I think we should have a new rule at work. NO EATING. Why?
Because I happen to have the desk that's closest to the section's resident filth monger, who I shall call "Untidy Guy". His desk is like a fucking bomb hit it. Old forms, dead Post-it notes, snot rags (at least, I hope it's snot - well, he doesn't have internet access), orange juice cartons, sweet wrappers, stale biscuits and - quite possibly - the last resting place of Shergar.
It reminds me of series 3 of that rather excellent comedy "Teachers" on Channel 4, where Bob has been living in his office and there are mouldy sandwiches in his files.
His work space should be encased in a plastic bubble with BIOHAZARD signs on it.
Eating is fine if people clean up their mess afterwards, which, in fairness, the rest of us do. It's also fine if you have decent table (desk?) manners and can chew your food without making sounds like a rabid dog chewing on a postman.
Must run this new rule past the HEO, but my preferred way of dealing with it would be to knock his teeth out with a crowbar and then weld his mouth shut.
Had a laugh though, recently. I watched the drama unfold as a piece of chocolate found its way onto his trousers, melted and then took an onward journey to his seat. There was much panicking, for, as we all know, melted chocolate looks like poo...
...which you might also find if you looked hard enough behind all the other stuff on his desk. Seriously.
Some day, in the dim future, when all the oil has run out and the civil service has been outsourced to Mogadishu, I reckon he will be sitting back and laughing, because he will have the market cornered on old Post-it notes (having seen a way to fuel cars with them) and will own a mansion where he will employ hundreds of out-of-work EOs to do his bidding.
Because I happen to have the desk that's closest to the section's resident filth monger, who I shall call "Untidy Guy". His desk is like a fucking bomb hit it. Old forms, dead Post-it notes, snot rags (at least, I hope it's snot - well, he doesn't have internet access), orange juice cartons, sweet wrappers, stale biscuits and - quite possibly - the last resting place of Shergar.
It reminds me of series 3 of that rather excellent comedy "Teachers" on Channel 4, where Bob has been living in his office and there are mouldy sandwiches in his files.
His work space should be encased in a plastic bubble with BIOHAZARD signs on it.
Eating is fine if people clean up their mess afterwards, which, in fairness, the rest of us do. It's also fine if you have decent table (desk?) manners and can chew your food without making sounds like a rabid dog chewing on a postman.
Must run this new rule past the HEO, but my preferred way of dealing with it would be to knock his teeth out with a crowbar and then weld his mouth shut.
Had a laugh though, recently. I watched the drama unfold as a piece of chocolate found its way onto his trousers, melted and then took an onward journey to his seat. There was much panicking, for, as we all know, melted chocolate looks like poo...
...which you might also find if you looked hard enough behind all the other stuff on his desk. Seriously.
Some day, in the dim future, when all the oil has run out and the civil service has been outsourced to Mogadishu, I reckon he will be sitting back and laughing, because he will have the market cornered on old Post-it notes (having seen a way to fuel cars with them) and will own a mansion where he will employ hundreds of out-of-work EOs to do his bidding.
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