If I was going to make a dramatic exit from my job, how would I do it, I wonder?
This guy seems to have already taken the best option. I think as dramatic resignations go, swearing at people who were being abusive, then leaping out of an aircraft using the emergency slide has got to be up on the top five. Oh, and grabbing some beer on the way out. He was channelling the spirit of John Belushi for that one.
So. Assuming not all of us have access to an emergency aircraft slide, how could we leave a job in a similarly stylish manner?
Office drone: Deliberately misplace the decimal points in a long term costs projection to cause maximum disruption in the future, hoik the muffins from the hospitality basket and slide down the corridor on your laptop like a luge sled, smashing through the lift doors to freedom.
Farmer: Mow the word "Arse" into the wheat, steal all the baler twine to sell on the black market, then crash your combine harvester through the hedge and head for the bright lights and the big city. At 7 miles an hour.
Surgeon: Get to the end of a tricky triple bypass operation, then throw your scalpel at the wall so it sticks, juddering loudly, stuff all the cotton wool balls into your pockets and roar off into the distance in your Ferrari.
Zookeeper: Release the bonobo monkeys into the King penguin enclosure, then roar off into the distance on a stolen lion.
Yeah, that's not as easy as I thought it would be. I'll stop there.
Other news: The bathroom is finished, and once it has a new coat of paint it will be lovely once again. I am particularly pleased with the grab rail over the bath. I no longer feel as though I am taking my life in my hands when I get in and out.
Also, properly started (finally!) my new job, and have been up in London this week. I'd forgotten what an absurdly long journey it is. I must be mental. MENTAL. I've not risked the Tube yet, so I have been taking taxis to and from the office and Waterloo Station. It's expensive but at least I feel safe, and not likely to topple down an escalator due to my ongoing ankle instability.
This week I have mostly been reading Conan the Barbarian ebooks on my phone on the train. I wish I was a barbarian. I really do. I'd be great at it. I could shout "Crom!" and have iron thews. I just need a bit of training. Maybe a barbarian mentor.
He could wear a leather 3-piece suit and carry his sword under his arm like a rolled up umbrella.
Showing posts with label Pulp Fiction. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Pulp Fiction. Show all posts
Wednesday, 11 August 2010
Monday, 2 June 2008
Technology
It's all pants. Well, at work it is, at least. Once again, life does not resemble Star Trek.
Picture the scene...Most of our colleagues have gone to work in Bristol, the remainder have moved to another part of the building so we can all sit together. Synergy and all that good stuff.
So far so good.
There were a few minor spats about who sits where (window seats - as precious as the treasure of the Sierra Madre, apparently), where the coat racks were going, who sits nearest the recycling bins and the noisy printer. All that kind of stuff.
But it got resolved. Every one has a desk, a chair, a phone and a computer. However. Not everyone has a working computer. In fact me and a colleague have got spanking new computers on our desks, but are still using the old computer system, which has different hardware.
We are going to be transferred to the new system in November 07/Feb 08/Early May 08/ last Friday/next Wednesday/whenever they fucking feel like it*. So we wait.
So, if I want to use email, write stuff, do presentations, look at the project plan or indeed, do any of my work, I have to leave my desk (where the phone is) and go to my old desk, across the other side of the building. There is a phone we have lifted from another desk, but we have no idea what the number is. The old phones have been disconnected, see, because we moved.
I come back to my "new" desk and I can't do any work unless it is with a paper and pen, or face to face with my immediate colleagues, as all the information I need is on the IT. Including the telephone directory, so I can't even ring people without asking other people to find the numbers for me.
I come back to my "old" desk and can't be contacted except by email. Oh, and my team are all disgruntled because they are having to answer my phone, and I am not around to talk to them.
As Marcellus Wallace would say, pretty fucking far from ok.
Other news: Mr WithaY's Landrover has gone in for some welding. A week without Landrover trouble is like a meal without wine. Or something.
Garden looks nice though.
*Delete as applicable
Picture the scene...Most of our colleagues have gone to work in Bristol, the remainder have moved to another part of the building so we can all sit together. Synergy and all that good stuff.
So far so good.
There were a few minor spats about who sits where (window seats - as precious as the treasure of the Sierra Madre, apparently), where the coat racks were going, who sits nearest the recycling bins and the noisy printer. All that kind of stuff.
But it got resolved. Every one has a desk, a chair, a phone and a computer. However. Not everyone has a working computer. In fact me and a colleague have got spanking new computers on our desks, but are still using the old computer system, which has different hardware.
We are going to be transferred to the new system in November 07/Feb 08/Early May 08/ last Friday/next Wednesday/whenever they fucking feel like it*. So we wait.
So, if I want to use email, write stuff, do presentations, look at the project plan or indeed, do any of my work, I have to leave my desk (where the phone is) and go to my old desk, across the other side of the building. There is a phone we have lifted from another desk, but we have no idea what the number is. The old phones have been disconnected, see, because we moved.
I come back to my "new" desk and I can't do any work unless it is with a paper and pen, or face to face with my immediate colleagues, as all the information I need is on the IT. Including the telephone directory, so I can't even ring people without asking other people to find the numbers for me.
I come back to my "old" desk and can't be contacted except by email. Oh, and my team are all disgruntled because they are having to answer my phone, and I am not around to talk to them.
As Marcellus Wallace would say, pretty fucking far from ok.
Other news: Mr WithaY's Landrover has gone in for some welding. A week without Landrover trouble is like a meal without wine. Or something.
Garden looks nice though.
*Delete as applicable
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