatively into the photocopying room and looked at the carnage left behind. It was like an explosion had gone off at a gay pride parade. Multicoloured paper was strewn everywhere, reams of it wasted by Mr Slug's efforts. Somewhere a tree in an empty forest shed a tear for the saplings that had died to make this grim scene a reality. Me? I did what I always do - cleaned up his mistakes and went back to doing three people's jobs.
But even after all that, I'm calm. I bought a kilo bag of salt today - I'm ready if the fucker comes back.
Sunday, 10 May 2009
Urgh, Monday
And so it begins, the rationalisation and bargaining. You have to go in, it's your job. It doesn't matter if you've only got half staff in, you've worked that way plenty of times before. You can't call in sick - even if you are - you can't risk the disciplinary for being off. Just get through today and it's one day closer to the end of the week.
Just get through today.
Get through today.
Most days feel like I'm trying to get through Monday.
Just get through today.
Get through today.
Most days feel like I'm trying to get through Monday.
Thursday, 7 May 2009
This is not a blog
It's a catharsis. A means for me to work out the frustration accumulated across the course of a day spent dealing with The General Public as they stream through the law court where I work and - invariably - pepper me with their stupidity.
This is my own particular slice of hell, visceral and unkempt.
Welcome. Make sure you wipe your shoes first.
This is my own particular slice of hell, visceral and unkempt.
Welcome. Make sure you wipe your shoes first.
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