The Department of Pedantry - in glorious fecknicolor

I stumbled on this rather hilarious website recently.

Unusable stock images? It doesn't surprise me in the least bit. I can reveal that a great number of these images were taken at the Department of Pedantry. Here's the story behind some of them.

The moment  when Govstooge realised  it was not going to be a bad day at work after all.

Nosher on laundry day.

The facilities management HEO after an argument with the canteen manager.

A novel way for civil servants to look busy.

The real reason why the photocopier's always fucked.

Arsebiscuits!

The Hexecutive receives her upward feedback in Govstooge's PMDS meeting.

The Secretary General announces more efficient arse-kissing procedures.

The Assistant Principal wanted everyone to know who he was, so he got a sash made up with his grade on it. Unfortunately, in his hurry to put it on, he neglected to read it.

Nosher after a tiring day.

Detachable willy fails to impress cat.

Those new cyanide-impregnated forms were going to be a roaring success.

The Chief Medical Officer awaits her meeting with yet another referred loon.

The ladies bathrooms refurbishment didn't stand a chance against the emissions from Department canteen dinners.

Gay HEO depends rather heavily on his amazing flying EO for everything.

Childhood photo of the last Department employee who tried to re-enact Columbine at the office.

The Outside View - Part the Second

 A visit to the Department of Pedantry by Doctor Constantin Constantinopodopoulous of the Department of Psychiatry and Public Service, University of Chipping Sodbury - Part Two. 

I looked around at the remaining civil servants. One CO was still happily working away with her stapler collating what forms remained. The other CO was entering the details from the forms on a database. 

The three EOs were in various states of wakefulness. One, a morbidly obese  middle-aged man who appeared to be wedged immovably into his chair was dozing peacefully over his daily paper, seemingly oblivious to the earlier commotion. A half-eaten scone  was on the desk beside him. Another middle aged male was dealing with a query from a member of the public, which was causing him difficulty, as several times he had to put the caller on hold and ask the remaining HEO for advice. A certain desperation about him indicated that he wanted to transfer the call to the HEO, but the HEO was not taking the bait, as she was engaged in a serious conversation with the third and final EO. This last EO, the one who had wiped up the blood earlier, was the youngest of the three, and she was also the only one not to smell vaguely of decomposing cabbage and old biscuits. A steaming mug of industrial-strength coffee on her desk wafted pleasing aromas around the room -  aromas far more pleasing than the smell of stale axillary sweat emanating from the corpulent, sleeping colleague.

In spite of a readily available caffeinated beverage, the EO appeared to be in a state of anxiety caused by the presence of the HEO, who was firing questions at her in staccato bursts: "What is the ETA of this project?" "Do we have quantifiable returns on that circular?" "I need eight copies of your Role Profile Form for a comedy workshop I'm doing after work." "Did you have a nice weekend?" This last question seemed to baffle the EO, and she replied tentatively, "Err. Yes. Did you?" The HEO replied "Oh I did. I went out for dinner to the Hackballscross Hilton and I had a lovely meal of quail's legs washed down with a bottle of obscenely expensive wine. And the famous composer Phillip Window-Glass was at the next table, how lovely... " Rollling her eyes, the EO directed the conversation back onto work related matters, obviously regretting the polite enquiry as to how the HEO's weekend went.When the HEO left the room with a gait that suggested a large pole had been inserted firmly in her rectum, the EO issued forth a sweary tirade on how her job had become harder since the arrival of the HEO, especially as the other two EOs just seemed to be marking time by generally doing "fuck all."

It would seem that the more useless you are in a civil service job, the less tasks are asked of you. If a civil servant is in any way competent at their job, more and more work gets thrown at them. I took my leave from the unit, taking care not to slip on the drool left behind on the floor as various staff went to their tea breaks.

The only solution I can envisage for this Department's problems is the detonation of a large neutron bomb in the offices, wiping it off the face of the earth. Who would miss it? It is truly a silly place.

The Outside View (Part the First)

I'm pleased today to introduce part one of a guest posting following on from a visit by a leading academic in the area of occupational psychopathology  to my work unit. It's about bloody time!

A visit to the Department of Pedantry by Doctor Constantin Constantinopodopoulous of the Department of Psychiatry and Public Service, University of Chipping Sodbury.

At first glimpse, it looks like an ordinary civil service building. Peeling paintwork, suspicious carpet stains, grey men and women staring blankly.

A cursory glance into the office canteen at tea break time confirms this suspicion initially. The tables are occupied by a variety of interesting specimens. In particular:

-          CO staring out the window as three-inch long rope of drool hangs from the corner of her mouth.

-          CO staring at the wall (table not adjacent to window) as five-inch long rope of drool hangs from the corner of his mouth.

-          CO standing at back of canteen staring at nothing in particular, but with a strange look of murderous intent on his countenance.

-          Large group of middle-aged female EOs talking about Eastenders and cackling loudly. People at adjacent tables wearing ear protection.

-          Senior managers pretending to discuss policy documents over coffee – in reality they are trying to finish the Irish Times crossword, which they have photocopied and slipped in with the weighty looking stuff.

-          Private contractor (wearing VISITOR badge) looking around him in bewilderment.

However, behind this dreary and grubby façade, there is a surprising flurry of activity.

A visit to the Apostrophe Enforcement Unit proved that things were not quite as they seemed.

The unit is staffed by two HEOs, three EOs and three COs and is responsible, as the name implies, for the regulation and enforcement of correct apostrophe use. Forms are submitted by members of the public to this unit, when an infraction of the relevant punctuation mark  by a business or advertiser has been identified. Forms are also completed internally by a member of staff who monitors the media, specifically print journalism and the Internet for misuse of punctuation. The forms are collated and processed, and a member of this unit’s staff visits the offending business premises and attempts to “re-educate” them in proper English. A variety of weapons are at the unit’s disposal for this purpose. Pens, multicoloured sticky notes, Departmental letterheads and leaflets entitled: "Common Grammatical Errors and You, You Illiterate Fuck".

More recent additions to the responsibilities of this unit include Text Speak Infractions (outside of mobile phone usage), and this alone has ensured that the volume of work has increased tenfold since the proliferation of mobile telephony in Ireland. The attendant impact on everyday written communication of the 140-character-or-less short messages has been devastatng.

When I first entered, a HEO was busy training two of the COs in correct form-stapling operations. One CO had correctly collated several dozen forms and was progressing well. The other CO had managed, in the short observation period:

1:         To staple his thumb and forefinger together

2:         To staple a (bloodied) form to his sleeve

3:         To staple himself to the HEO.

When this last incident occurred, the local first aid representative had to intervene, and both officers were taken to A&E to be separated. 
  
One of the EOs came forward and wiped up the blood from the desk, so I could sit and observe the remaining staff. "We're used to blood aroud here", she said apologetically.

I made myself comfortable. It was going to be a long day...

In Part 2: More bodily fluids,  forms, red tape (nothing to do with blood this time) and commonly available stimulants.

ButtCacks.... er.... Cutbacks

Much has been happening in the Department of late. The recruitment freeze and general cutbacks are making their presence felt. Staff morale is lower than normal; some COs are now so inert they can't even muster the energy to log onto Facebook during work hours. They sit, dribbling on their forms, marking time until their tea break.

Staff who have retired/ transferred/ died/ sublimated have not been replaced, and consequently there are a lot of empty desks in the open plan areas. The Personnel unit have attempted to alleviate these lacunae by placing mannequins dressed as civil servants in strategic locations around the building (i.e.  the ones clad only in suspenders, PVC knickers and lacy bras have been assigned to all senior managers' offices as "personal assistants").  

One retiring EO  has written the Department into his will and intends to come back  here after death as a stuffed civil servant. It is argued that there will be no discernible impact on his work output. 

More cutbacks have been announced. Some of them are devastating. The CO attached to the senior managers' washroom has opted for worksharing, and in the absence of a work partner, senior managers must now either wipe their own arses in the afternoon, or hold it until they get home. 

Members of the public have been advised to fill out forms using pencil. This way, once the form has been processed by the Department, the details can be erased and the form can be re-used, therefore cutting down significantly on reprinting costs. A dedicated CO has been fully trained in Eraser Operation for this purpose. A FAS intern has been assigned to lick the forms that have been stained by tea or coffee. He is frequently off sick. 

In my own immediate vicinity, Nosher has been put on verbal warning to lose weight, as the Facilities Management Unit can no longer afford to replace his chair every time it collapses under his 20 stone plus frame. The Trappist EO, sickened at the impact on his take home pay of the slashes to the overtime budget, has taken on a second job as a bingo caller. 

The worst is yet to come! 

Where the South Wind Blows...

Averse as I am to any manifestation of bodily functions in the workplace, I like most people, do occasionally have to do “things” in the Department’s toilets.

Last night’s triple strength chilli wasn’t going to be digested without putting up a fight. All day I had stomach rumblings and borborygmi of Fukushima proportions. Mostly tremors - an actual volcanic eruption wouldn’t occur until later, when I was in the smallest room in my own Ballyfuck home and accompanied by some apt reading material and cool, moist, Aloe Vera impregnated toilet paper.

The working day was spoilt by the constant pressure of digestive gases on the nether regions of my anatomy and, due to my impeccable manners and genteel disposition, the expulsion of said gases in the working environment is an absolute no-no. Also the office chair upholstery is of a type that may harbour said gases for an indeterminate period of time, occasionally releasing bursts of stale flatulence every time one sits down. Like one of those ridiculously overpriced motion sensor air fresheners. Only with stink. Or, like Reggie Perrin’s boss CJ’s chairs. Only with smell and not sound. Which is worse. It’s not as funny.

The downside of my politesse is that I periodically had to waddle to the bathrooms when the pressure became too great. Also there was a risk of loss of sphincter control in the event of my dropping – for example - a form on the floor and then bending to pick it up. The shame! I never drop forms.

The toilets were a minefield of potential embarrassment also. The dread of bumping into a HEO or a CO was palpable. Smells were OK here, they would merely mingle with the more noxious and long lasting smells emitted by the effluvium of thirty or forty civil servant arses post lunch break. The bathrooms were empty when I entered, however I heard the outer door opening and someone entering once I had locked my stall. I used the flush mechanism to disguise any nasty noises for the other occupant’s benefit.

Only, once the flush finished, my bum suddenly produced a “FLAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP” worthy of Wynton Marsalis on speed, with a Vuvuzela up his backside. “Fuck” I thought. What now? Would I exit quickly and run the risk of the other person emerging from their stall as I washed my hands. I could see the headlines in the staff newsletter: “TOILET TERROR AS EO FARTS”. Or, worse, wait until the other person had finished their business, (Hopefully) washed their hands and exited. The danger there was that they could bump into a pal outside the entrance door and smirk knowingly as I came out. I decided to opt for the former course of action. I unlocked the door and made my way briskly to the sinks.

As I dried my hands, I heard a sound from the other person’s cubicle. “Phoooot” it went. And then: “plop plop plop plop plop”. I sighed with relief, for all I'd done was make a noise, and here was another toilet user unashamedly dropping the kids off at the pool. 

I bounded happily out the door. I bumped into another colleague right outside, and watched as the other occupant, a stuck-up AP emerged a few minutes later. I didn't smirk. I am the soul of discretion. Anyone's arse can let them down. 

Civil servants' claims expose deadly danger of papercuts - Irish, Business - Independent.ie

Poignant article by Nick Webb in the latest Super Soaraway Sunday Sindo:

Civil servants' claims expose deadly danger of papercuts - Irish, Business - Independent.ie

Quote:
"Papercuts of unprecedented agony are thought to have brought entire government departments to a standstill on occasion."

That's what I've been saying for years. FORMS CAN KILL. I am aware of a HEO keeling over from the shock of having to process a form himself because of staff shortages. Forms have been known to come back from the front lines splattered in blood, poo, and many other disease-bearing bodily fluids. And we have to handle them. A papercut from one of those filthy bastards could lay a CO low for six weeks!

"6 per cent of all claims against the State for employer liability, public liability and property damage come from our 36,000 civil servants. Gardai made 5 per cent of the claims, with prison officers accounting for 4 per cent in 2010. Civil servants were only marginally less likely to claim against the State than prisoners."

Is "Prisoners" the new shorthand for Prison officers? I thought they were two entirely different entities.

If so, I want to change my job title to "Executioner". It has a much nicer ring to it, don't you think?

Hmm. And I think we may have found the source of the unexpected increase in population calculated in this year's preliminary Census results.

"But there are 4.8 million people in the country, as opposed to just 360,000 civil servants."

Aha! So it's not births... it's civil servants multiplying tenfold since the earlier paragraph was written! So much for the Croke Park agreement! I didn't know we could reproduce so quickly; I wasn't aware of my capacity for mitosis, might come in handy all right for that meeting I couldn't be arsed attending...

Thank you Sindo. I've discovered a whole new side of myself. Ten of them, in fact. Bwahahahahah!

Wee Shall Overcome!

A rather disturbing thing has been happening to me at work.

I'm a fan of drinking lots of water during the day as it's supposedly good for me. The Department supplies us with all the nice cool Filtered Assistant Principals' Piss .... uhem!.....drinking water we need.

Physiology being what it is, however, the liquid ingested must emerge somewhere, and I find myself needing to visit the workplace bogs four or five times a day. This is a problem, in a way other than the obvious smells I must endure (ref: Govstooge.blogspot.com, passim).

My wee cycle seems to be synchrous with that of a CO from a neighbouring section. About three times a day, every day, this CO and I cross paths in the toilets. It's gotten to the point where we are nodding awkwardly at each other when she enters while I am washing my hands or vice versa.

I swear, it's like this, from Scrubs, only in a women's toilet. And we are both Doctor Cox.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=t4iRJfOf1xA

I suppose we are lucky that it hasn't come down to this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pnIk0npINiE