IT'S MORE THAN MY JOBSWORTH

 

Being a small fish in a small pond is actually a thing you know and a Facilities Manager can be that literal small fry. The Facilities Manager at a small project that shares space with other organisations should be sociable, a good communicator and able to foster good relationships between parties.

I say "should" but unfortunately there is this hypothetical fellow that seems to have created his own vision of his role and his importance in the scheme of things. Let's call him Ian.

Ian loves a sign, usually a grammatically wanting context free sign printed in Comic Sans sellotaped on a wall (it's impossible to take someone seriously who uses Comic Sans) He also loves to stroll around looking like he's actually doing something when in fact he is basically stretching his legs. 

Ian is very good at sending badly drafted emails telling people not to do stuff, like, don't leave the windows open, don't forget to put the new toilet roll in the holder, don't forget to turn the tap off, don't forget to turn the lights off...you get the idea.

Ian's real forte though, is his ability to get under one's skin by repetition of small things that seem designed to get one's back up. Going from room to rom during the winter turning the radiators down so that a visit to the toilet becomes akin to a trip to Antartica is one of his favourites as is his ability to distract staff members with his incessant gossiping.

Fortunately my hypothetical company are leaving Ian's clutches at the end of the month. I am sure he will be as sad as I will be happy, as there will be less people for him to annoy.

There's no need for it! that's my view, why be annoying and petty when you can be kind and helpful? It takes much less energy and makes you feel good.

Fundamentally it all boils down to fulfilling a need. Ian perhaps only has power at work and therefore has a grossly exaggerated sense of his importance. It's sad really and once some time has passed I can be more reflective from the safety of the new hypothetical office, but for now and the next 4 days I will be monitoring my emails with a sense of dread, keeping one eye open for Comic Sans pronouncements and listening out for the sound of his footfalls of dread.

FOR FORKS SAKE!

 

Sign of the tines

Having just returned from the sunny climes of Greece to the sunny climes of London I have cast my mind back, as you do, to the world of 'this time last week'. Many good memories of a very relaxing break on the lovely island of Rhodes, but one I keep coming back to, one conundrum witnessed daily and still hard to fathom. A mystery that I have no explanation for, a phenomenon that defies logic.

What is this outrage you may ask dear reader, well that's the thing; it sounds trivial, but it isn't.

It's the way in which people hold their forks. Yes, things have escalated in the cutlery gripping department to the extent that all sorts are cack handedly brandishing forks at mealtimes. I'm not talking about etiquette or any other ideas of what is acceptable in polite society. I'm talking about ugly forkage.

This is not a greek thing, everyone's at it! Our hotel contained representatives of a number of nations and almost uniformly there were representatives of the fork handing misfits society.

Some grips looked like the act of contortionists, others looked like Edward Scissorhands trying to button a shirt, while there were those who came across as playing invisible cat's cradle.

I assumed that we all learnt to use cutlery correctly as part of growing up as a standard piece of development. I always assumed that the most efficient, practical and comfortable way to spear food was via the standard method but I may have been wrong all these years.

This new way of eating comes across as a bit affected in it's impracticality at best, and wilfully bizarre at worst.

Next time you eat out have a look around and I bet you will see more and more manually challenged diners brandishing their eating utensil in the manner of a human octopus hybrid.