Wednesday 5 October 2011
Friday 15 May 2009
The Fear has been used against me!
Oh dear. Late again. A resounding one hour thirty minutes late to work today. An almost excusable 45 minutes yesterday and on Monday I didn't make it in til Tuesday. I was ill on Monday, but that never looks good does it?
Cue a quiet chat in a small room. Yes, I know that sounds vaguely Guantanamo. Luckily water boarding did not come into but it was still a pretty undignified experience.
To the extent it's rocked me a little, and I'm hearing echoes of an already lived through era of "you're lucky to have a job". This is the driver for The Fear, as I've already mentioned. I now have The Fear. In spades. And so I'm getting my head down and closing this blog down.
I'll still be blogging, but elsewhere and on things other in the world than the eight+ hours I exchange everyday for a little money. I hope you find me out there, and I hope it will be a lot easier for you to find me than for my employers to find this blog.
Seccy x
Cue a quiet chat in a small room. Yes, I know that sounds vaguely Guantanamo. Luckily water boarding did not come into but it was still a pretty undignified experience.
To the extent it's rocked me a little, and I'm hearing echoes of an already lived through era of "you're lucky to have a job". This is the driver for The Fear, as I've already mentioned. I now have The Fear. In spades. And so I'm getting my head down and closing this blog down.
I'll still be blogging, but elsewhere and on things other in the world than the eight+ hours I exchange everyday for a little money. I hope you find me out there, and I hope it will be a lot easier for you to find me than for my employers to find this blog.
Seccy x
Tuesday 28 April 2009
Trying not to throw up
Monday Morning: It had been a long time since I looked into my eyes and saw a substance induced glazed panic staring back at me from the mirror. I already knew how I would look when I had woken up and my first thought was "I can't fucking move". My head was heavy, my eyelids heavier, my arms were in a coma and my thighs were aching.I knew how I would look. Like someone who had been on a four day drinking binge, because I had. I didn't look dog rough. I looked high, wired, and most of all, as I wrote earlier, I looked glazed. My thought patterns were vague and slow and my movement even slower. And all this brought about by BOOZE, dear reader. Socially acceptable and totally taxed, BOOZE. Booze and my first shag for 6 months (mmm, perhaps it was that?). Why did I go in to work?
Because of The 8.30 Meeting.
I've been attending The 8.30 Meeting, our weekly team meeting, every Monday for 5 years. There are others who have been there as long, a few even longer - real veterans. The 8.30 Meeting is exactly that, turn up at 8.35 and get glared at, turn up at 8.40 and get sent out of the room and treated like a cunt all day. The meeting is only 30 minutes long and there's no time to fuck around. It instills discipline - and means I can't make that phone call: "I'll be late" "Why?" "I'm in an alcohol induced palsy and can't get out of bed". So, I made it in, albeit badly dressed and, as Estuary Boy later told me, smelling of garlic (that would be the kebabs then).
Well,bless them, no-one tried to make me do too much. One of the younger guys in the team had set up the screen in time for when I got there at 8.28! I thanked him and thought this is fantastic! The Fear (of the boot) is making people a lot more co-operative. The potential of The Fear really should be harnessed more by The Board here. But no, they are trying to harness positive energy, they are trying GENERATE positive energy! In a fucking recession! A Nuremburg Rally took place yesterday. A whole layer of Management went out for 4 hours of spin and sparkle - with a bit of lovely life-coaching, management-consultancy, be the change (bollox) you want see (suck). Nonsense. Divide and rule and encourage The Fear. That's the real way through this.
Anyway, my Managers have reacted strangely. They are declaring things "Brilliant" when they are merely commonplace and they are affecting strange little pouty smiles whenver they make eye contact. I suspect they may have group hugged yesterday. Obviously I took it upon myself to remind them of their quite obvious lack of brilliance - a dullness even - as evidenced by the lack of deals on the table.
Not all of them can make the leap of faith to the religious fervour and I'm enjoying that too. I heard one Director deliver a doom laden and vaguley threatening speech to a client which was worthy of Sir Ben Kingsly himself. It was an at first softly spoken, conversational history lesson reflecting on the 1929 stock market crash and people's reactions before he worked up to a shouty insistent crescendo linking deals not done in the crash and the start of the second world war. He was virtually accusing the client of starting another second world war. I didn't want to tell him it would technically be a third world war. And it's worrying if he can't count.
There's not much more to report. The air con is fucked again. It's too hot now. We've had some religious grafitti on the kitchen white board. Someone's pregnant. I didn't get a pay rise at salary review. Need to get on that. Benchmark and get them in trouble like Primark? Charm them? Blackmail? Fuck someone? Would ANY of that work? I Fear not.
Right then enough. I'm frightened.
SpieledOut x
Because of The 8.30 Meeting.
I've been attending The 8.30 Meeting, our weekly team meeting, every Monday for 5 years. There are others who have been there as long, a few even longer - real veterans. The 8.30 Meeting is exactly that, turn up at 8.35 and get glared at, turn up at 8.40 and get sent out of the room and treated like a cunt all day. The meeting is only 30 minutes long and there's no time to fuck around. It instills discipline - and means I can't make that phone call: "I'll be late" "Why?" "I'm in an alcohol induced palsy and can't get out of bed". So, I made it in, albeit badly dressed and, as Estuary Boy later told me, smelling of garlic (that would be the kebabs then).
Well,bless them, no-one tried to make me do too much. One of the younger guys in the team had set up the screen in time for when I got there at 8.28! I thanked him and thought this is fantastic! The Fear (of the boot) is making people a lot more co-operative. The potential of The Fear really should be harnessed more by The Board here. But no, they are trying to harness positive energy, they are trying GENERATE positive energy! In a fucking recession! A Nuremburg Rally took place yesterday. A whole layer of Management went out for 4 hours of spin and sparkle - with a bit of lovely life-coaching, management-consultancy, be the change (bollox) you want see (suck). Nonsense. Divide and rule and encourage The Fear. That's the real way through this.
Anyway, my Managers have reacted strangely. They are declaring things "Brilliant" when they are merely commonplace and they are affecting strange little pouty smiles whenver they make eye contact. I suspect they may have group hugged yesterday. Obviously I took it upon myself to remind them of their quite obvious lack of brilliance - a dullness even - as evidenced by the lack of deals on the table.
Not all of them can make the leap of faith to the religious fervour and I'm enjoying that too. I heard one Director deliver a doom laden and vaguley threatening speech to a client which was worthy of Sir Ben Kingsly himself. It was an at first softly spoken, conversational history lesson reflecting on the 1929 stock market crash and people's reactions before he worked up to a shouty insistent crescendo linking deals not done in the crash and the start of the second world war. He was virtually accusing the client of starting another second world war. I didn't want to tell him it would technically be a third world war. And it's worrying if he can't count.
There's not much more to report. The air con is fucked again. It's too hot now. We've had some religious grafitti on the kitchen white board. Someone's pregnant. I didn't get a pay rise at salary review. Need to get on that. Benchmark and get them in trouble like Primark? Charm them? Blackmail? Fuck someone? Would ANY of that work? I Fear not.
Right then enough. I'm frightened.
SpieledOut x
Wednesday 11 March 2009
Argentina
I'm writing this late at night as it's simply too risky to attempt during the day at my desk. Yes, it's like that. The "market" is indeed fucked .So it's every man for himself and bollocks to the women. There is a chill in the air and I don't like it. OK, it's the same air con problems we've had for 3 years, but now no-one comments or calls it in. No-one wants to be seen as a trouble maker with too much time on their (rapidly turning blue) hands. No-one wants to become one of The Disappeared.
Because people have disappeared! One day there is a person there, messing up their desk, drinking endless cups of tea and coffee and talking talking talking and the next day there is nothing. Silence and a few shifty looks between colleagues. Often whole suits and a selection of personal effects will be left behind as some of The Disappeared take to the road. They rarely return to collect them - not in the daylight anyway.
As yet I remain in place. But my head is down. I'm preparing to suck. Sigh.
Ever yours,
Please don't sack me,
Secretia x
Because people have disappeared! One day there is a person there, messing up their desk, drinking endless cups of tea and coffee and talking talking talking and the next day there is nothing. Silence and a few shifty looks between colleagues. Often whole suits and a selection of personal effects will be left behind as some of The Disappeared take to the road. They rarely return to collect them - not in the daylight anyway.
As yet I remain in place. But my head is down. I'm preparing to suck. Sigh.
Ever yours,
Please don't sack me,
Secretia x
Thursday 20 November 2008
Paul McCartney
I've been away for a while enjoying (enduring) what I think was an existential breakdown. I turned 40 years old 2 Saturdays ago. I celebrated by taking time off. Time off from work, from sobriety, from decision making, from hope, and from any real semblance of rational thought. The day itself was fine, great in fact, but the run up and come down were horrific. Every fibre of my being refusing to contemplate in an anyway positive manner the 40 year old nature of my existence and the disappointments and flaws therein. Nice.
I felt old. But I got through it and came out of the other side feeling . . .old.
Then I came back to work and felt hungover and old. Everyone here is bored of touting for business that isn't there. Everyone is holding their position. The constant noise is white. It's banter across the desks and desperation on the phones. Us non-breeders console ourselves with knowing we're saving on the gas bill by coming into work and the family guys worry if the wife's got their heating on right now, burning the money he can't find. We have some deals but the difference to 2 years ago is stunning. Even the banter is cheaper.
At first I enjoyed a brief recession boosted feeling of elation based on thinking that for once I was the lucky one as I have nothing to lose - my flaps have been in the vice financially for fifteen years, but now I've realised that what affects my benefactors affects me. No more free lunches, just the occasional pint and a "times are tough" chat. It's no way to live - hungry and not pissed enough. It's not the team environment of old. And definitely not the City environment of the nineties - that's how I fell into this line of work, Veuve Cliquot and City boys, drunk and high for 4 years. Aaaah, bless me and my 16 year career plateau. It's a trajectory of sorts, surely?
So, to refer to the title of this post, I have finally found the inspiration to move forwards and finally become a recognisable acheiver (of something). That inspiration is Paul McCartney. He was being interviewed on Front Row and I suddenly thought if a mental, talentless fuck like Paul McCartney can do what he's done, then surely there is indeed hope for us all.
SeccyPahHumbug
I felt old. But I got through it and came out of the other side feeling . . .old.
Then I came back to work and felt hungover and old. Everyone here is bored of touting for business that isn't there. Everyone is holding their position. The constant noise is white. It's banter across the desks and desperation on the phones. Us non-breeders console ourselves with knowing we're saving on the gas bill by coming into work and the family guys worry if the wife's got their heating on right now, burning the money he can't find. We have some deals but the difference to 2 years ago is stunning. Even the banter is cheaper.
At first I enjoyed a brief recession boosted feeling of elation based on thinking that for once I was the lucky one as I have nothing to lose - my flaps have been in the vice financially for fifteen years, but now I've realised that what affects my benefactors affects me. No more free lunches, just the occasional pint and a "times are tough" chat. It's no way to live - hungry and not pissed enough. It's not the team environment of old. And definitely not the City environment of the nineties - that's how I fell into this line of work, Veuve Cliquot and City boys, drunk and high for 4 years. Aaaah, bless me and my 16 year career plateau. It's a trajectory of sorts, surely?
So, to refer to the title of this post, I have finally found the inspiration to move forwards and finally become a recognisable acheiver (of something). That inspiration is Paul McCartney. He was being interviewed on Front Row and I suddenly thought if a mental, talentless fuck like Paul McCartney can do what he's done, then surely there is indeed hope for us all.
SeccyPahHumbug
Saturday 25 October 2008
Stayin' Alive
Twas the weekend before payday and all through the house nothing was stirring not even a mouse. In fairness the Cat-Dog (long story . . .9 kilo cat, growls alot, Spurs fan, wasn't my idea) has killed and eaten any mice who didn't evacuate the day we got him. Housemate A gets paid a week before me so is probably out spending or out avoiding any attempts from me to borrow money.
I'm here at home, happy to be alone as I'm a bit grumpy when broke. Funny that, you don't really see many chuffed to bits poverty stricken homeless people - unless they're pissed or high. I know we are a million styles and sizes away from being in each others shoes but it's a thin line and a fun fair mirror of sameness. As in yes, I'm happier when I'm out of it too. Thing is I have a life to be getting on with that goes further than than the next drink. OK so sometimes it doesn't, but you'll never find me jigging about asking for change or sleeping on the street. But don't tell my bosses. I like to let them think that I could end up there if they don't up my wage. You see, I am a wage slave. To lose my job tomorrow would not plunge me into Lehman-like despair, as my line of work employs many temps (never contractors), but I would have to get working again straight away, I could not afford to take time out as I live life hand to mouth on a monthly scale. By the last week of the month it's hand to mouth daily.
Luckily I have always been slightly uncomfortable with the concept of pride. On the whole I know it is a good thing and if it did not exist then whole communities would dissolve into nihilistic lethargy, but when present at the micro level it seem too close to ego for my liking. To my mind there are times when pride goes out of the window of it's own accord and you look back thinking WTF happened there? and there are times when you have to consciously relinquish pride, to swallow it. So along with this pride I am swallowing porridge for breakfast AND lunch at work, dropping in a few references to gruel as I eat it, subconsciously evoking Victorian servitude and hoping to inspire a little guilt. Or at least an invitation to lunch before rickets sets in. I have resisted the urge to stage a rummage through a nearby Pret A Mangy's rubbish bins when I know Directors are coming out of the building.
When no invitation is forthcoming I rely on coffee & cigarettes to kill the hunger until I'm jittery, glaring at my team whilst crying on the phone to the bank. Nothing to be proud of there, see? Occasionally this will coincide with the arrival of my period - even hungrier and more upset, great. I really should be signed off on those days. Then I could really test Barclays customer service staff by sitting on the phone for hours crying and demanding a loan simply because it's hell being me and I need more money,loudly declaring prostitution my only course of action should they continue to deny my request for more money. I generally follow these incidents with a fag and moan outside with a fellow secretary who is forced to live above and work in a pub when she is not working here. We generally consider making ourselves bankrupt.
So, to fill this weekend I have borrowed a company laptop and shall be blogging, burning and emailing. And maybe a bit of work to justify the loan in the first place.
Another reason I can't go out is that I have snapped my glasses in two and am looking very strange as they slide down my face, held together with surgical tape. I have new specs on the way - thanks to the patronage of my employer - an eye test on the firm and a £30 pair of specs courtesy of my line manager who didn't want me whingeing or using the broken specs as an excuse to skip work until I got new ones after payday. God bless him, I'm pleased I'm getting them sooner. I get grumpy when I can't see, and come to think of it you DO see more happy blind people than happy homeless people, so better to be blind than broke. I am currently grumpy cos broke and grumpy cos blind. I think I'd better stay in. Alone. Roll on Friday.
Seccypa aka Wageslave
I'm here at home, happy to be alone as I'm a bit grumpy when broke. Funny that, you don't really see many chuffed to bits poverty stricken homeless people - unless they're pissed or high. I know we are a million styles and sizes away from being in each others shoes but it's a thin line and a fun fair mirror of sameness. As in yes, I'm happier when I'm out of it too. Thing is I have a life to be getting on with that goes further than than the next drink. OK so sometimes it doesn't, but you'll never find me jigging about asking for change or sleeping on the street. But don't tell my bosses. I like to let them think that I could end up there if they don't up my wage. You see, I am a wage slave. To lose my job tomorrow would not plunge me into Lehman-like despair, as my line of work employs many temps (never contractors), but I would have to get working again straight away, I could not afford to take time out as I live life hand to mouth on a monthly scale. By the last week of the month it's hand to mouth daily.
Luckily I have always been slightly uncomfortable with the concept of pride. On the whole I know it is a good thing and if it did not exist then whole communities would dissolve into nihilistic lethargy, but when present at the micro level it seem too close to ego for my liking. To my mind there are times when pride goes out of the window of it's own accord and you look back thinking WTF happened there? and there are times when you have to consciously relinquish pride, to swallow it. So along with this pride I am swallowing porridge for breakfast AND lunch at work, dropping in a few references to gruel as I eat it, subconsciously evoking Victorian servitude and hoping to inspire a little guilt. Or at least an invitation to lunch before rickets sets in. I have resisted the urge to stage a rummage through a nearby Pret A Mangy's rubbish bins when I know Directors are coming out of the building.
When no invitation is forthcoming I rely on coffee & cigarettes to kill the hunger until I'm jittery, glaring at my team whilst crying on the phone to the bank. Nothing to be proud of there, see? Occasionally this will coincide with the arrival of my period - even hungrier and more upset, great. I really should be signed off on those days. Then I could really test Barclays customer service staff by sitting on the phone for hours crying and demanding a loan simply because it's hell being me and I need more money,loudly declaring prostitution my only course of action should they continue to deny my request for more money. I generally follow these incidents with a fag and moan outside with a fellow secretary who is forced to live above and work in a pub when she is not working here. We generally consider making ourselves bankrupt.
So, to fill this weekend I have borrowed a company laptop and shall be blogging, burning and emailing. And maybe a bit of work to justify the loan in the first place.
Another reason I can't go out is that I have snapped my glasses in two and am looking very strange as they slide down my face, held together with surgical tape. I have new specs on the way - thanks to the patronage of my employer - an eye test on the firm and a £30 pair of specs courtesy of my line manager who didn't want me whingeing or using the broken specs as an excuse to skip work until I got new ones after payday. God bless him, I'm pleased I'm getting them sooner. I get grumpy when I can't see, and come to think of it you DO see more happy blind people than happy homeless people, so better to be blind than broke. I am currently grumpy cos broke and grumpy cos blind. I think I'd better stay in. Alone. Roll on Friday.
Seccypa aka Wageslave
Thursday 23 October 2008
Lunch Hours are Rarely That
Well, having left my desk at 11.50 to avoid the crowds of chill cabinet cruisers all searching for that Holy Grail of a reasonably priced (hell, CHEAP) sandwich in London's West End. Luckily, the credit crunch has led to a credit munch range of truly shit sandwiches in Tesco metro. Point is, I purchased the sandwich, had it opened but untouched on my desk whilst doing some personal banking (not rhyming slang) - unopened allows you to tut and say "I'm on lunch" if anyone approaches with work. Wouldn't recommend this as an eight hour thing though, then I ate it (slowly) whilst reading online news, then it's off for a fag, back to desk and settling down to write this. A resounding one hour and thirty two minutes since I "started" my lunch hour. The other secretaries scarpered as soon as I got to the "sandwich unwrapped on desk" stage. They may not be back til Tuesday. Dam, I've given myself the fear. Time to get back to work, but first to find out who is the psychopath eating boiled onions for lunch. He stinks.
Keep lunching
Seccypa
Keep lunching
Seccypa
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