Common sense will clash with functionality on an almost hourly basis. Ease of process is usually harranged and dragged to the floor by middle management for no explicable reason. There is, in fact, nothing quite so fascinating as watching a perfectly reasonable idea preyed upon like a straggler on the wilds of the African plains, brutally subdued and strangled by a prowling hungry Lion. The helpless on lookers plod on perhaps only meters away from the thrashing victims final lifeless twitches, tapping away, heads down, tapping cowardly belligerent emails back and forth in silence never daring to open their challenge to the floor.
Have you ever read a Zebra's outbox content?
'That Lion thinks he's the Billy Bollocks, but he doesn't know what he's fucking talking about. I heard he's shagging a Giraffe behind his wife's back anyway, but she actually knows and doesn't care because she's pregnant with by that Macaque monkey that's always hanging about'.
It isn't all doom, gloom and wild frustration though, just every now and again, business process will falter, trip and celebrate individuality. A dangerous move that normally signals and alarm flashing in HR's offices with a Neon sign screaming 'SUPPRESS SUPPRESS'. An example of this occasional occasion was last Friday:
In an attempt to involve the staff in a new centralised office site shrewdly named, 'The Hub', my office in the midst of a tube strike requested that those of us who had difficulty getting to work, annotate our tales of innovation and ingenuity.
Naturally, there is very little outside of utilising a different mode of transport and getting up early that can be done about a tube strike. The idea that someone might feel compelled to report to all and sundry that they cleverly took a bus instead of headed underground to stand in a sweltering sardine tin, frankly left me embarrassed for our vision less stumbling HR department.
So i contrived a ridiculous, rushed and childish lie about how I had dealt with this allegedly complex travel situation.
To my delight I arrived this morning to this:
Which in case the link doesn't work, Reads:
Tube Strike Escapades
It is impressive how far some employees will go to get into work
Thank you to everyone who submitted their stories concerning the obstacles they faced trying to get into the office and the creative ways in which they battled to overcome them. We have awarded Rekha Pindoria from the Finance department with a bottle of champagne for her efforts, arriving at the Haymarket office at 7.00am!!One other employee's imaginative endeavour stood out above the rest, demonstrating 100% commitment and loyalty to Incisive Media.Unfortunately this heroic colleague submitted their story anonymously! Therefore if you wrote it or know who did, please contact Terri-Ann Barry in the HR department, as we have a bottle of champagne waiting for them....
It is impressive how far some employees will go to get into work
Thank you to everyone who submitted their stories concerning the obstacles they faced trying to get into the office and the creative ways in which they battled to overcome them. We have awarded Rekha Pindoria from the Finance department with a bottle of champagne for her efforts, arriving at the Haymarket office at 7.00am!!One other employee's imaginative endeavour stood out above the rest, demonstrating 100% commitment and loyalty to Incisive Media.Unfortunately this heroic colleague submitted their story anonymously! Therefore if you wrote it or know who did, please contact Terri-Ann Barry in the HR department, as we have a bottle of champagne waiting for them....
"Travelling to work from Stoke Newington ran a risk of being a difficulty, with already over crowded buses put under desperate pressure from those who would normally dive underground like rats up at Seven Sisters or Tottenham Hale.
To counter act this I devised an ingenious alternative route to work that considered all eventualities in almost prophetic fashion.
What I first needed was to stop off on the way home on Tuesday and accost a teacher from the school at the top of Kingsland road. After attacking him from behind and wrestling him to the ground, I took a brass rubbing of his face and clothing that would allow me to accurately impersonate him the following day.
The morning came and as yet still free of arrest from the previous nights assault, I was able to disguise myself as the teacher in question. Having risen suitably early I was afforded the privilege of perusing the down stairs windows of the surrounding housing until I spied a blue school uniform resting on a drying rack. The uniform of the school on Kingsland road.
Strategically placing myself as 'passing by' it was a cinch to strike up conversation with an unsuspecting parent who was then more than accommodating in providing me with a lift to the school as I plied them over the top insidious complements about their prodigious offspring.
As soon as the car door was shut I had bolted, my disguise left strewn behind me, a triumphant trail of debris.
The second leg of the journey was trickier. Fully aware that London transport would fall over themselves with glee at the site of a tube driver, I acquired a uniform from a local dry cleaner, bribed with stolen oyster cards, and approached the Northern Line. Next all I needed to do was adopt the greedy confused bewilderment suited to an unskilled worker in miserable conditions wielding the power of the underground transport system.
The ruse had worked, I was permitted through the doors with cheers and a pat on the back from the management staff.
I boldly took my position in the tube driving seat. It was a this point that the swift thinking and nimble mind that my role at incisive had honed to perfection kicked in. After all, who but James Bond himself could master the controls of a vehicle he had never before been faced with?
Closing my eyes and with sweat of the kind that only tense scenes from the Wire would normally produce racing from my forehead, i pushed the lever entitled, 'GO'. IT WORKED! and i was off.
Screeching to a halt at Tottenham court road and storming off the train exclaiming that I had changed my mind and stomping up the stair well with calls of 'down with Boris' and 'No tube in my name', I had all but completed my journey and had made it to work right on time....dressed unfortunately, as a tube driver."
To counter act this I devised an ingenious alternative route to work that considered all eventualities in almost prophetic fashion.
What I first needed was to stop off on the way home on Tuesday and accost a teacher from the school at the top of Kingsland road. After attacking him from behind and wrestling him to the ground, I took a brass rubbing of his face and clothing that would allow me to accurately impersonate him the following day.
The morning came and as yet still free of arrest from the previous nights assault, I was able to disguise myself as the teacher in question. Having risen suitably early I was afforded the privilege of perusing the down stairs windows of the surrounding housing until I spied a blue school uniform resting on a drying rack. The uniform of the school on Kingsland road.
Strategically placing myself as 'passing by' it was a cinch to strike up conversation with an unsuspecting parent who was then more than accommodating in providing me with a lift to the school as I plied them over the top insidious complements about their prodigious offspring.
As soon as the car door was shut I had bolted, my disguise left strewn behind me, a triumphant trail of debris.
The second leg of the journey was trickier. Fully aware that London transport would fall over themselves with glee at the site of a tube driver, I acquired a uniform from a local dry cleaner, bribed with stolen oyster cards, and approached the Northern Line. Next all I needed to do was adopt the greedy confused bewilderment suited to an unskilled worker in miserable conditions wielding the power of the underground transport system.
The ruse had worked, I was permitted through the doors with cheers and a pat on the back from the management staff.
I boldly took my position in the tube driving seat. It was a this point that the swift thinking and nimble mind that my role at incisive had honed to perfection kicked in. After all, who but James Bond himself could master the controls of a vehicle he had never before been faced with?
Closing my eyes and with sweat of the kind that only tense scenes from the Wire would normally produce racing from my forehead, i pushed the lever entitled, 'GO'. IT WORKED! and i was off.
Screeching to a halt at Tottenham court road and storming off the train exclaiming that I had changed my mind and stomping up the stair well with calls of 'down with Boris' and 'No tube in my name', I had all but completed my journey and had made it to work right on time....dressed unfortunately, as a tube driver."
A bottle of champagne....for wasting 30 minutes of the working day that they pay me to attend, contriving this pointless fabrication.
I've been waiting nearly 6 years for office process to work out in my favour and it finally has.
What now though?
Perhaps this is what really happened to Ian Curtis whilst he moonlighted as a admin assistant?
We can but speculate.
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