Welcome... Yes, I'm back again to tweak the udders of a few more 'sacred cows' and generally take the pith out of aspects of contemporary culture. To some, I might epitomise an irreverent old hack; an enfant terrible of the blogging world skulking behind the grubby veil of my sobriquet. Ah, a possibility, I suppose... However, my primary objective is simply to provide a little light relief in the midst of all the quotidian drudgery that life can entail.
On the subject of drudgery, I imagine that many of us have toiled away aimlessly in office environs at some stage or other. But does it really require a failed 80s pop star to suggest that such enforced association doesn't always work? Was it not already obvious? Nevertheless, The Office did succeed in voicing an unspoken malcontent that simmers away in offices the world over. Arguably, it was a well-observed exposé of endemic egotism, sycophantism, back-stabbing, gossip-mongering, character-assassination and bigotry that blights corporate culture. Indeed, perhaps office life could even be seen as a microcosm of society at large? This so-called 'office politics' can make life a misery for those of us who just want to 'get along' and demonstrate at least a semblance of professionalism. After all, is that really too much to hope for - yunno, being civil to one another and accepting the perceived 'failings' and differences of others?
An obvious example is homophobia in the workplace. Mon Dieu! But that's now illegal, surely? (The Employment Equality Regulations 2003, UK.) Illegal yes, but is anyone naive enough to imagine that it doesn't still go on? I've met several gay people (closeted and 'out') who've faced both tacit and overt criticisms regarding their/a 'lifestyle' in the course of their professional life. The bigger picture is that in 2008, homophobic hate crime in London escalated to 1,062 incidents - a 5% increase on 2007.
Of course, even a semi-competent, half-wit of a manager would endeavour to foster a rapprochement in cases of workplace bullying. Sadly however, there's still those 'David Brents' of this world who'd rather allow problems to fester because they're either too spineless or too indifferent to intervene.
In my view, the success of The Office lay in the fact that its 'mockumentary' format relentlessly hurled an array of uncomfortable home truths at the viewer in all their cringe-worthy, grotesque and un-blinkered resplendence. In keeping this, I'd like to leave you with some of my own musings on office life. It is (of course) fictional and an extract from a novel that I'm working on; Touching Base. As with The Office, it's not intended for the squeamish. Enjoy...
* * *
Touching Base [extract.]
(Guidance on how not to manage staff...)
Characters:
WINSTON GRUB: Central protagonist, antihero and all-round looser.
CHARLES JAMES FARNHAM-PRATT (CJ): CEO at 'Final Resort'.
HONORIA TATTLE: Religious zealot, workplace bully and Winston's colleague.
MAUDLIN LEECH: Book keeper, gossipmonger and self-proclaimed office matriarch.
QUINT HUMPHREYS: Printroom manager, and aspiring diva.
* * *
Winston's mood worsened as he toyed with a layout for an advert. He could just about tolerate Honoria's rabid misanthropy and frequent rants, but being called a 'pouf' on such a regular basis had really begun to rankle. Moreover, It was becoming offensive - even to his leaden sensibilities. But how could someone conduct a rational dialogue about it with a person who was more given over to superstition than reason? Maybe he should broach the subject with CJ? After all, a manager of his calibre would be adept in mediation techniques (given the number of managerial training courses that he'd attended). It was certainly worth a try...
Winston got up hesitantly and headed for CJ's office. Yes, he would soon have matters cleared up. It might even help to make work life semi-bearable. He knocked at the open door. Eventually, CJ looked up impassively.
'CJ, is it convenient to have a word? Erm, it's a bit of a personal matter, actually.' Winston said, glancing anxiously at Maudlin who pulled a feline grin.
'Well, I suppose so. Will it take long?' CJ said, ushering Winston into his office.
'I don't think so. I just need some advice with something if that's okay?' Winston said deferentially.
CJ regarded Maudlin sternly. 'Erm, Maud, would you mind? I imagine it'll only take a few minutes or so...'
'Oh, of course not, CJ. I am quite behind with my huge workload, but never mind, eh? I'll just go an' 'ave another fag then,' Maudlin said, looking askance at Winston beneath heavily lidded eyes. She muttered something unintelligible through clenched teeth as she vacated the room and closed the door behind her.
Winston sat down, pushing up his glasses nervously.
'I suppose you're here to explain about your punctuality?' CJ spat. 'Because, quite frankly, it's appalling. As a matter of fact, I was planning to put you on report over the matter.'
'Erm, it wasn't really about that CJ, although, I'm really sorry about the timekeeping. That's mainly down to my pyloric stenosis, you see?' Winston fibbed, feeling his cheeks flush.
CJ stared at him fiercely. 'pyloric stenosis?' he sneered, 'Now listen here Grub, let's just get back to basics here. You imagine you can turn up at the eleventh hour and coast along while the rest of my team go that extra mile. Well let me assure you pal, it ain't gonna cut the mustard!'
'Yes CJ...I mean...no CJ,' Winston stammered, shifting uncomfortably under the steely glare.
'So you'd better get on board pronto and start singing from the same hymn sheet - otherwise you'll find yourself in very hot water. Am I making myself clear?'
'Of course CJ,' Winston squirmed, attempting to unravel the tangle of metaphors and idioms.
'Pardon?' CJ bawled.
'Yes CJ,' Winston said, addressing a stain on the carpet.
'Business is about thinking outside the box. One must cherry pick the low hanging branches - which requires synergy. Do you imagine for one moment that I need a lose canon on board? I mean, at the end of the day, I've given you a fair crack of the whip have I not?'
'Yes CJ. Sorry CJ.' Winston squeaked.
'So from now on you'll be at your desk, pyloric stenosis-free, bright eyed and bushy tailed at nine A.M. each and every morning! Am I making myself clear?'
Winston simply nodded.
'Otherwise, pal, me and you are gonna be locking horns again! Are you up to speed on this or do you want to me to wet nurse you?' CJ growled.
'It won't happen again CJ,' Winston grovelled - despite having absolutely no inkling what he had committed himself to.
CJ's frown receded. 'Good. So what was this matter you wished to touch base on - and this had better be quick?'
Alright, well, I was hoping to discuss a slightly delicate predicament if you don't mind?' Winston swallowed hard, hoping that he could get his words out in a semi-coherent fashion.
CJ looked at his watch with irritation. 'What is it then?' He prompted offhandedly.
'It's about Honoria calling me a...um...'pouf' and...' Winston mumbled falteringly.
'Oh? So how's that a problem? Just a bit of office banter, surely?' CJ said checking the time again.
'Not really CJ. The thing is I don't like way she's using the word. To be honest with you, I'm beginning to find it a little rude. I mean, in all the time I've worked here, I've never made a complaint to you have I?' Winston offered.
'Hmm, true.' CJ conceded, with an arched eyebrow.
Winston swallowed uncomfortably before continuing. 'And being, as I'm...an erm...erm...gay man...I find it...y'know...derogatory...?' he stuttered, pleading with the floor to open up a yawning chasm and swallow him.
CJ stared into the middle distance for a moment before returning a hard stare at an employee who'd come to personify the thorn in his side. 'Is it really such a bad word? I mean, if I was to say 'pouf' am I upsetting you, hmm...?' CJ queried. He began clicking the button of his ballpoint pen in rapid succession before pursing his lips and sniffing at the air disdainfully. Meanwhile, his other hand slipped down to massage a tender groin. For a moment, he pondered the possibility that the origin of his crabs might have been a hooker he'd come across at a recent 'trade fair' in Amsterdam.
'Well no, but you're not saying the word in a nasty way,' Winston finally responded, 'I mean it's the context y'know? Isn't that what gives language meaning and nuance...context? I mean, I can take a joke as well as the next man, but I don't believe Honoria's joking. I think she's saying the word to goad me. I'm even wondering if she's deliberately being spiteful...?'
CJ quietly seethed. Was that a note of condescension he'd detected in Winston's monologue? 'Nonsense Grub...spiteful?' he scoffed. 'What, simply by saying 'pouf'? I mean, what utter rot! Just a pouf of smoke if you ask me; a will-o'-the-wisp. Pouf-pouf of a steam train. Running out of pouf. Pouf pastry. A comfortable pouffe. Pouf...pouf-pouf...pouf... Pouf-da-pouf-da-pouf-da-pouf...'
As CJ continued randomly, Winston wondered if the man was loosing his grip on reality and regressing into some kind of infantile state. 'CJ!' he cut in, 'I'm just asking for your help, that's all. I'm sure it only needs a quiet word. I'm not here to cause trouble. I just want to get along, y'know?'
CJ suddenly balked and eyed Winston suspiciously. 'You weren't thinking of taking this any further were you? What I mean is, taking legal counsel over this trifling affair?' The furrows of a sweaty brow undulated around the dome of a heavily receded hairline.
Winston thought carefully. 'I haven't decided yet,' he replied somewhat provocatively.
CJ slammed his fist onto the desk. 'Fucking hellfire! Now you listen to me, Grub, I've worked for Final Resort for eleven years now and there's never been any trouble of this nature before. Don't you think it's about time we checked in at reality hotel and made a reservation? Listen, you're in my team, pal, and it's about time you started to walk the walk and talk the talk!'
'I see what you mean.' Winston fibbed sheepishly. He had never fully understood buzzword terminology - but it certainly sounded impressive.
CJ's expression softened. 'Listen, we don't want to make an enemy of you Winston. On the contrary, we value you. We're on your side.' He lied disarmingly. In actual fact, Winston's premature departure from Final Resort would no longer suit his purposes. Provided that Inspector Walton did his job properly, Grub would be bundled away in handcuffs rather than sitting in front of him and daring to make tacit threats. Moreover, a court case and any ensuing publicity wouldn't be conducive to business and might even besmirch the corporation's fine reputation. CJ reached out and patted Winston's forearm with a clammy palm. 'You know, I'm just trying to help, my friend. As far as I can see this whole matter's a bit of a storm in a teacup. A mere peccadillo. It'll all blow over before you know it. So, you're not seriously considering a law suit against us now...are you Winston?'
'I honestly don't know. If you really value me then you'll do something about the situation.' Winston said dejectedly. Before his very eyes, CJ's pallor transformed from cerise to deep crimson.
'Listen mate,' CJ hissed, 'I'm doing my best to meet you in the middle here but you're just jerking me around the fucking mulberry bush!'
Winston paled not only from the torrent of invective but also the revolting image that had been conjured up. He had always considered CJ a reasonable man, but his opinion was undergoing a radical reappraisal. CJ seemed, at best, to be a spineless corporate nonentity. At worst, he appeared to be actively hostile towards him. 'CJ, let's just forget this, okay? Don't concern yourself. This isn't getting us anywhere...' he sighed miserably.
However, CJ had other ideas. He was not prepared to sit by and let an employee play mind games with him. It was time to crush the fucker under his heel. 'So tell me Grub, what else did she call you, eh? A woofter...or a nancy boy perhaps? Or maybe she refers to you as a sausage jockey, a chocolate fudge packer or a turd burglar? Or what about a shirt lifter, a bum bandit or even that old favourite, a phallocentric fairy? Go on, do tell... Queer your pitch, did she Grub? I mean, I'm your manager; I'll gladly put my arse on the line for you. Oh yes, I'll bend over backwards to be accommodating. In fact, I'm quite prepared to back you up every inch of the way dearie...' he insinuated nastily.
Winston felt a surge of tears but the remainder of his tattered dignity refused to relinquish them. He got up and made for the door 'Thanks for all your support CJ. It was, well...under-whelming,' he mumbled dejectedly.
'Oh and Grub,' CJ called after him, 'get a haircut will you? You know, you're looking rather unkempt these days. I do, at least, expect my team to look professional.'
Winston said nothing as he let himself out of the office. He was not in the least bit surprised to find Maudlin crouching behind the door and pretending to buff up the handle. She looked somewhat startled as she manoeuvred herself upright, drawing back her lips in a feigned smile that resembled a psychotic Cheshire cat. To Winston's mind, there seemed few surprises left in the simmering cauldron loathsomeness that was Final Resort.
Honoria eyed Winston suspiciously as he sat down.
Shortly, as Winston had begun to restore a tentative sense of calm she muttered something that sounded distinctly like 'bloody pouf'.
'The man's a total ignoramus,' Winston mumbled despondently. Although an ascendant wintry sun had climbed to its zenith, Winston's spirits plummeted down into some shadowy nadir. He had lost faith in CJ, himself and perhaps the world at large. It was with difficulty that he managed to suppress a floodwater of tears that arose in him. He was a prisoner - trapped in a life that he was powerless to change. It was therefore something of a surprise when Honoria's telephone rang and she dutifully scurried into CJ's office. Some minutes later she emerged scowling and ruddy-faced. After shooting several murderous glances at Winston, she darted downstairs to seek solace with Quint.
What, wondered Winston, was going on...?
(c) Edwin Black
(c) Edwin Black
