Man the barricades: the revolution's here

I am taking time out, Gentle Reader, to calm down; for I am pissed off mightily with today.

This morning got off to a bad start with the request for a copy every submission we have put up to Ministers on a certain policy over the past few weeks. Yes, I spent the morning belying my managerial status polishing those old, long-neglected clerical skills that are both the boon and bane of the teenager/student trying to earn a little extra pocket money.

You may recall that our current Minister, Ms Indecisive, aka She-Who-Never-Reads-A-Word-Put-To-Her-But-Is-Willing-To-Ask-For-More-More-More (That is her name amongst the Sioux at any rate) has commissioned more words on something relatively simple than anyone in the history of anything. Anyway, it took some time because not only did I have to find the buggers, but then print and collate it all. That was enough paper to assure the destruction of woodland the size of Belgium. How I enjoyed it.

I got out of the office at lunchtime in time to enjoy a fraught phone conversation with my sister who is mightily pissed off with me for having the audacity to buy my niece an 18th birthday present when she had already had the foresight to buy something on my behalf.

Mm. Keep it under lock and key, Dear. You can save money on the 21st in three years time.

In the bank, meanwhile, where I went to pay the latest instalment in worship of the great god credit card, some dweeb was arguing with then cashier because she didn’t like the fact that the signature on his Driving Licence differed from that on the form he’d just signed to get money from his account. Her solution was to ask him some questions about his account, and all he wanted to know was why she wouldn’t accept the licence as proof of identity, and if she thought there was something wrong with it she should check.

Great.

I must say she kept her calm admirably, although she should have gone through with her offer of cancelling the transaction if he wasn’t happy.

They were still at it when I completed my payment, and still going strong when I put the wrong card in the ATM, and then entered the wrong PIN number twice while trying to get cash. I was distracted, see.

I blame the dweeb. It did little for my continued good temper.

This afternoon, of course, before my will to live slipped into the red, my boss came along and asked me to retrieve the papers he’d asked me to produce this morning, and then copy them again so he could have his own personal copy.

My joy was not yet complete, but the jamming of the photocopier saw to that, and the resultant queuing in reprographics nailed the lid on its coffin.

So that’s all done. The papers are copied, collated, stapled and distributed. My mood is dark and I am eyeing anyone who passes my desk with a view to taking the head off the unwary. What with the jamming of the photocopier, that’s another one and a half Belgiums pulped and shipped. All papers will be in the recycling bin by 6pm at the latest.

I am also tired, which gives me the grump, too.

Some days you are the statue, and some days you are the pigeon. Today I have been most decidedly the statue, and the whole pigeon race has flown by.

Oh, and I hate Cherry Coke, too. Vile stuff.

Man the barricades: the revolution's here

I am taking time out, Gentle Reader, to calm down; for I am pissed off mightily with today.

This morning got off to a bad start with the request for a copy every submission we have put up to Ministers on a certain policy over the past few weeks. Yes, I spent the morning belying my managerial status polishing those old, long-neglected clerical skills that are both the boon and bane of the teenager/student trying to earn a little extra pocket money.

You may recall that our current Minister, Ms Indecisive, aka She-Who-Never-Reads-A-Word-Put-To-Her-But-Is-Willing-To-Ask-For-More-More-More (That is her name amongst the Sioux at any rate) has commissioned more words on something relatively simple than anyone in the history of anything. Anyway, it took some time because not only did I have to find the buggers, but then print and collate it all. That was enough paper to assure the destruction of woodland the size of Belgium. How I enjoyed it.

I got out of the office at lunchtime in time to enjoy a fraught phone conversation with my sister who is mightily pissed off with me for having the audacity to buy my niece an 18th birthday present when she had already had the foresight to buy something on my behalf.

Mm. Keep it under lock and key, Dear. You can save money on the 21st in three years time.

In the bank, meanwhile, where I went to pay the latest instalment in worship of the great god credit card, some dweeb was arguing with then cashier because she didn’t like the fact that the signature on his Driving Licence differed from that on the form he’d just signed to get money from his account. Her solution was to ask him some questions about his account, and all he wanted to know was why she wouldn’t accept the licence as proof of identity, and if she thought there was something wrong with it she should check.

Great.

I must say she kept her calm admirably, although she should have gone through with her offer of cancelling the transaction if he wasn’t happy.

They were still at it when I completed my payment, and still going strong when I put the wrong card in the ATM, and then entered the wrong PIN number twice while trying to get cash. I was distracted, see.

I blame the dweeb. It did little for my continued good temper.

This afternoon, of course, before my will to live slipped into the red, my boss came along and asked me to retrieve the papers he’d asked me to produce this morning, and then copy them again so he could have his own personal copy.

My joy was not yet complete, but the jamming of the photocopier saw to that, and the resultant queuing in reprographics nailed the lid on its coffin.

So that’s all done. The papers are copied, collated, stapled and distributed. My mood is dark and I am eyeing anyone who passes my desk with a view to taking the head off the unwary. What with the jamming of the photocopier, that’s another one and a half Belgiums pulped and shipped. All papers will be in the recycling bin by 6pm at the latest.

I am also tired, which gives me the grump, too.

Some days you are the statue, and some days you are the pigeon. Today I have been most decidedly the statue, and the whole pigeon race has flown by.

Oh, and I hate Cherry Coke, too. Vile stuff.