The Office
So why did they bring me down here?
That was my first thought upon entering The Office. While everything had been re-modelled, it still has that same dull lifeless air of hopelessness and nothing. Stand in line, wait your turn, lodge form, move to the let and finally escape through the gnashing teeth of the sliding door. I was glad they summoned me on a day when I had to lodge, instead of making me drag myself out on an odd day, wasting yet another ride on my bus ticket. But that was the only thing I was glad of.
"Good morning...here for an appointment?" I was greeted by a snivelly nosed looking woman in her late 20's/early 30's, with an expression that just screamed "get me out of here and back to my jacuzzi at once!".
"Yes, I have an appointment at 10am."
"Name?"
"Jane Smith," I replied, trying hard to cover up my annoyance at being spoken to as if i was no less than five-years-old.
"Smith...Smith...S-m-i-t-h?" she asked, in a slightly more interested tone, which may have given the illusion that she actually gave a sh*t about my problems. How many MORE ways can you spell "Smith"?? (And don't be a smartass.)
"Yup, that's me!" I said, with slightly more enthusiasm than *she* could ever muster, adding a cute grin, as though this was a baby judging contest.
"Fine, I'll let George know you're here, and he'll be right with you." She wandered off to find this mysterious "John" and I was left watching Ben Walters on his morning show, introducing that blonde bimbo Myra to advertise yet another useless hair removal "system".(though it only constituted a bucket of glorified sour cream and a spatula.)
"Jane Smith?" God, my name was called. I felt like a sheep! Called, no less, in what appeared to be a very broken English, mixed in with some Greek here and there. Just my luck to get someone who didn't understand the concept of "throw another shrimp on the barbie". To him, it might've been "throw another shrimp on the barbie. No, not THAT one, the one marinated in the olive oil and basil. Next to the marinated kalamata olives and the spiced feta cheese. YES! Those ones!". Oh, the agony.
"Yeah, that's me!" I intoned, *trying* to be as chirpy as possible. I stood up and turned towards my inquisitor for the interview...
"Hello, my name is George. I be helping you today."
"I be helping you today." I mouthed to myself while I was walking behind him. while I was not a mean person, I couldn't stand not taking the mickey out of just about anybody.
He led me to a modern looking desk, in the middle of a modern looking office. You know... the kind of modern looking office in which the computers are always 3 times slower than they should be, and the important forms and paperwork are almost ALWAYS, without fail, a minimum of 6 months out of date.
He sat down behind his desk and punched up my name into the computer. "Do you know why you're here? This is a review for mutual obligation..."
"Uh...hang on. Review?" I whipped out the very rude letter I had been sent the week before. "You people sent me this letter last week telling me I haven't met my requirements for this activity." I handed him the letter and let him peruse it for a moment.
"Oh. This is just a standard template letter. We didn't send this to you, the computer did." At least he had the guts to admit it TO MY FACE that it was a computer-sent thing!
"Ah. I see. Well, at least you admit it!" I said, laughing slightly. In slow motion, his beady eyes peered at me, by which time a sickly grin spread over his face, as he fake-laughed for half a second. Dear God...this WAS hell, and I was in it.
This dragged on for a minute or two, with me explaining clearly what my obligational activity was. By which time he asked to see my documents. I showed them to him, and BS'ed my way through...which resulted in him telling me "Oh, these are the wrong booklets, you're supposed to have THIS one..." (pulling out a booklet that was TWICE as bulky as the one I already had). I groaned inwardly and thought to myself "YOU BASTARDS!!!! Why didn't you tell me this shit beforehand?"
"So, what type of work are you looking for?" he asked, in a tone of voice that clearly said "I'm just doing this to get paid, and I don't give a rat's ass what you're looking for!"
"Uh, well, something in the web design, slash multimedia, slash electronic publishing field." And I thought to myself... "It's in the bloody computer already!"
"Mmhmm..." he mumbled, while flipping through my documents. "Sydney...is a good place for that sort of thing, if you're ever in that area. The industry is a bit slow over here."
Well no shit, Sherlock! For the love of hamnog, tell me something I DON'T know!
For a few more minutes, he tapped on the computer...his fingers running over those keys a little lethargically. As thought they were still half asleep and could do with a good dose of highly caffeinated coffee.
"Well, that's it. You can go now." George said.
"Oh. Ok, thank you very much..." I said, not wondering WHY I was thanking the moron. "Have a nice day."
"Same to you, Miss Smith." he said, without even looking up at me.
I picked up my backpack and walked out of The Office. Past the queues of people who were as fed up as I was at that moment. I got out of the snarling jaws of the sliding doors, and muttered...
"Bastards..."
(Copyright Frostilicus, 2000)
That was my first thought upon entering The Office. While everything had been re-modelled, it still has that same dull lifeless air of hopelessness and nothing. Stand in line, wait your turn, lodge form, move to the let and finally escape through the gnashing teeth of the sliding door. I was glad they summoned me on a day when I had to lodge, instead of making me drag myself out on an odd day, wasting yet another ride on my bus ticket. But that was the only thing I was glad of.
"Good morning...here for an appointment?" I was greeted by a snivelly nosed looking woman in her late 20's/early 30's, with an expression that just screamed "get me out of here and back to my jacuzzi at once!".
"Yes, I have an appointment at 10am."
"Name?"
"Jane Smith," I replied, trying hard to cover up my annoyance at being spoken to as if i was no less than five-years-old.
"Smith...Smith...S-m-i-t-h?" she asked, in a slightly more interested tone, which may have given the illusion that she actually gave a sh*t about my problems. How many MORE ways can you spell "Smith"?? (And don't be a smartass.)
"Yup, that's me!" I said, with slightly more enthusiasm than *she* could ever muster, adding a cute grin, as though this was a baby judging contest.
"Fine, I'll let George know you're here, and he'll be right with you." She wandered off to find this mysterious "John" and I was left watching Ben Walters on his morning show, introducing that blonde bimbo Myra to advertise yet another useless hair removal "system".(though it only constituted a bucket of glorified sour cream and a spatula.)
"Jane Smith?" God, my name was called. I felt like a sheep! Called, no less, in what appeared to be a very broken English, mixed in with some Greek here and there. Just my luck to get someone who didn't understand the concept of "throw another shrimp on the barbie". To him, it might've been "throw another shrimp on the barbie. No, not THAT one, the one marinated in the olive oil and basil. Next to the marinated kalamata olives and the spiced feta cheese. YES! Those ones!". Oh, the agony.
"Yeah, that's me!" I intoned, *trying* to be as chirpy as possible. I stood up and turned towards my inquisitor for the interview...
"Hello, my name is George. I be helping you today."
"I be helping you today." I mouthed to myself while I was walking behind him. while I was not a mean person, I couldn't stand not taking the mickey out of just about anybody.
He led me to a modern looking desk, in the middle of a modern looking office. You know... the kind of modern looking office in which the computers are always 3 times slower than they should be, and the important forms and paperwork are almost ALWAYS, without fail, a minimum of 6 months out of date.
He sat down behind his desk and punched up my name into the computer. "Do you know why you're here? This is a review for mutual obligation..."
"Uh...hang on. Review?" I whipped out the very rude letter I had been sent the week before. "You people sent me this letter last week telling me I haven't met my requirements for this activity." I handed him the letter and let him peruse it for a moment.
"Oh. This is just a standard template letter. We didn't send this to you, the computer did." At least he had the guts to admit it TO MY FACE that it was a computer-sent thing!
"Ah. I see. Well, at least you admit it!" I said, laughing slightly. In slow motion, his beady eyes peered at me, by which time a sickly grin spread over his face, as he fake-laughed for half a second. Dear God...this WAS hell, and I was in it.
This dragged on for a minute or two, with me explaining clearly what my obligational activity was. By which time he asked to see my documents. I showed them to him, and BS'ed my way through...which resulted in him telling me "Oh, these are the wrong booklets, you're supposed to have THIS one..." (pulling out a booklet that was TWICE as bulky as the one I already had). I groaned inwardly and thought to myself "YOU BASTARDS!!!! Why didn't you tell me this shit beforehand?"
"So, what type of work are you looking for?" he asked, in a tone of voice that clearly said "I'm just doing this to get paid, and I don't give a rat's ass what you're looking for!"
"Uh, well, something in the web design, slash multimedia, slash electronic publishing field." And I thought to myself... "It's in the bloody computer already!"
"Mmhmm..." he mumbled, while flipping through my documents. "Sydney...is a good place for that sort of thing, if you're ever in that area. The industry is a bit slow over here."
Well no shit, Sherlock! For the love of hamnog, tell me something I DON'T know!
For a few more minutes, he tapped on the computer...his fingers running over those keys a little lethargically. As thought they were still half asleep and could do with a good dose of highly caffeinated coffee.
"Well, that's it. You can go now." George said.
"Oh. Ok, thank you very much..." I said, not wondering WHY I was thanking the moron. "Have a nice day."
"Same to you, Miss Smith." he said, without even looking up at me.
I picked up my backpack and walked out of The Office. Past the queues of people who were as fed up as I was at that moment. I got out of the snarling jaws of the sliding doors, and muttered...
"Bastards..."
(Copyright Frostilicus, 2000)
posted by FrostilicusFrost at 8:11 am
1 Comments:
Smyth!
Hehehe You write well!:D
Hmmm, this all seems familiar... I usually had to get myself a stiff drink after visiting a certain place which shall not be named...
*Peers intently in general direction of said place*
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