Where there's a willie, there's a way

Right, back to doom and gloom, rain and pain and other general fuckmuppetry for me for the foreseeable future.

Work fucking sucks. I come back from my break to find a WHOLE NEW FORM waiting for me. And not only do I have to fill it up, I have to fill one up for each CO as well. I have a lot of COs. That's a lot of writing. And a lot of pain for whoever has to look at them (if they do indeed look at them) because my handwriting is akin to that of a person with Parkinson's Disease attempting to write longhand while simultaneously bouncing up and down on a trampoline. Arse!

Another day of scowling and swearing behind me, I return home to find an invitation to a neighbour's Anne Summers party waiting for me. Yikes.

I'm just as much a fan of laughing at willie-shaped things as the next girl. I've been to Amsterdam and its various, ahem, museums and shops. I couldn't buy anything though because I was laughing too hard and anyway, I kept thinking about the airport security staff and their X-ray machines. In the end I plumped for a willie-shaped ice mould. Which the dog promptly ate when I brought it home. Git.

Anne Summers parties are different matters entirely. I don't fancy being in someone's house amidst girls tanked up on cheap chardonnay who are shrieking over frilly things and shoving great big plastic phalluses into each others faces. I think I would go mad. Besides, Amsterdam is anonymous, these things aren't. I might be subjected to "Whoa Govstooge, did you get a chance to wow himself with the lacy basque?" the next day when I walk to the newsagent for my paper.

Luckily, I have to be somewhere else on the night in question. I'm saving myself some considerable embarrasment.

Feckin' rain...

The rain today got me thinking. Of emigration to warmer climes, yes, but also the different types of people you see out on the streets in different types of weather. I go walking in all sorts of conditions, owning rain gear (NOT yellow!) means I never miss out. A woman for all seasons, if you will.

For instance on a warm sunny day you will see mums and kids out walking, joggers, runners, rollerbladers cyclists and people with their dogs. And you think to yourself only nutjobs and people who have to spend seven or eight hours in a stuffy office would not be out in it.

Then on a wet shitty day, just like today, a casual stroll around the area where I work reveals another subclass. Trolls under bridges. Yes, beneath an underpass there was a group of hooded chav teenagers in their shiny tracksuits, huddled together and smoking a special type of herbal cigarette and roaring and shouting gibberish. There was also a lot of poo. In the absence of dogs, I can only imagine where that came from. I have never seen these troglodytes on a fine day.

Nobody else around, just me and these fucking chavs.

Thankfully they were too stoned and their nylon attire wasn't really meant for downpours of this magnitude, so they didn't chase me.

Down time

It's been almost a week since I wrote anything. Fact is, I've been enjoying the weather too much ("sickie", anyone?) and, in the last two or three days when it started pissing again, I've been getting pissed. Mainly to forget about what's coming up in the next couple of weeks.

The interim reviews. Oh, fuck.

The thing is, with all the new minions reporting to me since earlier this year, it's going to take me a whole week to get through these poxy meetings. Not to mention the fact that I inherited a few extra people as a result of another EO leaving.

Some of the meetings might be fun this time around, however, as I might like to get revenge on some of these additional staff for an incident on the other EO's last day, which went something like this:


EO: Well, I'm off. It was lovely working with you all. (Goes to door)
CO: (Stands on desk) O Captain my Captain!
CO 2: (Stands on desk) O Captain my Captain! Please don't leave us!
EO: Err...
CO: Yes, please don't go. Our new EO is a bitch.
CO 2: Yes, she swears at us.
(At this point the HEO intervenes saying that people standing on desks is a breach of health and safety law and he ushers the EO out the door, while simultaneously restraining Govstooge from harming herself and others, as she is now foaming at the mouth and flailing her arms relentlessly. The HEO receives several bite marks to his forearms and has to leave early to go to the doctor.)
CO: Fuck, anyway.


The rest of the interim reviews won't be fun. Especially since I am now medicated to keep all that involuntary movement under control. It's just going to be a lot of sedate form-filling and box-ticking and running around trying to find an office vacated by an AP on a well-timed sickie so I can at least hold the review meetings in private.

How do they do it?

Oh Jaysus.

I am so sick of fucking forms. I am short staffed at the moment (I think it's something to do with the weather - wish I'd fucking thought of that), and so I've had to pick up some of the slack.

I don't know how the clerical staff do it. Processing form after form day in day out. Fucking hell. I think I'll go easy on them at the upcoming interim review (Then I'll balance it out by going medieval on their asses for calling in "sick" at a moment's notice. Heh heh heh. ), because I know if I had to do it all day every day I'd go fucking mental.

I can just see myself, having strangled a senior manager with his tie and tied it around my own head as a headband, leaping the desks in the open-plan areas throwing ninja death forms at everyone in my path. The carpet would be soaked in copious amounts of blood from the papercuts I would inflict mercilessly on my co-workers. My ululating battle-cry would echo throughout the building and those left alive would not emerge from beneath their desks until it is time for my tea break.

Feck it, it's going to be lovely again tomorrow. I think I'll call in sick. It might just save their lives.

Hug an EO today!

Well on this sad day when the nation's flag is at half-mast outside the Department in respect to the late President Paddy Hillery, did this sombre sight dictate the mood for the working day and prompt quiet reflection among the staff within?

Did it bollocks.

I have never had a more manic working day in my entire life. A few more of these and I will have an ulcer/ stroke / heart attack / all 3 at once (Well, I suppose it beats the Hepatitis A contractable from Untidy Guy's desk).

My colleagues saw an even darker side to Govstooge today as the leave forms/ expense forms / old envelopes with messages from Untidy guy written on them piled up on my desk. Along with some wonderful fun things like people asking me very detailed questions on work I'm not fully up to speed with - I've only taken over certain tasks in recent days. On top of that, a senior manager imposes a near-impossible deadline on this very work which means I will be running around collating the work and will almost certainly be in the firing line if anything goes arseways. Fuck this. Yes, the dark side emerged as Govstooge scowled even more than usual - giving myself a nasty tension headache in the process - and I'm sure I actually shouted "Can't it fucking wait?" at someone.

I made some small attempts to lighten my load. I used the Out Tray to deal with some of the more indecipherable messages from Untidy Guy. Yes, I fucked them in the bin. There were so many messages, that three or four would not be missed. Honestly, life is too short to have to endure the rambling nonsense that would pass for an explanation. That is one trait he shares with the HEO.

But I have to listen to the HEO, there's the difference. A 20 minute directive from my boss today had me still scratching my head wondering how am I going to transmit this downwards to the clerical officers. So I managed to get the HEO to explain it directly to them instead. This chain-of-command stuff is rubbish, and anyway I don't think it made any more sense to them than it did to me.

There is nothing more alarming than having six people at once clamouring for your attention. "Sign this", "What do we do with this?", "Can I have tomorrow off?", "Did you get that query from Personnel?", "Can I go to the toilet?", "Where's the door?"

Jesus Christ, all I want is to sit unnoticed in a corner somewhere. That's what they told me I'd be doing when I signed up, but I haven't had a game of Arse Race in six months.

I need a hug. And not from any smelly bastards either. They can fuck off.

Sick

God, can't believe it's been a week since I posted anything. Things have gone haywire in the past week. I have dealt with things this past week that only prison officers and psychiatric nurses should see. I get paid a lot, a LOT less than they do. And rightly so, because I don't have the qualifications to deal with these problems. I fuckin' love my job at the best of times, despite my ranting, but this week I felt way out of my depth. I did a year of Psychology in UCG way back, but nothing I remember in the DSM - IV (Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of the American Psychiatric Association - 4th ed. - woo! I remember!) could categorise this.

And it's not over yet. I think the worst is yet to come. Jesus, why can't it be all about forms? I mean, even more than usual?

Not at the Irish Blog awards tonight, I spent the day in Galway instead... feckin' lovely weather, Ted! But best of luck to all those shortlisted. There is some seriously good writing out there. Well done all.

Just cause...

There is a procedure in my Department, which, I imagine, is in place in all Departments and maybe in many private sector companies, where if an employee forgets their ID/ swipe card, they have to manually record the times they arrived at work/ went on lunch/ went home and get this authorised by their supervisor. A perfectly reasonable procedure, in fairness.

One of the clerical officers I supervise has a tendency to do this a lot. Most weeks, sometimes even twice a week I have to authorise these sign in times. This wouldn't be so bad except each one is accompanied by a spiel of what exactly was happening at the time they left home that they forgot it (there was a cat on the driveway/ my mammy called me and told me my shirt was ironed and ready / I needed a last minute poo). I also get a run down of the actual sign in/ out times, even though they are written on a form in front of me.

I really don't mind signing these things. I know the person in question is telling the truth, as I have seen them arrive and leave at the times they say. I just don't want a big long explanation, which can sometimes be accompanied by showers of saliva. Don't drool on your boss, you manky fucker.

For this year's staff suggestion scheme, I propose that employees who are prone to this specific kind of waffling have their ID cards tattooed on their foreheads. That way they can just press their heads up to the clock every time they go past and it will record their clockings.

I will even offer to do the tattooing myself. I have a set of Magic Markers, and I like playing with sharp objects.

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.

Knob of the week...

Oh, God, as if civil servants needed more bad publicity... this week it emerged that a civil servant in the Department of Social and Family Affairs supplied his criminal brother with confidential data so that he could extort money etc. This gobshite deserves to be prosecuted along with his brother.

Not only that, but it has also emerged, as a consequence, that it is "common practice" among civil servants to check the financial status of people they know.

This gives an image of civil servants as being the electronic equivalents of "curtain twitchers". In last night's Questions and Answers, the phrase "Valley of the Squinting Windows" came up. Would you give your local nosey old biddy behind her nets your confidential financial information? I think not.

I have access to sensitive information. I have seen stuff in files that would make great tabloid headlines. I'm not putting my job at risk by breaching the Official Secrets Act, though. I have to pay for my house somehow. So there will be no leaks here, apart from random rantings about people pooing at work (haven't even had one of those rants in ages) and general office bullshit. That's plenty to be going on with.

People distrust the government enough already as it is. If the remaining trust in the civil service goes, who will fill out the forms? Are we to fill them out ourselves using silly names in order to have something to do? Or will we just go to the canteen and have another nice cup of tea, leaving the forms to gather dust, unloved, in a corner of the office? Or can we stay in bed and call it "teleworking"?

Actually, I quite like the last one. It might save me from being lynched on my way to work.