Flexible working doesn't include DIY

Less than 48 hours after the despicable email from the despicable Assistant Director regarding my unauthorized repair of the toilet door, I received another email.   No, it didn't contain the word sorry at all.  This is what it said:

I'm looking for some positive versatile working role models - would you be happy to contribute?

Good Morning Linda,

To promote and support more versatile working within the I am developing some versatile working materials for inclusion on , in a brochure and/or on our external websites.  And I’m looking for some brave volunteers who’d be prepared to share their positive experiences of versatile working and be versatile working role models. 

I’ve attached some guidance and further information, in case you’d be prepared to contribute.  If you’re happy to write a contribution, please let me know and I’m hoping to receive them by Monday 2 December 2019, if that’s possible. 

Many thanks for considering this request and I look forwards to hearing from you.

Best Wishes

****  <-- a="" about="" and="" begin="" c="" does="" ends:="" even="" her.="" her="" i="" in="" it="" kisses="" letters="" mind="" name="" nbsp="" not="" number="" of="" or="" row="" s="" similarity="" springs="" t.="" that="" the="" think="" to="" when="" where="" with="" word="">

Poor punctuation and improper capitalization of words aside, is she having a fucking laugh?

I have had to be versatile in my 'career' here (laughable - it's not a career, it's just a job) because sometimes job descriptions change/teams change, and what was once pleasant and enjoyable becomes tedious and unbearable.  Like some of the people I've had to work with.  When that happens I look for another opportunity - not to further my 'career', but to stay sane, so being a role model for versatile working is a bit of a joke.  

I have not replied to the invitation ...

A new level of nonsense

I see from my last post that I've been quiet on the blog front for over 2 years.  That is not to say I have been quiet here at my desk, far from it!  I have challenged poor performance, poked fun at patronizing attitudes and all in all ensured that I shall never rise above the ranks of mere 'Assistant' Research Manager, although I manage to do everything that most Research Managers do and more besides.  That aside, the virtual silence needs to be broken because the petty bureaucracy in this place has reached new levels of lunacy (or fuck-wittery, as a dear friend would very accurately call it).

I'll try to keep this brief (although I am sorely tempted to reproduce the email I received from someone who should know better ...)

A screw came out of the handle leading to the ladies' loo on the 2nd floor - not into one of the cubicles itself, but the little room containing 2 cubicles and a hand-basin.  There were 4 screws in the handle, so one being missing did not affect the use of the door in any way.  Nevertheless, the head of Facilities (who doubles up as the Wellbeing Officer ...) put a 'closed' sign on the door.  Of course, anyone with an ounce of common sense  continued to use the loo which is just as well, because no attempt has been made to repair it so after two weeks I brought in a small screw from home and fixed the door myself in a matter of seconds.

Temptation and discretion have fought it out and temptation has won.  This is the email I received in response - I've highlighted the bits that have really annoyed me and added my own comments in blue:

I’ve just learned that you undertook repairs to a door handle in the first floor toilets; that you then took it upon yourself to reopen the facilities and return the out of use sign to reception.  Well, yes, I was happy to let them know I'd saved them a job!

I realise that you were trying to be helpful (patronizing cow) and speed-up a repair which I’m sure from your perspective seemed to be taking too long. No 'seemed' about it - it was taking too long!

However, the toilets are the landlords (if you would like a lesson in the use of the apostrophe, please let me know) responsibility and only the landlord can authorise and instigate repairs in their areas, using their approved contractors.  By undertaking the repairs yourself, you have made liable should any damages arise; Damages?  From inserting a screw into a pre-drilled hole designed specifically to take a screw? Get real. there is also likely to be an impact on our insurance, How on earth has the insurance got involved, has she gone running to them to say, 'A pro-active member of staff has carried out a repair, thus saving the organisation time and money and inconvenience' and if so, has the insurance company said, 'Well, you're in trouble then!'  and we are now having to explain and manage the consequences with the landlord – a relationship which is tricky at the best of times.   What consequences? Get a grip. If she has the same high-handed attitude with the landlord as she has taken with me, I'm not surprised the relationship is tricky!

There are very good reasons why all such faults are managed by the Facilities Team (Managed?  Managed?  I don't call 2 weeks without someone coming out to put a screw in a door handle 'managing') and why even that team is not allowed to undertake any repairs or even keep tools on the premises.  Shot yourself in the foot there, lady.  If they are not allowed to keep tools on the premises, how did they manage to REMOVE THE SCREW that I had put in the door handle?  Yes, you heard me, they reversed the repair!

So whilst I understand Do you?  Do you really understand? your frustration at delays for apparently small, simple faults – please do not ever again undertake any repairs or interfere with the working of the Facilities Team; it is completely unacceptable.

I hope you'll agree that it is the tone of her email that is unacceptable, AND the fact that a) she can't organize a simple repair and b) she has actually reversed a perfectly acceptable repair to make a pathetic point.  As for 'interfering with the working of the Facilities Team', if they were working, there would be no need for any intervention on my part!

The tears of anger flowed on Monday afternoon - the injustice of it all was heightened by the fact that I had just spent my lunch hour decorating said Ladies' loo with fairy lights, providing a scented reed diffuser and luxury handcream AND disposal sacs because frankly the sanitary disposal bin looks more like a butcher's block than anything else.  I have put the matter in the hands of my line manager, who has not responded, so I suspect that I shall have to get my revenge in my own way.

Revenge is a dish best served cold.  I can wait.

Adam Ant vs the Spice Girls

It came to me this morning as I was getting ready for work to go and sit behind a computer and look as if I'm working. I heard that 80s classic 'Prince Charming' on the radio and it suddently hit me, as I sang along. 

'Don't you ever, don't you ever lower yourself, forgetting all your standards.'  

I am Prince Charming in a world of Wannabees.  To me, excellence is something to strive for.  Unfortunately, I am one of a dying breed.  My colleagues - sadly, those higher up the pecking order with more clout than I have - see excellence as too much like hard work.  Instead, they strive for adequacy and, what is worse, they criticize those few of us who are still going for gold.  Brass will suit them very nicely, thank you, and they don't want anyone else wasting time on delivering a better service.

You would not believe the amount of time being wasted by people who earn £30K+ a year over a simple line in an internal document for MY meeting, which none of them attend (let me repeat that, an internal document for MY meeting).  That's not a line of text, by the way, that is a line, as in
______________________________________________

I've added it to MY document to break up a mass of impenetrable text (which they produce) into more readable sections.  So far there have been a dozen different conversations and a flurry of emails about why I did it (although no-one has asked me directly).  Why don't these people get on with some real work?  God knows they're paid enough ...

And now another song springs to mind:

We gotta get out of this place
If it's the last thing we ever do
We gotta get out of this place
'cause girl, there's a better life for me and you







  

Excellence as standard ...

We've had some huge, brightly-coloured 'dots' put up on the walls of the office this morning, all supposed to be good, motivational stuff. There was a bright blue one dead opposite me (which wasn't quite straight - irritation #1) and then I noticed it read: 'Excellence - finding creative approaches that bust bureaucracv' Not bureaucracy with a y, no, bureaucacv with a v. I wouldn't mind, but it was on the EXCELLENCE poster...

I'm so glad we have a Communications Team of professional people to find new and inventive ways of wasting money that could be better spent on paying someone to proof-read their output ...

I love Paris in the Springtime

To tell the truth, I love Paris at any time of year.  I lived there in the 1980s and, although it is over 30 years since I turned up at the Gare du Nord with £400 in traveller's cheques in one hand and a suitcase in the other, it feels like only a few months ago.  I remember so clearly the excitement of leaving home to embark on a new adventure.  Within a week I had found a job - where I stayed for six years - and settled down in my adopted city.

It's hard to say, 'That's what I loved most' because there were so many things to love about the city: the easy access to anywhere I wanted to go (the Metro is great, you are never more than few hundred metres from a station), the flea markets, cinemas, shops, bakeries on every corner selling mouth-watering croissants and other delights.  I think it's easier to say what I miss most now that I am back in England.

I miss the beauty of the city.  I miss walking around it and smiling because even the simplest of neighbourhoods has a beauty about it.  I miss the light, the birdsong and the ever-present rumble of traffic.  I miss the elderly ladies in their fur coats, walking their toy poodles in diamanté collars and talking to them as if they were children.  I miss the casual disdain of shop assistants and waiters who never for one moment believed 'the customer is always right'.  

Most of all, I miss gabbling in French every day, the pleasure of getting a joke in a foreign language, the even greater pleasure when people had no idea I was English because I had lost all trace of my accent.

The shocking events at the Charlie Hebdo offices - walking distance from where I used to live - have brought memories of my life in Paris back into sharp focus over the past few weeks.  I loved my time there, but I was also well aware - even in those days - that it was tinged with an element of danger.  On a winter's night in 1983, a bomb was placed in the car belonging to Ara Toranian, leader of the National Armenian Movement.  He lived in the building next door.  When he put his key in the ignition around midnight, the car exploded.  Amazingly, Mr Toranian was only slightly injured.  I was hurt by broken glass as my window shattered above my head.  Despite that incident - or perhaps because of it - I always felt safe in Paris.  It could have been because after that CRS guards were posted outside the building next to mine and it felt as if I had my own bodyguards.

The best thing about Paris?  Being a part of it, and that's what I miss most - not being a Parisian any more, except in my heart, where it counts.

Is it a verb? Is it a noun? Well, it's not Superman!

I had a little wander down to our Conference room earlier today, as the Communications Team was holding an 'open house' session to find out what we thought about the restructure, and how the organisation had changed since they last took its pulse.  (If any of you work here, you'll know the answer to that one:  It's worse than that, he's dead, Jim, dead, Jim, dead, Jim; it's worse than that, he's dead, Jim, dead, Jim, dead!)

Sitting around the conference table, puzzled frowns on their faces, pens and post-its in hand, were three programme managers.  Programme Manager (PM) pay grades go from £28,695 - £35,256 a year).  I am a lowly Assistant Programme Manager (APM) and unlikely to ever rise above that grade.  In some organisations the cream rises to the top.  In others, shit floats.  I'll leave you to make up your minds when you read the latest exchange:

PM1: 'What's the difference between effect and affect?'
PM2: 'I don't know.'
APM (me, ignored): 'It can vary, both can be verbs and both can be nouns.  What is your context?'
PM1: 'Does anyone know the difference?'
PM2: 'I'm not sure.'
APM (me, louder now): 'It can vary.  What are you trying to say?'
PM3 (waking up at the sound of unfamiliar words): 'Verbs and nouns?  I've never known the difference between those two.'
PM2: One is a doing word and the other isn't, but I'm not sure which is which.  I know the difference between a noun and a proper noun though, does that help?'

I'll tell you what would help: a cold compress for my head, which I banged, slowly and methodically, on the conference table.

These are English nationals, born and (ha!) educated here in the UK.  I guess they were smoking behind the bike sheds during English lessons.  They certainly weren't paying attention.

Competition information

It's been a while since I blogged, but I wanted to tell you about a competition I've just entered: to win a Kindle Fire 

The blog is true to its name, Given to Distracting Others, because although I only went there to enter the competition, I stayed for a good half hour reading all the other posts about competitions and giveaways.  It's definitely one to bookmark if you want a one-stop shop to find out about competitions!

I can see I shall be visiting it regularly!