Life's tough enough when your boss is a victim of domestic violence who is more scared of living alone than living with his drunkard violent wife, and has a conceived a not-so-secret obsession with his deputy's arse.
Perhaps the fact that she's about to start a two year course of steroids that will result in her quickly assuming the proportions of a half-deflated barrage balloon, or perhaps its just bloody Christmas.
One minute he's in a good mood, the next he's reducing the bakery staff to tears. If only he could be consistent and keep them in a state of trembling fear (and doing their job) but he can't keep it up for long at a stretch - sooner or later the Handmaiden will stroll by, his eyes will fall out of their sockets, his tongue will droop inelegantly, puddles of drool will gather at his feet.
Bless him.
Showing posts with label I work for cretins. Show all posts
Showing posts with label I work for cretins. Show all posts
Tuesday, 6 November 2007
Friday, 26 October 2007
Darwin in the workplace
There is absolutely nothing wrong with what is currently going on, apparantly. The Big Swinging Dick is the supreme Darwinian manager - this is pure laissez-faire management. Let 'em loose. Except these are the hounds of hell and while they're sorting themselves out everyone else is buffetted and more or less entirely ineffectual.
The handmaiden will admit that she, the earliest appointee had the benefit of his careful attention during her early days in post and the most thorough grounding in the broadest range of elements of the role.
With each successive appointment the amount of attention he's given to ensuring the appointee is properly equipped to perform the role he expects her to carry out has decreased markedly to the point where the Bolshie Book Worm was essentially given the title and the pay rise and left to work it out as she went. She's learned the scope of her role through curt disciplinary memoranda usually left about for any number of people to read before she gets to it.
Typically she only learns how to do something the correct way after she's done her best and ended up doing things not the way he'd have it.
What makes this worse for her is that to some extent this is nothing more than personal preference (I feel like I've been here, and I probably have).
In the middle there's Yoda. How Yoda secured her promotion is a little mystery. Her strengths such as they are lie in the application of hair dye, bullying and paper shuffling.
She does have one other quality, though, and it is what's kept her in post: a remarkable capacity for shifting the blame. Her instinct for self-preservation is peerless, at least on site.
And so if I had to put money on any particular individual to be the last one standing it would be her.
The handmaiden will admit that she, the earliest appointee had the benefit of his careful attention during her early days in post and the most thorough grounding in the broadest range of elements of the role.
With each successive appointment the amount of attention he's given to ensuring the appointee is properly equipped to perform the role he expects her to carry out has decreased markedly to the point where the Bolshie Book Worm was essentially given the title and the pay rise and left to work it out as she went. She's learned the scope of her role through curt disciplinary memoranda usually left about for any number of people to read before she gets to it.
Typically she only learns how to do something the correct way after she's done her best and ended up doing things not the way he'd have it.
What makes this worse for her is that to some extent this is nothing more than personal preference (I feel like I've been here, and I probably have).
In the middle there's Yoda. How Yoda secured her promotion is a little mystery. Her strengths such as they are lie in the application of hair dye, bullying and paper shuffling.
She does have one other quality, though, and it is what's kept her in post: a remarkable capacity for shifting the blame. Her instinct for self-preservation is peerless, at least on site.
And so if I had to put money on any particular individual to be the last one standing it would be her.
Monday, 22 October 2007
Will the second last person
to leave the building please remember to switch off the lights.
Yoda will be too panic stricken to do so, and we mustn't squander all that electricity. The emergency lighting will kick in and she's used to blundering about in the dark anyway.
And while we're on the subject of Yoda, and meandering around to the actual point of this post, news has reached me that the nearest thing we have to a creative soul is about to check out for the last time. Senior Frustrated Novelist has cashed in her tokens and is off to join a utility (or her script has been accepted and she's about to become marginally less non-famous than me).
I've only heard this indirectly and I can hardly wait to go in to work on Wednesday and get the Paper-Shuffler-in-Chief's panic stricken take on this turn up for the books. I rather suspect that the general assumption about the place has been that SFN has been too depressed to do anything constructive such as secure alternative employment. In trading on that assumption they've left themselves stranded up that creek with a broken paddle.
A sensible bunch would set themselves to the necessary task of mending that paddle. This bunch are not sensible. What they'll do next is get into a wrangle about matters peripheral - things that are not entirely irrelevant but also not of vital and immediate importance. When they've exhausted themselves they'll not have addressed either of the two critical issues and they might find that in the squabble some one's knocked the not completely useless paddle overboard.
So now they're up that creek without any means of propulsion whatsoever. A girl can dream. A girl can also flog her CV about. Low pay and members of the management team who are either decrepit and bullying or malicious and incompetent; deal with those things and it just might come to pass that staff retention improves.
Yoda will be too panic stricken to do so, and we mustn't squander all that electricity. The emergency lighting will kick in and she's used to blundering about in the dark anyway.
And while we're on the subject of Yoda, and meandering around to the actual point of this post, news has reached me that the nearest thing we have to a creative soul is about to check out for the last time. Senior Frustrated Novelist has cashed in her tokens and is off to join a utility (or her script has been accepted and she's about to become marginally less non-famous than me).
I've only heard this indirectly and I can hardly wait to go in to work on Wednesday and get the Paper-Shuffler-in-Chief's panic stricken take on this turn up for the books. I rather suspect that the general assumption about the place has been that SFN has been too depressed to do anything constructive such as secure alternative employment. In trading on that assumption they've left themselves stranded up that creek with a broken paddle.
A sensible bunch would set themselves to the necessary task of mending that paddle. This bunch are not sensible. What they'll do next is get into a wrangle about matters peripheral - things that are not entirely irrelevant but also not of vital and immediate importance. When they've exhausted themselves they'll not have addressed either of the two critical issues and they might find that in the squabble some one's knocked the not completely useless paddle overboard.
So now they're up that creek without any means of propulsion whatsoever. A girl can dream. A girl can also flog her CV about. Low pay and members of the management team who are either decrepit and bullying or malicious and incompetent; deal with those things and it just might come to pass that staff retention improves.
Tuesday, 16 October 2007
Clearing the backlog, part two
As mentioned I had to work the Friday shift with Yoda and it was not a pleasant experience.
I walked into the middle of a conversation between her and the Bolshie Book Worm, being conducted at full volume so I walked out onto the shop floor - and I stayed there until the pair emerged from the office. The conversation was work related in that it involved a couple of the less capable members of staff (employment as a 'care in the community' type arrangements).
Unfortunately after BBW clocked off Yoda came back in and entered into another protracted conversation with the Maltese Terrier this time. It was about holidays at first, then about hair, finally about depilation and their respective degrees of hairiness or otherwise. I tried ever so hard not to hear a word they were saying but I did catch Yoda's claim that her eyebrows no longer need to be plucked.
I'd be worried.
I couldn't bear it and left, drifing about on the shop floor as long as possible. Eventually I spotted her bottle blond barnet at the far end of the store and new it was safe to return to my desk. I was able to watch from the monitor as she engaged our uniformed security guard in a long conversation. A very long conversation. I'm not sure it was well advised to distract the security guard, but she's paid more than me - what could I possibly know.
Eventually she moved on. A little while later she came in having sorted out that her elderly mother was not, after all, entitled to a refund having been overcharged on something or other that should have been on offer. No mums (sic) had made a mistake.
Having covered depilation, perming, the new series of Strictly Come Dancing (that was it! - I knew there'd been a discussion about something on TV) and her mother's bill Yoda was finally at liberty to get on with what was the most important matter of the day: Dog Food.
Not filling the shelves of the pet food aisle, though. Oh, no. Yoda's pet pooch can only eat certain foods, many things 'make her toilet go funny'. I think Yoda means, here, that a lot of food gives her pampered pet the runs. Yoda faced a dilemma though; how to get to the vet before it closed when The Visit of the great and good might still happen.
The Maltese Terrier suggested getting one of the staff to run down to the bottom end of town on her behalf. So that's what happened. In essence Yoda purloined a company asset when she diverted an employee on paid time to run an errand for her.
I walked into the middle of a conversation between her and the Bolshie Book Worm, being conducted at full volume so I walked out onto the shop floor - and I stayed there until the pair emerged from the office. The conversation was work related in that it involved a couple of the less capable members of staff (employment as a 'care in the community' type arrangements).
Unfortunately after BBW clocked off Yoda came back in and entered into another protracted conversation with the Maltese Terrier this time. It was about holidays at first, then about hair, finally about depilation and their respective degrees of hairiness or otherwise. I tried ever so hard not to hear a word they were saying but I did catch Yoda's claim that her eyebrows no longer need to be plucked.
I'd be worried.
I couldn't bear it and left, drifing about on the shop floor as long as possible. Eventually I spotted her bottle blond barnet at the far end of the store and new it was safe to return to my desk. I was able to watch from the monitor as she engaged our uniformed security guard in a long conversation. A very long conversation. I'm not sure it was well advised to distract the security guard, but she's paid more than me - what could I possibly know.
Eventually she moved on. A little while later she came in having sorted out that her elderly mother was not, after all, entitled to a refund having been overcharged on something or other that should have been on offer. No mums (sic) had made a mistake.
Having covered depilation, perming, the new series of Strictly Come Dancing (that was it! - I knew there'd been a discussion about something on TV) and her mother's bill Yoda was finally at liberty to get on with what was the most important matter of the day: Dog Food.
Not filling the shelves of the pet food aisle, though. Oh, no. Yoda's pet pooch can only eat certain foods, many things 'make her toilet go funny'. I think Yoda means, here, that a lot of food gives her pampered pet the runs. Yoda faced a dilemma though; how to get to the vet before it closed when The Visit of the great and good might still happen.
The Maltese Terrier suggested getting one of the staff to run down to the bottom end of town on her behalf. So that's what happened. In essence Yoda purloined a company asset when she diverted an employee on paid time to run an errand for her.
Clearing the backlog, part one
First of all there's a post I wrote back at the end of August about one particularly charmless slacker currently employed by us and you can read that post here.
My perfectly clear understanding at the time was that this young minx had had her tea break privilege withdrawn for what wasn't actually desribed as 'taking the piss' but amounted to that nevertheless.
The requirement in law as that workers are not required to work longer than four hours without a break. Here we interpret that more generously than necessary to mean that anyone working a four hour shift is entitled to a break during that shift. But it is made clear when employing someone and specifying their shifts, as well as via posters at the clocking-in machine, on the staircase to the staff room, inside said staff room and at a couple of additional strategic positions that this is a privilege and as such it is something that can be withdrawn by the business.
And I understood that to have happened in the case of the minx.
But some instinct born of bitter experience warned me to re-confirm recently on a rare night when the two of us were working the same shift. And sure enough the privilige has been re-instated and according to the Handmaiden that's because "we can't actually withhold her tea break". Yes we can, and if we did a bit of that sort of thing the rest of the slackers might take us just a little bit seriously.
My perfectly clear understanding at the time was that this young minx had had her tea break privilege withdrawn for what wasn't actually desribed as 'taking the piss' but amounted to that nevertheless.
The requirement in law as that workers are not required to work longer than four hours without a break. Here we interpret that more generously than necessary to mean that anyone working a four hour shift is entitled to a break during that shift. But it is made clear when employing someone and specifying their shifts, as well as via posters at the clocking-in machine, on the staircase to the staff room, inside said staff room and at a couple of additional strategic positions that this is a privilege and as such it is something that can be withdrawn by the business.
And I understood that to have happened in the case of the minx.
But some instinct born of bitter experience warned me to re-confirm recently on a rare night when the two of us were working the same shift. And sure enough the privilige has been re-instated and according to the Handmaiden that's because "we can't actually withhold her tea break". Yes we can, and if we did a bit of that sort of thing the rest of the slackers might take us just a little bit seriously.
Friday, 12 October 2007
Hate to say it, but I told you so
I speculated here that The Visit probably wouldn't happen (see the ante penultimate paragraph) and guess what ... they didn't turn up.
Children's toys will be returned to the pram shortly, and normal service is expected to resume shortly thereafter.
Children's toys will be returned to the pram shortly, and normal service is expected to resume shortly thereafter.
Wednesday, 10 October 2007
Welcome to Kindergarten
Boring post alert: this is a protracted moan about work related things.
After an evening shift that lasted an hour longer than planned, over-eating and drinking more than one glass of wine I was up by 5:00 this morning for the early shift. This might sound horrendous, but I'd been able to put myself ahead of the game, doing in advance as much as possible of the stuff I'd have to do. In fact I quite like following my evening with the early. Tomorrow morning I'll be following the Novice, and I'm already feeling a wee bit anxious.
An early shift isn't without drawbacks, such as being, well, Early, as opposed to Late and providing for a morning nap.
Also at this time of year it is still rather dark at the time I'm having to walk up the path to the road. This is the time of year when the garden is full of the sort of spider that enjoys slinging its web across great distances, the better to catch moths, other flying insects and half awake human beings.
Bastards.
Yoda was outside strutting her stuff, took one look at me and fled inside. Right ho.
Bolshie Book Worm was in yesterday evening and we had a brief conversation about the state of play. I mentioned my suspicion that something had been said to Yoda, despite my request that nothing of the sort happen. My grounds for making the request: she's got a malevolent streak and she's in a position that makes it all too easy to make the life of pretty much any member of staff from the GM down thoroughly miserable.
She conceded the possibility but denied all knowledge; something similar to that which I suspect happened to me has happened in recent weeks to someone else. The person concerned had a conversation with BBW: the gist of which seems to have been a problem with Yoda. This person asked that their privacy to be respected and their name withheld when BBW consulted The Handmaiden. The Handmaiden, knowing that BBW wanted the matter handled discretely and without involving the Big Swinging Dick, nevertheless went directly to our Lothario in chief.
BB is actively (so she says) looking for another job on the grounds that she'd left one playschool to join us and she wouldn't hang around much longer if we don't raise our game. According to her the Handmaiden actively seeks out Yoda's faults and failings and her errors of omission and commission and takes them straight to the Big Swinging Dick. This amounts to persecution and harassment Yoda might well have a case for constructive dismissal if she's got proof of what's going on.
Senior Frustrated Novelist has an assessment centre next weekend and brightens up no end at the very mention of her potential next job. It is a proper job, with an annual salary, fixed schedule and a package of benefits that increase in scope and value with tenure and promotion. A proper job with a proper employer.
I'm left with the prospect of struggling to explain to the Paper Shuffler in Chief, breaking the news to her as gently as I know how, that actually I don't particularly care for my job and that I'm open to alternative offers that I can conceivably make work (hours, child care etc), and that I absolutely loathe being stuck in a dark room rather than out on the floor making things happen at the sharp end of the business. The shop floor is alien and terrifying terrain to her, and aspirations in that direction are unfathomable.
Heavy sigh.
So at 6:00 I arrived at the door and Yoda fled at the sight of me. Funnily enough I take more care over my appearance for a morning shift than I do for an evening shift having become stuck in the slobbing about at home groove in the morning, I guess. Bit odd really, but then she is odd when she isn't being downright vile.
I got through, went upstairs, left my stuff in my locker, made myself some hot chocolate and then went back down. Halfway down I passed Yoda, hands to her face. Did I get 'good morning'. Did I hell.
"Oh, I feel so unwell, I've got to go toilet (sic)", she cried as she passed me at quite a pace. About 15 minutes later she reappeared downstairs ready to share with me the number of times she's 'been toilet' and vomited since 2 in the morning and since she came in.
She left me to open up ahead of the arrival of the Big Swinging Dick and she-who-mops-his-fevered-brow.
Now the Big Man's been in a foul mood since he returned from holiday. There had been some signs towards the end of last week that the 'mood' was lifting after a week spent by him getting things back in shape. This week things have slipped again. The great and the good are coming in for an inspection and the entire place is a disaster area, mostly due to the deficiencies he's recruited and trained. And he's on a two day course for the day before and the actual day of the visit. Things are slipping out of his control and he knows it and he doesn't like it.
He's responded by throwing his weight about in a way that is utterly pointless. The day after the visit the energy levels will plummet and we'll execute a collective slump back into our usual lazy ways.
The plain and simple truth is that those in a position to train and manage don't do any such thing, staff are never taught properly or corrected when they adopt bad practices - until crunch time such as the impending visit. Management by crisis.
The saddest thing is that this will all blow over. The visit probably won't actually happen (wouldn't be the first time) and even if it does, what ever worst it is he's envisaging won't come to pass (does he fear losing his job? not a chance).
The Maltese Terrier's speculating that part of the problem is that he's carting his domestic problems into the store; she's told him to leave his wife and he's told her quite poignantly that he 'doesn't want to be alone'.
On mornings like this one, when he and the Handmaiden were throwing metaphorical teacups at each other in the stress of the situation, I wish they'd leave me alone, or that I could get out of the office and do something constructive.
After an evening shift that lasted an hour longer than planned, over-eating and drinking more than one glass of wine I was up by 5:00 this morning for the early shift. This might sound horrendous, but I'd been able to put myself ahead of the game, doing in advance as much as possible of the stuff I'd have to do. In fact I quite like following my evening with the early. Tomorrow morning I'll be following the Novice, and I'm already feeling a wee bit anxious.
An early shift isn't without drawbacks, such as being, well, Early, as opposed to Late and providing for a morning nap.
Also at this time of year it is still rather dark at the time I'm having to walk up the path to the road. This is the time of year when the garden is full of the sort of spider that enjoys slinging its web across great distances, the better to catch moths, other flying insects and half awake human beings.
Bastards.
Yoda was outside strutting her stuff, took one look at me and fled inside. Right ho.
Bolshie Book Worm was in yesterday evening and we had a brief conversation about the state of play. I mentioned my suspicion that something had been said to Yoda, despite my request that nothing of the sort happen. My grounds for making the request: she's got a malevolent streak and she's in a position that makes it all too easy to make the life of pretty much any member of staff from the GM down thoroughly miserable.
She conceded the possibility but denied all knowledge; something similar to that which I suspect happened to me has happened in recent weeks to someone else. The person concerned had a conversation with BBW: the gist of which seems to have been a problem with Yoda. This person asked that their privacy to be respected and their name withheld when BBW consulted The Handmaiden. The Handmaiden, knowing that BBW wanted the matter handled discretely and without involving the Big Swinging Dick, nevertheless went directly to our Lothario in chief.
BB is actively (so she says) looking for another job on the grounds that she'd left one playschool to join us and she wouldn't hang around much longer if we don't raise our game. According to her the Handmaiden actively seeks out Yoda's faults and failings and her errors of omission and commission and takes them straight to the Big Swinging Dick. This amounts to persecution and harassment Yoda might well have a case for constructive dismissal if she's got proof of what's going on.
Senior Frustrated Novelist has an assessment centre next weekend and brightens up no end at the very mention of her potential next job. It is a proper job, with an annual salary, fixed schedule and a package of benefits that increase in scope and value with tenure and promotion. A proper job with a proper employer.
I'm left with the prospect of struggling to explain to the Paper Shuffler in Chief, breaking the news to her as gently as I know how, that actually I don't particularly care for my job and that I'm open to alternative offers that I can conceivably make work (hours, child care etc), and that I absolutely loathe being stuck in a dark room rather than out on the floor making things happen at the sharp end of the business. The shop floor is alien and terrifying terrain to her, and aspirations in that direction are unfathomable.
Heavy sigh.
So at 6:00 I arrived at the door and Yoda fled at the sight of me. Funnily enough I take more care over my appearance for a morning shift than I do for an evening shift having become stuck in the slobbing about at home groove in the morning, I guess. Bit odd really, but then she is odd when she isn't being downright vile.
I got through, went upstairs, left my stuff in my locker, made myself some hot chocolate and then went back down. Halfway down I passed Yoda, hands to her face. Did I get 'good morning'. Did I hell.
"Oh, I feel so unwell, I've got to go toilet (sic)", she cried as she passed me at quite a pace. About 15 minutes later she reappeared downstairs ready to share with me the number of times she's 'been toilet' and vomited since 2 in the morning and since she came in.
She left me to open up ahead of the arrival of the Big Swinging Dick and she-who-mops-his-fevered-brow.
Now the Big Man's been in a foul mood since he returned from holiday. There had been some signs towards the end of last week that the 'mood' was lifting after a week spent by him getting things back in shape. This week things have slipped again. The great and the good are coming in for an inspection and the entire place is a disaster area, mostly due to the deficiencies he's recruited and trained. And he's on a two day course for the day before and the actual day of the visit. Things are slipping out of his control and he knows it and he doesn't like it.
He's responded by throwing his weight about in a way that is utterly pointless. The day after the visit the energy levels will plummet and we'll execute a collective slump back into our usual lazy ways.
The plain and simple truth is that those in a position to train and manage don't do any such thing, staff are never taught properly or corrected when they adopt bad practices - until crunch time such as the impending visit. Management by crisis.
The saddest thing is that this will all blow over. The visit probably won't actually happen (wouldn't be the first time) and even if it does, what ever worst it is he's envisaging won't come to pass (does he fear losing his job? not a chance).
The Maltese Terrier's speculating that part of the problem is that he's carting his domestic problems into the store; she's told him to leave his wife and he's told her quite poignantly that he 'doesn't want to be alone'.
On mornings like this one, when he and the Handmaiden were throwing metaphorical teacups at each other in the stress of the situation, I wish they'd leave me alone, or that I could get out of the office and do something constructive.
Saturday, 6 October 2007
Feeling better
First of all I went out and worked furiously in the garden. The trees are shedding their leaves in huge quantities. There was more stuff I could cut back. The green bin is filled and there are three rubble sacks full of damp leaves.
Reinvigorated and in a much more positive frame to great the slug.
We had to make a shopping trip and I popped in to see the colleagues. All is not well. I didn't pass on a message from the Big Swinging Dick that came through late on Wednesday until I found my note on Thursday morning. Rang as soon as I found it and passed the message to Senior Frustrated Novelist for immediate action.
She told me BSD had already mentioned the matter in the office that morning - all was under control. Supposedly.
That evening the individual who was the subject of the message came in for his shift and asked about his leave application for Saturday. So much for all being under control; no one had passed the message to the effect that his leave application had been turned down. After everything it came down to me to tell him.
But I forgot to leave a message to confirm this - in fact it didn't occur to me that I need do such a thing. I don't leave a message every time I do what I'm asked to do, do I?
And the Maltese Terrier this morning realised that she'd not told the individual he couldn't have his day off, so assuming that he wouldn't be in for his Saturday evening shift performed a frantic ring around and secured not one but two extra bodies for the evening shift. Imagine her surprise when the Honey Monster ambled in after all.
All the anxiety is driven by the simple fact that the Big Swinging Dick is doing his once-a-year Saturday night shift. And we're all going to be in trouble for having Too Many Staff On Duty.
Reinvigorated and in a much more positive frame to great the slug.
We had to make a shopping trip and I popped in to see the colleagues. All is not well. I didn't pass on a message from the Big Swinging Dick that came through late on Wednesday until I found my note on Thursday morning. Rang as soon as I found it and passed the message to Senior Frustrated Novelist for immediate action.
She told me BSD had already mentioned the matter in the office that morning - all was under control. Supposedly.
That evening the individual who was the subject of the message came in for his shift and asked about his leave application for Saturday. So much for all being under control; no one had passed the message to the effect that his leave application had been turned down. After everything it came down to me to tell him.
But I forgot to leave a message to confirm this - in fact it didn't occur to me that I need do such a thing. I don't leave a message every time I do what I'm asked to do, do I?
And the Maltese Terrier this morning realised that she'd not told the individual he couldn't have his day off, so assuming that he wouldn't be in for his Saturday evening shift performed a frantic ring around and secured not one but two extra bodies for the evening shift. Imagine her surprise when the Honey Monster ambled in after all.
All the anxiety is driven by the simple fact that the Big Swinging Dick is doing his once-a-year Saturday night shift. And we're all going to be in trouble for having Too Many Staff On Duty.
Wednesday, 5 September 2007
Several things
This is I suspect the first in a series of posts in which I do my utmost to get myself into deep shit, which is pretty much what I did yesterday and then again today, but forgot to recap on.
First up the Big Swinging Dick was about when I arrived yesterday. There were too many people in the office, including him and Yoda. Actually that was it. And the conversation turned to pay packets when the pay slips arrived via the internal mail. He's re-qualified as a First Aider and receives a supplement. He and Yoda shared a management bonding moment which revolved around how their pay has not risen at the same pace as that of those at the bottom of the food chain who 'enjoy' a pay rate at or very marginally above minimum wage - ie, mugs like me. On and on they joshed. On and on I maintained my grim silence.
"Ew, she's not going to rise to the bait", joshed Big Swinging. "Henny's not saying anything", trilled Yoda. No I'm fucking not. Not for your amusement, anyway. You two are the clowns in this outfit. Entertain yourselves.
First up the Big Swinging Dick was about when I arrived yesterday. There were too many people in the office, including him and Yoda. Actually that was it. And the conversation turned to pay packets when the pay slips arrived via the internal mail. He's re-qualified as a First Aider and receives a supplement. He and Yoda shared a management bonding moment which revolved around how their pay has not risen at the same pace as that of those at the bottom of the food chain who 'enjoy' a pay rate at or very marginally above minimum wage - ie, mugs like me. On and on they joshed. On and on I maintained my grim silence.
"Ew, she's not going to rise to the bait", joshed Big Swinging. "Henny's not saying anything", trilled Yoda. No I'm fucking not. Not for your amusement, anyway. You two are the clowns in this outfit. Entertain yourselves.
Sunday, 29 July 2007
Barry the Bandicoot
This is another Numb-Nuts from head office. He's that way because he's spent his three or so decades with us crawling too close to the ground.
Any hoo, he's off. Well, he's probably been off for years, but his term of employment has been defined, and comes to an end in shortly under four weeks. He'd though he was indispensable and demanded a pay rise to compensate for the additional travel costs he'd incur in travelling to his new office which isn't in XVille but in YVille.
The business has called his bluff. He's out of here.
This news isn't as good as that of Ricky Retardo's departure. He's staying, unfortunately. But it isn't too bad either.
Any hoo, he's off. Well, he's probably been off for years, but his term of employment has been defined, and comes to an end in shortly under four weeks. He'd though he was indispensable and demanded a pay rise to compensate for the additional travel costs he'd incur in travelling to his new office which isn't in XVille but in YVille.
The business has called his bluff. He's out of here.
This news isn't as good as that of Ricky Retardo's departure. He's staying, unfortunately. But it isn't too bad either.
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