Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Executive Relief

My job title is crap. Executive Officer - for fuck's sake it sounds ten times better than it actually is. The uninitiated confuse it with CEO... for instance Michael O'Leary is the Chief Executive Officer in Ryanair. There is a big difference between his €1 million a year and my paltry salary which equates to about a thirtieth of what he earns.

I have fuck all "Executive" powers. Most of the time it's the HEO and the AP working through me.

Today I would have loved to "Execute" someone. One of the COs spoke openly in the section about a private conversation I'd had with them about a minor issue (at the behest of the HEO and AP, I hasten to add - I didn't even notice, and if I had, I wouldn't have cared).

That's the problem. The CO sees me as someone hung up on minor details, maybe even as someone with a grudge against them. But I am merely following orders, in the finest Nazi tradition. I couldn't give a flying fuck if the CO picks their nose at work. I would only notice it if they flicked the snot at me. I'm so caught up in my own work that I barely have time to notice these little things, unlike my superiors, whose work I am invariably doing.

I will probably have to have another private conversation about this soon. Just to reaffirm my role as the manager, marking my territory and all that rubbish. That's all I can do, which means waiting for a meeting room or a private office to become free.

That's if I don't go mental first, breaking out the fire axes and running maniacally through the corridors swiping at everything and "executing" everybody who dares to get in my way, screaming swear words and foaming at the mouth. Or I could strangle them with their lanyards, which would make a lot less mess.

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