THERE are good days and bad days. They are inevitable, really; no job would be complete without them. Yet I know better than to complain here about the trials and tribulations of my particular employment. It wouldn't be fair, and besides, I haven't exactly kept the essential details of the whole affair secret - you don't have to search hard here to find my full name or my employer. You can even find my middle initial up there in the address bar (contrary to popular belief, the 'R' is not for Rachel).
Therefore I shan't be giving you a synopsis of the events of the past few days, only to say that, in my defence, a breakdown in communication takes at least two people, not one. Office politics, you see, is a vicious game. I'm the newcomer: go figure.
I will, however, tell you about Tuesday, when a man in a very pink shirt came to my desk with a spring in his step, to test my work economics. Clipboard in hand, he looked down at me over the rim of his glasses and asked me lots of questions such as "do you use Microsoft Office?" and "do you have regular office parties?", the former presumably relating to the sponsors of ergonomic testing and the latter relating to the birthday drinks and cake I was missing out on because of the assessment.
He ticked off options relating to every tool of the trade, even ten questions on my computer mouse. He sat on my chair, exposing his bright yellow socks. He swivelled and played with all of the knobs and buttons on the chair to make all of the component parts slide up, down and around. He seemed to be enjoying himself.
Then, without further ado, he announced that "you, Sir, are compliant! My second today!" With a hop and a skip he then vanished into thin air, thus revealing himself to be the office genie.
This has been the highlight of my working week. It has been a bit of a slow one.