Worst ... Aid ... Ever!

Now that the beta-blockers that the doctor prescribed for me to control the crazy physiological manifestations of my utter OUTRAGE (even the HEO ducked for cover, and the building was almost evacuated) at the sight of my first 2011 payslip last week have kicked in, I am now able to put my no longer trembling fingers to keyboard to compose my first post of the year.

I’m not going to write about the changes to my take-home pay and the attendant austerity measures I must adopt in my lifestyle. I may die in the pro...........

..... hmm. That light was very bright. It gave me a migraine.

Anyway.

Earlier this week, a friend who is currently in college asked me if I would like to participate on a first-aid course currently being undertaken by herself and other members of her class. Given the cost to non-students, I politely declined, saying also that a similar course is periodically offered at work free of charge.

I’ve never done a first-aid course at work. It’s a useful skill that can, for once, be used in the real world outside the Civil Service.

The problem is, if I did do the course in work, I would be listed as a first aid practitioner (and possibly defibrillator operator) among others on the Department’s Intranet.
What if I actually had to do something? There are a lot of fairly unhealthy looking types in the Department. You can hear them wheezing, puffing and panting on the stairs. Their red faces serve as emergency lighting. Most of them have bad teeth, skin problems and are challenged in the niceties of personal hygiene. The others are arseholes. The very thought of having to give mouth-to-mouth or defibrillate the bare chests of any of them makes me want to puke.

Although...

... I might just have the power to decide whether they live or die! To play God! BWAHAHAHHAHAHAHAH!

Imagine! A prostrate, purple-faced psoriatic EO with week-old sweat stains under his arms, or a cyanotic CO whose smugness suddenly seems to have left her...with only me... ME! as the one to grasp them and firmly reinstate them on this mortal coil. Or a talkative CO with an annoying voice struggling to breathe, necessitating an emergency tracheotomy with an old biro to keep the airway open – sure why not rip the vocal chords out while I’m at it?

Endless possibilities for evil, violence and fun, while helping to keep employment levels down. Helping the public sector employment statistics for the Croke Park agreement.

Although, knowing my rotten luck, it’ll end up being me prostrate on the floor, especially if there are any more cuts or tax increases. Well, at least I have nice skin, good oral hygiene and shower and change my clothes daily. I’d have some chance of surviving, I suppose.

Anyway, happy new year and all that, motherfeckers.

New Year, Same Old Bollocks

Argh, facing into a new year is generally fraught with optimism and hope for change for the better. But once the Prosecco hangover wore off on New Year's Day, those alien emotions wore off pretty damned quickly.

I'm back at work tomorrow, and to get myself in the mood, I dug out my DVD of Falling Down. I felt better straight away.

Sometimes, when faced with pay cuts, PMDS Annual Reviews, training courses and being sucked onto new project teams, one needs to find some way of detaching from it all. I choose a Michael Douglas film about a bloke who goes mental one day. Hmm.

Anyway, much of tomorrow's going to be catching up with everyone else at work. I expect to hear all of the following (I should really devise a bingo card for this stuff):

"I got soooo twisted on New Year's Eve."

"Timmy didn't like the choo-choo Santy brought him. I was gutted."

"My mother-in-law's turkey was so dry it was like eating wood shavings."

"Whose turn is it to take down the office Christmas decorations?"

"Are there any sweets left?"

"Govstooge, my PC won't start. There's melted chocolate all over my keyboard."

"Govstooge, can I have the afternoon off?"

Argh, fuck off.

For the record, my contributions to the whole affair will be along the lines of:

"Who wants to do their Annual Review? And where's my knuckle duster?"

"If there's any Galaxy truffles left, they're MINE!"

"Christmas? Oh yes, it was fine. You know I'm a Hassidic Jew, though, right?"

"Ah, just piss off."



Here's to 2010, folks. Have a good one. Because I know I won't.

Feliz Ano!

Well, back in the land of the living again. I had a shit end to a shit year... a big dirty chest infection. It is just my feckin' luck, in a job with paid sick leave, to get sick on my feckin' holidays! (Not that I have ever regarded the sick leave as an adjunct to my annual leave. I'm far too principled for that.)

Back on form in time for New Year's Eve and some relatively sensible drinking thereon.

I must admit, I bounded through the Department's front doors this morning with enthusiasm. I waved a cheery "Happy New Year" to the reception staff. The enthusiasm continued as I swiped my card at the clock, hearing the familiar bleeping sound.

Before entering the section, I went to the bathrooms. I suffered a blow here, as I will always remember the first Department smell of 2009 as not that of brand new forms, or chocolate, or coffee, but that of things that fall out of people's arses. Gurrgh. Having washed my hands seventeen times and opened the door with my elbow, I continued my journey to the section. "What do I have to do today?", I mused to myself. I made a short mental list. First was sorting out clerical officers' timesheets for the festive season. Second was to see about organising a boring meeting which had come up at another meeting before Christmas. Third was.... third was.... PMDS! Fuckin' PMDS!

Oh God, it's that time of year again. Stupid forms, no private rooms, telling people off, massaging egos, uttering platitudes. And those stupid ratings, which are a fecking joke.

I pushed open the double doors to the section. In a mere couple of minutes, my face had gone from a ruddy January pink - via green (remember the toilets?) - to a morbid civil servant grey. I greeted those already present with a muttered "happy whatever", removed my coat and fired up the PC. Colleagues glanced at one another, knowing better than to ask.

I perked up once I got some coffee in me. It wasn't all bad.

Still, it's got to be better than 2008, though, right??

Worst day ever...

It was the worst day ever, this first day back at work of 2008.

I was told this morning that the number of staff I supervise is to increase threefold. Well, bollocks anyway. It's going to be in double digits. If this was the private sector, I would get more money, but no, it's the fucking civil service and we have it too good already. My whole working day will be taken up with signing leave forms, doing role profile forms, attending to disciplinary matters, and other associated staff management wank. I won't have any time to look at the internet! Jesus, it's not fucking fair!!

It put me in a bad mood for the day. Not even the fact that I will no longer be supervising the section nutcase could alleviate it.

And the fucking office was freezing all day. What are they trying to do, kill us?

Jaysus, is it that time already?

Fuck me, it's 2008! And I'm another year... well, day, older and deeper in debt!

And I'm sitting here wondering what the FUCK was all that about? Don't know about anyone else but my Christmas was pretty uneventful. Christmas in the Govstooge household included the following sensational highlights:

• PASSING out in front of the TELLY after Christmas dinner and too much SAUVIGNON BLANC. I was watching a BORAT DVD and missed the NUDIE WRESTLING bit (thank God).
  
• FARTING without the aid of BRUSSELS SPROUTS. Everyone hates the nasty little fuckers, so we had BROCCOLI instead.
  
• 4 days of CONSTIPATION, I had to resort to an overdose of ANDREWS (Yecch!) so I could fit into my festive gear to go out. My stomach sounded like a SYMPHONY ORCHESTRA tuning up in a sewer as a result.
  
• NOT stabbing any family member in the eye with a fork. This was the toughest challenge of the season.
• Much DRIVING around the country to visit friends. Well, either that, or scowling at family and wrestling for control of the remote. Give me driving in poor conditions any day (see below).
  
• NOT going to the sales. I fucking hate Christmas shopping, and I also hate the early days of the sales. I was held up in sales shopping traffic when driving through Limerick last week and it made me want to blow up the entire Dublin Road retail park/ shopping centre district. Why didn't Santa bring me a copy of the Anarchist's Cookbook?
• Being a big softie really because I cried reading Marley and Me by John Grogan, an account of his relationship with a big clumsy Labrador. Read it. Go on.
  

New Year's was slightly easier; a night with some friends at their place watching Jools Holland while quaffing some very nice Lidl Champagne and being very sensible - at least, compared to last year, when I passed out in public in Spain and don't remember anything between that and me waking up in bed with a bitching hangover. No, it was very civilised. I was actually able to function on New Year's Day and actually did some work in my house.

The weather was another highlight, two incidents stick out in my mind; the telly aerial falling off the roof of my parents' house in the high winds at a critical point in a film and me almost having a crash in a remote part of the mid-West due to floods on the road, I ended up skidding so badly I found myself facing in the direction I'd come from!

And I'm not even back at work yet. Tomorrow's the day; oh the delights I will encounter on the first day back at the Department. I have a stack of role profile forms to do, more report deadlines, meetings to organise, training... oh, FUCK! FUCKITYFUCKITYFUCK!!

Oh, by the way, happy 2008 to everyone. Hope it's a good one.



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