Shite Talk

At work, rushing to the loo because I've left it almost too late for number ones again.

I crash through the toilet doors and barely notice the two people at the sinks as I lurch towards a stall.

Having successfully completed my business without spilling a drop, I wash my hands and return to the section.

"Ooh Govstooge, you were in a hurry back there," a colleague's voice calls from across the section. "You didn't even stop to talk when I was in the bathrooms."

Now, toilets are for weeing and pooing into (just weeing for me at work). Sinks are for washing hands and the tap with the boiling water coming out of it is handy if I want to strip a layer of skin that I don't need any more.

Workplace bathroom facilities are not places for congregating socially. Not for me. I can't understand why (why, goddamn it!) some folk at work like to stand there and gossip for ages. Especially when someone's just dropped the kids off at the pool and the stench is slowly spreading. Why would you want to stand there and inhale all that?

I treat workplace loos as a necessary evil. Joining in conversations there in the presence of other people's bodily functions is not an option for me.

So I responded to the colleague: "Sorry. I was trying to get in and out without having to breathe. Lunch was half an hour ago and I was afraid what might assault my nostrils as a result when I went in."

It shut my colleague up. Which led me to think that they might be the culprit.

Achilles Heel

A random canteen conversation revealed my Achilles heel to some COs today.

It was a perfectly normal conversation about Goths and other teenage trends. Until it turned to the subject of piercings.

AAAARRRRRGGGHHHH!

Fuck it, there's nothing that nauseates me more than the thought of piercings. I have never even had my ears pierced. The very idea of poking metal through my earlobe gives me the willies. (I can cope with big fuck-off needles at the dentist though, oddly enough.)

One friend likes to get revenge on me if I'm being obnoxious by shouting "PIERCED NIPPLES!" at me to make me shut up.

People with tongue piercings make me want to yak. Bleargh.

So now the COs have ammunition to use against me if I piss them off. Feck anyway.

Mind you, all I have to do is shout something like "CANTEEN SAUSAGES", "ROLE PROFILE FORM" or "DEAD PEOPLE" back at them.

Yes, it's a new game we've invented. Actually, I've invented it. I'm the boss, and can do whatever the hell I want.

Nausea Tennis, I'll call it.

Department of Microbiology

There is a disturbing statistic out there that states that the average office desk harbours 400 times more bacteria than a toilet seat, and that workers can contract anything from the flu virus to Hepatitis A.

I must have a cast-iron immune system then. I am never sick apart from the occasional sniffle or migraine. I imagine I have become gradually immunised over time to a wide range of diseases because the nearest desk to mine is that of Untidy Guy. I have been exposed to everything. I fear nothing. Not smallpox, not Hepatitis A, not Ebola, not Anthrax. Medical researchers sit up and take note, my antibodies are the key to fighting future diseases!

I would like to see for myself the empirical evidence of the statistic above. If I knew where to get some agar and a Petri dish I would bring them into work, taking swabs from (a) my own desk - the 'control' surface, as it is wiped down regularly with antibacterial wipes, because I'm a bit anal about that sort of stuff, (b) a toilet seat at the end of the working day, before the cleaners come in and blitz the skidmarks, and (c) Untidy guy's desk. Once I have used a long ruler to remove tissues, old forms, envelopes, mugs and old chocolate bar wrappers I should have a desk surface area large enough to take a decent sample from.

Then I would wait and see which of the three cultures grew largest and quickest. I could upload photos here on a daily basis. I could run a book on which dish would have the largest culture within a week. We could have our own Cheltenham festival in the office. Bacteria racing! The new craze, and weather won't mess it up.

Anois Teacht An Earraigh

God, it really felt like spring today. I hadn't seen sun like that in quite some time. You just know that the sap is rising when you go for a walk at lunchtime and have to negotiate twice as many dog turds on the pavement than previously. And you can also tell it's spring by the amount of pink and red tat in the shops and the number of saps buying it up.

It's bollocks isn't it, Valentine's day. Another spurious "holiday" dreamt up by the card manufacturers to fill the lonely gap between Christmas and Easter. A day when people are stupidly conned into buying a bunch of withered crappy roses and some about-to-go-off chocolates from the local Statoil for their significant other. Where's the spontaneity in that? Why do they have to buy that stuff on February the 14th? There are plenty of other boring dates in the calendar that you could stick a knife in at random and surprise your loved one with goodies that haven't been marked up for the "occasion".

And yes, I may be cynical, but it's cynicism borne out of a hatred for overblown commercialism rather than the fact that I am single-and-proud at the moment. This "occasion" cheapens what is a beautiful aspect of human life. Valentine's day can fuck off.

But if I was to buy into this crap, who would I pick to send a Valentine to? The pickings at work are slim. The fat guy who wears the same shirt for the whole week? The smelly fucker in my section who seems to wash his clothes in cabbage water? The bloke with things growing in his beard? The ignorant bastard AP from another division who recently blocked my car in the car park? The guy with the "lobotomy look" haircut?

Probably best to leave them alone. I don't want them to get the notion that they might be able to breed. And, if they already have done so, God help the gene pool.

Things that scare me at work

Jesus, sometimes you hear horror stories about workplaces. Rampant bullying, exploding kettles, collapsing furniture, etc. Although these things are not currently a problem, other, more surreal and bizarre things are.

There are many things about my workplace that scare me. Christ, some of them give me nightmares.

Here we go...

(1. ) One clerical officer's insatiable appetite for all things sweet or chewy. I am scared to go near this person in case one of my limbs accidentally comes into contact with their jaws. This person has an enormous arse and is also a Workplace Shitter.

(2.) The desk nearest to mine, a veritable midden of old forms, even older fruit pastilles, and - probably - rodents. Not even the person at (1) above will go near it when scavenging for food.

(3.) The occupant of the above desk, and their occasional attempts at "camaraderie" - basically handing out sweet treats to everyone - I am scared by this not only by the lack of hygiene of this person - but also because I am the boss, I'm terrified that the proffered chocolate has been deliberately laced with laxative, or rodent wee.

(4.) PMDS... oh God, oh God, it's that time of the year again when I must wander the corridors in vain with an appraisal form in one hand and a CO trailing behind me looking for a free room where I can conduct their Annual Review. I have to get all serious and discuss Key Performance Indicators (bleugh) and Critical Success Factors (Yawn). Then I have to give them a rating of 1 to 5. For Fuck's sake. It's like being a judge at a bad talent show in a community centre.

(5.) The coffee in the canteen. Once a reasonably palatable beverage, now tastes like it's been made with what's swept from the floor each evening, and maybe some rodent droppings from (2) above.

(6.) And of course, I live in mortal dread of falling asleep while my HEO is talking to me. An expert at using 100 words where 3 will do, my HEO is a tautological, verbose, circumlocutionary manager (sorry, I ate the thesaurus). I could catch a 5-minute cat nap, and still not miss anything. Does the HEO not notice my eyes glazing over, and a thin rope of drool exuding from the corner of my mouth? I can't help it.

I have to invest in some ProPlus. I have to get my caffeine somehow - see (5) above, and of course, if I take enough of them, I won't fall asleep, to be visited in my dreams by the evils listed above...

... but I may go insane. Maybe that's already happened though.

My eyes are burning!

The front page of today's Irish Examiner scared me. I am still shaking.

Maybe I am not so old after all.

Ladies of a certain vintage would go all weak at the knees at the sight of it. I, however, screamed in the canteen when I was presented with it by a cruel co-worker, arousing the attention of several Department staff, among them senior managers.

What was this thing?

A topless Wee Daniel. Och, bless him.

Even now, the sound of ripping paper and snipping scissors carries on the breeze from the nursing homes to my window.

(SHUDDER)

Edit - I would post a link, but once was enough! Go find it yourselves!