phlegmployee of the month

part 1: honesty

unemployed i go sweating round the agencies to look for work. in the windows are ads for jobs available. i make note, then go home & change my own cv to fit description. if it’s sales, i've had 2 years’ experience. if it’s marketing, i've done a year & a half. i left my last job (reluctantly) because i was a temp (in a way, this is true. i never intended to stay). most agencies never check. in the interview for this job i lie beautifully & laugh at all jokes. i am successful.


part 2: know-how

peanuts per hour is better than no nuts per hour. i quite like peanuts. 1st day in this job the promise of peanuts gives me an air of enthusiasm & capability. but i lied in the interview about my typing skills & this slows me down. i’m put to work in half an hour on a job i’m not really sure how to do. i fumble, say um a lot. when boss walks by i make use of my fluency in Bull. i accidentally bollox the system but leave it for someone else to sort out. i usually scrape by, & as long as no-one notices the scratch-marks i might just see next month.


part 3: customer empathy

my cv speaks opposite of truth: i don’t really enjoy meeting new people. new people are same as old people in their tiny tyrannies and babyflares of rage. i hate to lose my rag but i can be quite forgetful. i should put it on my keyring. then the temptation to say fuckyou instead of thankyou, the overwhelming urge not to send that letter or that check. the customer is always shite, & to be treated as such. my fellow employees unknowingly drink my spit. i’m really starting to enjoy my new job.


part 4: team work

some people work, some people shirk. i prefer the middle way – do enough to get by, & no more. when boss looks over i’m busy as a bee, keypad buzz & headset hum; when boss look away, i’m slack as a used rubber. in front of colleagues i pretend a mask of knowing efficiency, & blame my bungles on someone else. that person then the team scapegoat. as long as heat’s deflected from me, i don’t really care who ends up being sacrificed.


part 5: motivation

i sit square at my square desk, pretending to work – but my head’s full of bubbles. i put some stationary in my bag; i drink tea out of someone else’s mug. boss comes over for a word. i suck up and ensure at least another week of employment. then i take a comfort break. then i go to the breakout area. then i go back to my desk & draw some cartoons in artpad. payday a week away but i will find stuff to do. colleagues look sideways as phone rings and i answer. accidental cut-off occurs when they look away. “yes sir, yes sir” i say to thin air. three bags full, sir. but full of what, only i can know, as boss walks by, & i SMILE.

Who Am I?

This was the Q above the temple at Delphi, is wot they say.

I'm in "work" again. I "work" in admin (parentheses "rabbits" a go-go today!!). But, I hate it yur. The ions from the glaring screen are ruining my eyeballs at a fantastic rate. The re-routed excuse-for-air they pump through the air con gives me bi-weekly mini-flu. The work itself is morphing my brain from world's fastest computer into world's fattest com-poo-turd (dunno what that means exactly. Except, it sort of suggests the shift from brain as organ of quick-fire-thinking to brain as inanimate, dross-heavy lump of shit. Which is what seems to happen after I clock in here).

In the office, then, I am a grey-clad drone, mumbling and sighing to myself as I type, click, and robotically whirr.

Away from the offfice, of course, I am - Queen Mab! Performance poet extraordinaire!! "Pam Ayres on methadone"!!! Screeching harpie with a penchant for rude ryhmes and vivacious (sometimes vicious) verse!!!!

"Mab" was queen of the fairies, is wot they say. The name comes from the Irish "Medb", meaning "intoxicating", or "drunk". How very apt... Queen Mab, apparently, was v attractive to men, but few were able to stand up to her powerful, warrior-like nature... I'd like to think this is the reason behind my own lack of success with the opposite sex. And not the fact that I am a bit fat with a jew-seeming nose and too many chin-hairs... :(

So, I live as a split-personality. Sometimes I am M---: bland and boring office worker, wearing her Primark polyester trousers with whatever the opposite of verve is. And sometimes I am Mab: a titchy bit more glam, a tiny touch more exciting and excitable, especially when she has that substitute penis they call Mic (Mike) in her chunkly little fist...

Perhaps one day, the two parts of my character will combine and make me more normal-seeming. Until then, I am a Mr Bean/Stig-of-the-Dump female tragedy by day. By night, I am a wannabe Oscar Wilde who struts and spouts almost-literate bits of half-rhyming twaddle.

But - which of these creatures am I?

Both. Either. Neither. I dunno....

I am here, in existence. That's all. As you are as well.

Fantabulous....!!!!!!! :) :( :) :( ;)

M x