My alternative life
Nobody chooses administrative mediocrity as a career, people don’t even have it thrust upon them, that would be too dramatic. I don’t think people even drift into it. Careers involving being stuck in an office just settle on people, like dust or dandruff.
When I was a teen and it was time to start to make choices about what I wanted as a career, I seriously considered the Army. The fact that I was not disciplined, had no interest in sports or, indeed fighting did not seem an issue, either for me, or, more frightening, others. I remember a careers conference with the head of the sixth form, a committed pacifist who hated the military. On the suggestion that I was considering the Army he looked at me and acknowledged that ‘yes, that would be a good fit’. At the time I thought he simply hated me, now I realise that he thought that my being in the Army would deal it the greatest blow since Dunkirk.
As it turned out, I opted for a shirt, tie and suit rather than DPM and have, in general, been quite happy about my choice – I have no doubt that with my luck I’d pull duty testing some sort of new chemical warfare agent at Portland Down. When you find yourself on parade with three rabbits and a smoking beagle, you know you’re in deep shit.
Recent events (growing older combined with what can only be described as something of a dissatisfying time in the office) have made me reconsider these decisions though. I reckon I could, just, have made a successful career out of the Army. Join as a private, rise through the ranks and eventually command tanks and so on before being awarded that ultimate accolade – being accused of war crimes. Without a doubt, I should have joined the Catering Corps. Now called the Royal Logistics Corps or something, and probably due to be outsourced to Burger King, this is the army of the Army that makes sure the troops eat.
Now THAT sounds like soldiering. How on earth is one supposed to make a hot meal for a few dozen hungry, tired and knackered men when you are behind enemy lines and the supplies have not come through? I’d like to see those tossers on ‘masterchef’ try and cook a soufflé under fire. No, really, I would, never mind the rest of this blog entry, I’d just like to see those pretentious sods shot at.
Of course, when it comes to sourcing fresh produce, nothing helps quite so much as having a heavily armed infantry battalion to call on. If you check the background of those teevee reports from the middle east, there’s always a goat in the background or, as I like to call it, mains.
When I was a teen and it was time to start to make choices about what I wanted as a career, I seriously considered the Army. The fact that I was not disciplined, had no interest in sports or, indeed fighting did not seem an issue, either for me, or, more frightening, others. I remember a careers conference with the head of the sixth form, a committed pacifist who hated the military. On the suggestion that I was considering the Army he looked at me and acknowledged that ‘yes, that would be a good fit’. At the time I thought he simply hated me, now I realise that he thought that my being in the Army would deal it the greatest blow since Dunkirk.
As it turned out, I opted for a shirt, tie and suit rather than DPM and have, in general, been quite happy about my choice – I have no doubt that with my luck I’d pull duty testing some sort of new chemical warfare agent at Portland Down. When you find yourself on parade with three rabbits and a smoking beagle, you know you’re in deep shit.
Recent events (growing older combined with what can only be described as something of a dissatisfying time in the office) have made me reconsider these decisions though. I reckon I could, just, have made a successful career out of the Army. Join as a private, rise through the ranks and eventually command tanks and so on before being awarded that ultimate accolade – being accused of war crimes. Without a doubt, I should have joined the Catering Corps. Now called the Royal Logistics Corps or something, and probably due to be outsourced to Burger King, this is the army of the Army that makes sure the troops eat.
Now THAT sounds like soldiering. How on earth is one supposed to make a hot meal for a few dozen hungry, tired and knackered men when you are behind enemy lines and the supplies have not come through? I’d like to see those tossers on ‘masterchef’ try and cook a soufflé under fire. No, really, I would, never mind the rest of this blog entry, I’d just like to see those pretentious sods shot at.
Of course, when it comes to sourcing fresh produce, nothing helps quite so much as having a heavily armed infantry battalion to call on. If you check the background of those teevee reports from the middle east, there’s always a goat in the background or, as I like to call it, mains.
1 Comments:
chin up! At least you're not a janitor (environmental engineer if you're politically correct).
Now that I'm no longer sitting at a desk all day (thank goodness), I'm much more able to see the happier side of things. My new desk is in a large atrium inside the clinic---basically, no privacy at all...which of course, I don't really mind because I have my freedom.
I have noticed, however, that the janitor goes into the restroom, cleans it, comes out and is never once even acknowledged. I now try to go out of my way to at least say hello, but it must be depressing to have a job where people pass you on the way in and out of the crapper without even so much as giving you a glance. And, the only time they are called upon is when there is some sort of disgusting issue or mess to be cleaned up.
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