Well, needless to say, my secret meeting with the CEO went well today. Whilst two of my colleagues don't have jobs as of next week, I used my charm and boyish wiles to convince her that I was awesome and that I could single-handedly turn things around.
Or something like that. Actually nothing like that. I had to be very honest and admit fault but it seemed to work out alright. There was an unnecessarily large amount of talk of office culture though. I found this funny because this is a workplace overrun with middle-aged women with nothing better to do than talk about when they had a cup of tea once that was so hot that the cup melted a mark into the top of their desk and they had to hide it with paper for a week because they'd only been working there for a little while and were afraid they'd lose their job.
Imagine banal conversation like that. All. The. Fucking. Day.
Although I lie. These conversations are punctuated with me being told what smart-casual means.
"So we all have to come along to this event tomorrow night. Dress code is smart-casual. Jiminy that means you should probably wear a collared shirt or something. Maybe jeans, I think that would be ok."
Ahh...yes. Thank you for clarifying smart casual for me. Unfortunately this means I ironed my string vest and camouflage three quarter cargo pants for nothing. Damn.
In an effort to boost the morale in the place, they've opted to install umbrellas in the middle of the groups of desks. Like, big fuck off novelty beach umbrellas. No shit. It's ridiculous.
These are the kind of people that make every second Friday "Dress As Your Favourite Pet Cat Day" because they think it will be so good for morale, not to mention FUCKING HILARIOUS to see Laneesha from accounts dressed up as little Mr Tinkles. They forget however, that no one else in the office owns a cat, let alone multiple felines from which to pick a favourite. Everyone also knows that you let your cats sleep in your bed and that your just-used vibrator has picked up so much cat-hair from your sheets that it looks like an Alsatian's disembodied tail. Fools.
So at the moment, there's a big taffeta umbrella perched gaudily over a desk. A green one, with a parrot on it and fairy lights.
The other one is pink with flowers embroidered on it. And tassels.
I work near colourful umbrellas and tassels, however I'm not a cocktail waiter at a burlesque club. What has my life come to?
Bad move Jiminy. Manatees cannot detect sarcasm.
Yesterday a package arrived in the post for me.
"Open it." My boss says, grinning daftly with her fish-mouth.
I sigh and pull away the packaging.
It's a wide-brimmed hat with corks dangling off it. It even had a kangaroo printed on the front of it. Because that's what we all do in Australia these days. Seriously, live in the now. Why didn't you just get me a brochure for EXPO 88 or a block of cheese signed by Peter Russell Clarke. Why stop there though? Buy me the box set of Crocodile Dundee videos wrapped in prawns and soaked in Eucalyptus oil. Or save yourself the trouble and just write me a card that says HEY YOU'RE AUSTRALIAN. Cos that's about as funny as your fucking hat.
It's like me buying her some severed heads, cos isn't that what the English were into at some stage? Cutting off heads and sticking them to things to ward off their enemies? Or was it burning people? Maybe I could bring her some matches and a some sticks to make a pyre.
They wonder why there's such a high staff turn-over? Geez... I dunno guys, it wouldn't have anything to do with the incompetent managers. Maybe it's because there's NOT ENOUGH UMBRELLAS.
Anyways, I'm getting all worked up. The point of this was to paint a picture of the 'culture' in my office. It may seem to you that it paints a more accurate picture of my current absence of sanity but frankly, I care not. Me and Other Me are very happy with ourselves.
Anyways, my office sucks and I'm powerless to change it, unless I magically develop ever-shrinking ovaries overnight and miraculously turn into a bitter, thick-skulled ass hat.
Quit, you say? I'd like to but I need the cash as The Girl and I are saving furiously (which I imagine would look like a tiny kid frantically jamming handfuls of bank notes into a piggy bank) for our big Europe/India/South East Asia/Back to Australia trip at the end of June.
Looks like I'm in Grit-Your-Teeth-And-Deal-With-It City for three more months. Hooray.
Oh well, I hear it's full of