Turning destructive thoughts into creative ideas on a Sunday afternoon
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Saturday, August 1, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Thursday, July 9, 2009
To Laura
I emerge
ink-stained and bleeding
still reeling
from electric humdrum.
"Good, clean mechanical fun!"
A bambo-block beating
leaves a fleshy palette
of yellow and blue, every hue
between green and black.
I emerge
with fistfuls of puss-soaked cotton
and a scroll of stretched skin,
bearing her initials
and memory there-in.
ink-stained and bleeding
still reeling
from electric humdrum.
"Good, clean mechanical fun!"
A bambo-block beating
leaves a fleshy palette
of yellow and blue, every hue
between green and black.
I emerge
with fistfuls of puss-soaked cotton
and a scroll of stretched skin,
bearing her initials
and memory there-in.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
Settling the Gender Differences or, Why Boys and Girls Really Are So Different
1) Girls like lying in wide open spaces, boys prefer looking at small, narrow faces
2) Girls like to collect cats' whiskers, boys prefer to keep their blisters
3) Girls like circus fleas, boys prefer racing bees
4) Girls like planting worms, boys prefer turning over urns
5) Girls like to play 'Hide-and-Seek', boys prefer to dress like Little Bo Peep!
2) Girls like to collect cats' whiskers, boys prefer to keep their blisters
3) Girls like circus fleas, boys prefer racing bees
4) Girls like planting worms, boys prefer turning over urns
5) Girls like to play 'Hide-and-Seek', boys prefer to dress like Little Bo Peep!
Monday, March 30, 2009
The History of My Life Described Through the Humble Shoe
From the first word - shoela - every kind of shoe was amassed: childhood fascination with cherry red paved its way for blue suede, stubbornly resisted white sandal and moved on to black stiletto. The gang of big boots - every imaginable colour - shared their space with geeky trainer, tried not to step on the toes of younger school shoe sister and made way for elderly slipper.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
Sunday, March 22, 2009
It ain't clever and it ain't funny
'Moving Wallpaper' - A British 'Comedy' (ITV) and its nasty attitude towards trans people.
Here's a synopsis of the episode in question:
"Series 2 - Renaissance
Jonathan panics about the opening scene and accidentally ends up hiring a transsexual writer.
In-Depth Episode Synopsis
Warning: the below synopsis may contain spoilers
Production on Renaissance is in full swing, but Jonathan isn't convinced the big opening scene has the wow factor Renaissance needs. Panicking about the show's sci-fi credentials, and desperate to re-write before Nancy finds out, he hires a new, experienced writer who proves to be more of a handful than he'd bargained for, meaning Georgina, the new writer, is actually a transsexual named George... with hairy hands.
The team is naturally furious they haven't been consulted about the new member of staff and when they learn that 'Georgina' is being paid more than them, Gillian leads a full-on writers' strike, bringing the production and Jonathan to their knees.
Increasingly annoyed by Georgina's outrageous demands Jonathan reaches breaking point and decides to sack her. Running short on time and with production at a stand still, will Jonathan manage to make amends with his writers and find his big opening scene to satisfy Nancy?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's my response to the production team:
Channel: ITV 1 (Channel 3)
Programme: "Moving Wallpaper"
Date/Time 20/03/09 21.00-21.30
Dear Sir/Madam,
I would like to draw your attention to the unacceptable and offensive material contained in the Friday night episode of 'Moving Wallpaper' (full details above) and, in particular, its abusive and insulting portrayal of a transsexual person.
This programme made gratuitous use of a transsexual character as an object of derision. "Georgina" joins a team of script-writers and is made to feel unwelcome as the butt of their "jokes". The latter included but were not limited to:
Referring to her as "George" and using male pronouns in reference to her; calling her forthcoming gender reassignment surgery a "knock-through"; threatening to "strangle him" by the Adam's apple, "if she/he still has one"; staff going on strike when Georgina receives a higher rate of pay due to her excellent work; saying she has stubble; calling her "it"; claiming to be scared by her "man hands"; saying she is a man in a frock; writing "vaginoplasty" on her calendar; consistently undermining her right to be part of the writing team and, finally, forcing her to leave by omitting to sign her contract.
The fact that this sort of experience is, sadly, one that is frequently experienced by transsexual people makes this lamentable attempt at humour so nasty. I am of the opinion that this character was created simply as a way to get a cheap laugh; she serves no other purpose than as a focus of the others' disgust and cruelty. Had a similar script been employed to poke fun at another minority it would never have been allowed to air. It is dreadful that transsexual people, myself included, have worked so hard for fair representation in the media only to see such degrading and nasty portrayals of this kind. I fear that others watching may assume that it is acceptable to behave like this towards a trans employee or colleague when bullying of this kind is, in fact, illegal.
I would like to see a public apology issued and evidence of a commitment to start taking seriously the reality of harassment, discrimination and violence directed towards trans people in the UK (and worldwide).
Yours faithfully,
Dr Acorn Tree
Co-Director, Acorn: Gender Equality Education
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Show your support by joining the Facebook Group -
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/group.php?gid=77375160169&ref=mf
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Complain to ITV about this programme -
viewerservices@itv.com
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's a synopsis of the episode in question:
"Series 2 - Renaissance
Jonathan panics about the opening scene and accidentally ends up hiring a transsexual writer.
In-Depth Episode Synopsis
Warning: the below synopsis may contain spoilers
Production on Renaissance is in full swing, but Jonathan isn't convinced the big opening scene has the wow factor Renaissance needs. Panicking about the show's sci-fi credentials, and desperate to re-write before Nancy finds out, he hires a new, experienced writer who proves to be more of a handful than he'd bargained for, meaning Georgina, the new writer, is actually a transsexual named George... with hairy hands.
The team is naturally furious they haven't been consulted about the new member of staff and when they learn that 'Georgina' is being paid more than them, Gillian leads a full-on writers' strike, bringing the production and Jonathan to their knees.
Increasingly annoyed by Georgina's outrageous demands Jonathan reaches breaking point and decides to sack her. Running short on time and with production at a stand still, will Jonathan manage to make amends with his writers and find his big opening scene to satisfy Nancy?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Here's my response to the production team:
Channel: ITV 1 (Channel 3)
Programme: "Moving Wallpaper"
Date/Time 20/03/09 21.00-21.30
Dear Sir/Madam,
I would like to draw your attention to the unacceptable and offensive material contained in the Friday night episode of 'Moving Wallpaper' (full details above) and, in particular, its abusive and insulting portrayal of a transsexual person.
This programme made gratuitous use of a transsexual character as an object of derision. "Georgina" joins a team of script-writers and is made to feel unwelcome as the butt of their "jokes". The latter included but were not limited to:
Referring to her as "George" and using male pronouns in reference to her; calling her forthcoming gender reassignment surgery a "knock-through"; threatening to "strangle him" by the Adam's apple, "if she/he still has one"; staff going on strike when Georgina receives a higher rate of pay due to her excellent work; saying she has stubble; calling her "it"; claiming to be scared by her "man hands"; saying she is a man in a frock; writing "vaginoplasty" on her calendar; consistently undermining her right to be part of the writing team and, finally, forcing her to leave by omitting to sign her contract.
The fact that this sort of experience is, sadly, one that is frequently experienced by transsexual people makes this lamentable attempt at humour so nasty. I am of the opinion that this character was created simply as a way to get a cheap laugh; she serves no other purpose than as a focus of the others' disgust and cruelty. Had a similar script been employed to poke fun at another minority it would never have been allowed to air. It is dreadful that transsexual people, myself included, have worked so hard for fair representation in the media only to see such degrading and nasty portrayals of this kind. I fear that others watching may assume that it is acceptable to behave like this towards a trans employee or colleague when bullying of this kind is, in fact, illegal.
I would like to see a public apology issued and evidence of a commitment to start taking seriously the reality of harassment, discrimination and violence directed towards trans people in the UK (and worldwide).
Yours faithfully,
Dr Acorn Tree
Co-Director, Acorn: Gender Equality Education
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Show your support by joining the Facebook Group -
http://www.facebook.com/home.php#/group.php?gid=77375160169&ref=mf
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Complain to ITV about this programme -
viewerservices@itv.com
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Smoking City
Recently, I've been working on a local smoking cessation campaign, helping the people of Smoking City (North-West England) to quit smoking. Like other work I've gotten recently, my route into this job was totally random and I never thought I'd end up doing work like this. In fact, the thought of approaching random people in the street, clipboard in hand, and asking them if they smoke and, if so, would they like help to quit, filled me with dread.
To my relief, the work has been good and dare I say enjoyable. The best bit (okay, money aside) is some of the characters I've met over the last few weeks. Such as:
The Limerick Lady: Always reading for a laugh, she has a limerick up her sleeve and a joke at her lips.
The Skint Mobility Man: Another inhabitant of the shopping precinct, he does his rounds on his mobility scooter, on the back of which hangs a sign reading 'skint'.
The 1 Year Old ASBO: Comes charging towards our stand on his toy truck with Rottweiler strength and determination. Just when I think he's going to come crashing into us, sending the 'no smoking' tins flying, he makes a sudden left turn and careers towards the nearest shop front and stops. Then, with a cheeky glint, he tilts his head backwards and spits onto the carpeted floor of 'Clinton Cards'. Satisfied with himself, he reverses and swaggers back to his parents who laugh at the whole show.
The 'Wanker':
Takes the carbon monoxide test and is told to hold his breath for 15 seconds. He can't. The counter has only been going for 7 seconds but the guy turns blue and he looks like he's on the verge of passing out. A few more seconds pass and he can't hold on anymore. He splutters out the remaining breath and gasps for more air. When he finally gets his breath back he says nonchalantly, 'is that why I can never cum whenever I have a wank?'
The Meat Pie Man: -
Me: 'Hello Sir, do you smoke?'
Him: 'Only meat pies'
Me: 'What? You smoke meat pies?'
Him: 'And Kit Kats. I get meat pies and kit kats confused. Taste the same'
Me: Speechless
Lastly, there was the classic moment when, after holding his breath for 15 seconds for the carbon monoxide text, one man breaths out...but not into the tube!
To my relief, the work has been good and dare I say enjoyable. The best bit (okay, money aside) is some of the characters I've met over the last few weeks. Such as:
The Limerick Lady: Always reading for a laugh, she has a limerick up her sleeve and a joke at her lips.
The Skint Mobility Man: Another inhabitant of the shopping precinct, he does his rounds on his mobility scooter, on the back of which hangs a sign reading 'skint'.
The 1 Year Old ASBO: Comes charging towards our stand on his toy truck with Rottweiler strength and determination. Just when I think he's going to come crashing into us, sending the 'no smoking' tins flying, he makes a sudden left turn and careers towards the nearest shop front and stops. Then, with a cheeky glint, he tilts his head backwards and spits onto the carpeted floor of 'Clinton Cards'. Satisfied with himself, he reverses and swaggers back to his parents who laugh at the whole show.
The 'Wanker':
Takes the carbon monoxide test and is told to hold his breath for 15 seconds. He can't. The counter has only been going for 7 seconds but the guy turns blue and he looks like he's on the verge of passing out. A few more seconds pass and he can't hold on anymore. He splutters out the remaining breath and gasps for more air. When he finally gets his breath back he says nonchalantly, 'is that why I can never cum whenever I have a wank?'
The Meat Pie Man: -
Me: 'Hello Sir, do you smoke?'
Him: 'Only meat pies'
Me: 'What? You smoke meat pies?'
Him: 'And Kit Kats. I get meat pies and kit kats confused. Taste the same'
Me: Speechless
Lastly, there was the classic moment when, after holding his breath for 15 seconds for the carbon monoxide text, one man breaths out...but not into the tube!
Monday, March 2, 2009
To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub
The urge to cry is drowned with cracked tiles and the need to flee, but the roots of this weed are buried too deep: I am bound by promise.
And so I remain - still - under the guise of resilience, no time for reticence.
But I am weak.
And so I remain - still - under the guise of resilience, no time for reticence.
But I am weak.
Tuesday, February 10, 2009
Fart in a Box
'Fart In A Box' (or 'FIAB' for short) is the result of a collaboration between an internationally-acclaimed artist and a well-esteemed art historian. The process of its creation will gradually unfold in the forthcoming blog entries, posted by me, the messenger boy.
Dr Lawrence Tedman, independent Art Historian and Critic.
PhD, MA, BA Hons, C.L.A.I.T, B.A.G.A
In addition to obtaining Grade 5 in the descant recorder, Dr Tedman is also the recipient of a brownie badge for Good Housekeeping. In 1986 he received a gold star for his essay ‘My Lunchbox’, which analysed the formalist qualities of an irregularly shaped Perspex box containing two cheese sandwiches and a portion of fruit. He went on to obtain ‘Essay of the Year’ in the class of 1989, West Lewel First School. In addition to this, he was nominated the principal key holder of the Elizabeth Duke jewellery counter at Argos Ltd for three consecutive years (1997-2000). His most memorable and noteworthy contribution to the post-modern st(r)ain of Art Historical scholarship was his ground-breaking essay ‘If I Can Do It, Why Can’t You?’ (1999). He has since gone on to achieve wide critical acclaim for his theories of repackaging and ‘enactmentivity’ (1999-2009).
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Smegging Test
Writing job application after application and receiving rejection after rejection, my spirits were lifted when, finally, a large package inviting me for interview came through the post. Yey - maybe it's for the lecturing job or perhaps that curating job I'd been counting on. The last thing I expected was an interview for the research analyst position I applied for, admittedly on a whim. Low and behold it was just that. Slightly peturbed but happy at least that I'd been considered, I started to prepare for the interview.
Ok, 'must have experience of writing reports'. Check. 'Must have excellent communication and interpersonal skills'. Check. Ok, 'experience of data and statistical analysis'. Hmm, well I can analyse processed data but it's been years since I've dealt with statistics. There's a reason I didn't pursue maths beyond compulsory GCSE stage. Better refresh my knowledge of Excel, it's been a long time since I did that Computer Literacy test at school. From what I can remember though, it was pretty easy creating a few tables and graphs. How quickly the mind forgets the details or how quickly the mind fails I don't know but my re-introduction to the brain-crushing number crunching world of Excel wasn't smooth.
I phone my sister's boyfriend who's a total Whizzkid at it. 'Hiya C, I got this job interview coming up and just need some pointers in Excel so I know what to revise beforehand. Can ya help?' 'Oh sure Acorn, it's really very easy. All you need to know about are pivot tables, filters, and counter sum functions, which I'm sure you already know right?' Silence. After the phone call I start the online Excel tutorial and quickly give up. Aye, I'm sure all this number crunching stuff ain't important. The main thing is that I can write decent reports, which I can. I'll be grand.
The day before the interview I freak out. 'I can't do this' I tell myself. 'What if they want a number cruncher. I think I oversold myself on my CV. Oh dear, best phone them and tell them I can't make it. How can I get out of it?' Tomato soon calms me down, I'm nervous that's all, I musn't underestimate my capabilities. A voice somewhere deep inside is screaming 'don't do it!' but I dismiss it as nothing but my perfectionalist who is scared of failure. Getting a job is all about stepping outside of your comfort zone right?
So it came about that today was interview day. I wake up from the nightmarish scenario of running through endless corridors which seem hell-bent on crushing me into piles of grey mush. I dust off the interview suit - a grey boys' wedding get-up, the only damn thing I could find in the whole of Manchester that actually fitted my tiny frame! After an age of gut-wrenching activity in the bathroom I leg it to the station and manage to jump on the train with milliseconds to spare. A few wayward turns but I manage to find the training centre - a non-descript grey concrete building with cells for rooms - standard Council jobby. I sit in the waiting room and wait for my turn. Hours tick by before a speaker finally bellows - 'Louis Bailey, please proceed to training suite 3'. Test time!
Once inside I greet the invigilator and sit next to the screen. 'Please read the list of instructions to your left and let me know when you're ready to start the test' I am told in a calm, soothing voice.
Ok, I think to myself, the test will be fine - I'm not strong on Excel but I am good at Word, Outlook, report writing and general admin. procedures. I read the instructions: 'This test will examine your knowledge of Excel. Please show all your formulas and workings on the spreadsheet allocated'. What? Excel, where's the other stuff. I start to panic. Ok, I need to calm down. It can't be that bad. I'll be alright. 'Are you ready to start?' asks the invigilator politely. 'Ready as I'll ever be' I gulp.
Question 1: Calculate the percentage of children entering social care between the years 2034 and 2037.
'What? This question doesn't even make sense!'
I look at the data - all 20 pages of it. 'Where do I even begin?'
'Ok, I won't panic, I'll look at the next question'
Question 2: Repeat to determine the percentage of children leaving social care in the year 2036.
'Huh? Oh my God, I don't know, I don't know'
I scroll down.
Question 3: Create a graph showing the start and end dates of children in care between 2034 and 2037.
'Oh, graphs, easy. I can do that'
I copy and paste the data into a new spreadsheet and hit the format graph action. It asks me to input the range. 'Hmm, ah yes I remember'. I put in A2 to show the beginning of the data column. 'Ah, but what is the final data cell called?' I ask myself. I scroll down. 'Oh my God, when will it end, pages and pages of numbers'. Finally I get to the last cell - number 4500. 'Erm, ok, must be A2:A4500'.
INVALID CODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Flashes in bold red letters across the screen.
'Shit shit shit'.
I try to undo but the test tracks all changes made. I can't delete my mistakes.
I start again, and then again.
By now I'm panicking. I don't get it. My head hurts. I want to go home.
'I can't do this' I tell the invigilator. 'Oh don't worry love, it's just nerves. Have some water, you'll soon get into it' the kindly maternal woman replies.
'No, you don't understand, I can't do it. I can't do Excel, I can't understand it. I think I'm wasting your time, I should go'
'Oh no, you don't want to go' she says reassuringly.
'No no, I really need to go, please let me go'
'No, that's not a good idea love. Don't worry, I'll pop next door and see whether they'll have a chat with you'
I try to protest but she's already left the room and before I know it I'm hoarded into the interview room, test incomplete.+++
I really want to leave but the interviewers are already standing with arms outstretched to welcome me, the potential new worker bee.
'We hear you had a bit of problem next door'
They make it sound like I've just pissed myself. Maybe I should have, maybe then I could have escaped this concrete hell hole.
'Oh, yes I'll be honest with you' I say. 'Excel is my weak point. I was expecting to be tested on my other abilities. Erm, do you offer training in Excel?'
I proceed to explain that I'm really not a waste of space, that I am an excellent researcher and have extensive experience writing and editing reports. But they're not interested.
'If your manager told you that he wasn't happy with the numbers you submitted and that he wanted you to change them, what would you do?' panelist number 1 asks.
'Well, I'd check that the numbers were inputted correctly and work backwards from there - check the source etc'
Interviewer number 1 interupts - 'No, but if you had inputted them correctly but your manager still wanted you to change one, for eg from 49 to 51'
'Oh, erm well I'd ask his reasoning for doing so, I mean I wouldn't go changing any numbers unless there was concrete evidence for doing so'
Not the right answer. Not a good worker bee. There's to be no questioning of authority here. Right answer - if you're told to change something you do it, no questions asked.
And here's the gist of it really. No, I'm not a good worker bee and never will be. I ask too many questions. I don't do simple 'yes' or 'no' answers, I don't think in black and white. I like to question, to complicate, to see a myriad of colours besides grey.
And with that I left the grey building, hung up my grey cloak and made a resolution to start listening to my inner artist. This worker bee life ain't for me!
+++ This moment was just like that great scene in Season 1 of Red Dwarf where Rimmer sits his Officer exam. Instead of the hand-print, I simply saved the series of blank spreadsheets with my name.
Ok, 'must have experience of writing reports'. Check. 'Must have excellent communication and interpersonal skills'. Check. Ok, 'experience of data and statistical analysis'. Hmm, well I can analyse processed data but it's been years since I've dealt with statistics. There's a reason I didn't pursue maths beyond compulsory GCSE stage. Better refresh my knowledge of Excel, it's been a long time since I did that Computer Literacy test at school. From what I can remember though, it was pretty easy creating a few tables and graphs. How quickly the mind forgets the details or how quickly the mind fails I don't know but my re-introduction to the brain-crushing number crunching world of Excel wasn't smooth.
I phone my sister's boyfriend who's a total Whizzkid at it. 'Hiya C, I got this job interview coming up and just need some pointers in Excel so I know what to revise beforehand. Can ya help?' 'Oh sure Acorn, it's really very easy. All you need to know about are pivot tables, filters, and counter sum functions, which I'm sure you already know right?' Silence. After the phone call I start the online Excel tutorial and quickly give up. Aye, I'm sure all this number crunching stuff ain't important. The main thing is that I can write decent reports, which I can. I'll be grand.
The day before the interview I freak out. 'I can't do this' I tell myself. 'What if they want a number cruncher. I think I oversold myself on my CV. Oh dear, best phone them and tell them I can't make it. How can I get out of it?' Tomato soon calms me down, I'm nervous that's all, I musn't underestimate my capabilities. A voice somewhere deep inside is screaming 'don't do it!' but I dismiss it as nothing but my perfectionalist who is scared of failure. Getting a job is all about stepping outside of your comfort zone right?
So it came about that today was interview day. I wake up from the nightmarish scenario of running through endless corridors which seem hell-bent on crushing me into piles of grey mush. I dust off the interview suit - a grey boys' wedding get-up, the only damn thing I could find in the whole of Manchester that actually fitted my tiny frame! After an age of gut-wrenching activity in the bathroom I leg it to the station and manage to jump on the train with milliseconds to spare. A few wayward turns but I manage to find the training centre - a non-descript grey concrete building with cells for rooms - standard Council jobby. I sit in the waiting room and wait for my turn. Hours tick by before a speaker finally bellows - 'Louis Bailey, please proceed to training suite 3'. Test time!
Once inside I greet the invigilator and sit next to the screen. 'Please read the list of instructions to your left and let me know when you're ready to start the test' I am told in a calm, soothing voice.
Ok, I think to myself, the test will be fine - I'm not strong on Excel but I am good at Word, Outlook, report writing and general admin. procedures. I read the instructions: 'This test will examine your knowledge of Excel. Please show all your formulas and workings on the spreadsheet allocated'. What? Excel, where's the other stuff. I start to panic. Ok, I need to calm down. It can't be that bad. I'll be alright. 'Are you ready to start?' asks the invigilator politely. 'Ready as I'll ever be' I gulp.
Question 1: Calculate the percentage of children entering social care between the years 2034 and 2037.
'What? This question doesn't even make sense!'
I look at the data - all 20 pages of it. 'Where do I even begin?'
'Ok, I won't panic, I'll look at the next question'
Question 2: Repeat to determine the percentage of children leaving social care in the year 2036.
'Huh? Oh my God, I don't know, I don't know'
I scroll down.
Question 3: Create a graph showing the start and end dates of children in care between 2034 and 2037.
'Oh, graphs, easy. I can do that'
I copy and paste the data into a new spreadsheet and hit the format graph action. It asks me to input the range. 'Hmm, ah yes I remember'. I put in A2 to show the beginning of the data column. 'Ah, but what is the final data cell called?' I ask myself. I scroll down. 'Oh my God, when will it end, pages and pages of numbers'. Finally I get to the last cell - number 4500. 'Erm, ok, must be A2:A4500'.
INVALID CODE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Flashes in bold red letters across the screen.
'Shit shit shit'.
I try to undo but the test tracks all changes made. I can't delete my mistakes.
I start again, and then again.
By now I'm panicking. I don't get it. My head hurts. I want to go home.
'I can't do this' I tell the invigilator. 'Oh don't worry love, it's just nerves. Have some water, you'll soon get into it' the kindly maternal woman replies.
'No, you don't understand, I can't do it. I can't do Excel, I can't understand it. I think I'm wasting your time, I should go'
'Oh no, you don't want to go' she says reassuringly.
'No no, I really need to go, please let me go'
'No, that's not a good idea love. Don't worry, I'll pop next door and see whether they'll have a chat with you'
I try to protest but she's already left the room and before I know it I'm hoarded into the interview room, test incomplete.+++
I really want to leave but the interviewers are already standing with arms outstretched to welcome me, the potential new worker bee.
'We hear you had a bit of problem next door'
They make it sound like I've just pissed myself. Maybe I should have, maybe then I could have escaped this concrete hell hole.
'Oh, yes I'll be honest with you' I say. 'Excel is my weak point. I was expecting to be tested on my other abilities. Erm, do you offer training in Excel?'
I proceed to explain that I'm really not a waste of space, that I am an excellent researcher and have extensive experience writing and editing reports. But they're not interested.
'If your manager told you that he wasn't happy with the numbers you submitted and that he wanted you to change them, what would you do?' panelist number 1 asks.
'Well, I'd check that the numbers were inputted correctly and work backwards from there - check the source etc'
Interviewer number 1 interupts - 'No, but if you had inputted them correctly but your manager still wanted you to change one, for eg from 49 to 51'
'Oh, erm well I'd ask his reasoning for doing so, I mean I wouldn't go changing any numbers unless there was concrete evidence for doing so'
Not the right answer. Not a good worker bee. There's to be no questioning of authority here. Right answer - if you're told to change something you do it, no questions asked.
And here's the gist of it really. No, I'm not a good worker bee and never will be. I ask too many questions. I don't do simple 'yes' or 'no' answers, I don't think in black and white. I like to question, to complicate, to see a myriad of colours besides grey.
And with that I left the grey building, hung up my grey cloak and made a resolution to start listening to my inner artist. This worker bee life ain't for me!
+++ This moment was just like that great scene in Season 1 of Red Dwarf where Rimmer sits his Officer exam. Instead of the hand-print, I simply saved the series of blank spreadsheets with my name.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
The hoarders or, The Things They Can't Live Without
My parents' keepsakes:
- a shrivelled up orange kept in his bedside drawer
- a balding dog-come-nightie-bag curled up on her side of the bed
- a man-scented soap-on-a-roap, unused
- a chocolate-covered valentine heart, long past its sell-by
- a portrait of a sad, doe-eyed clown looks down on them at night
whilst the photograph of an unknown child hangs 'round her neck
in a silver locket
- a shrivelled up orange kept in his bedside drawer
- a balding dog-come-nightie-bag curled up on her side of the bed
- a man-scented soap-on-a-roap, unused
- a chocolate-covered valentine heart, long past its sell-by
- a portrait of a sad, doe-eyed clown looks down on them at night
whilst the photograph of an unknown child hangs 'round her neck
in a silver locket
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