Blogcoven

There is a certain element of fellowship in an office – you don’t rat out your office mates when they’re not working as hard as they could because well, nobodies perfect. But theres a line. And a big factor in this ‘workers solidarity’ to me is caring whether the other guy lives or catches fire and dies screaming in a vat of baboon piss.

To me, consultants are hired labour. They ought to work themselves bloody because we may as well be paying them in dancing gold bars. And most of them do at least pretend to take it seriously. They turn up, do the job we’ve set for them and off they go with a dragons hoard. Grand.

I mean sure, bonjour la paresse and all, and if you’re a genuine salaried member of the mega-corp you have to be carried out in a box, but if you’re just a fucking *contractor* then *don’t* pound on my godamn desk, act like you’re my goddamn *friend* and swan in at half nine before taking a two hour lunch. I don’t care if you feel you’re entitled because you used to be one of the good old boys, went to all the right schools, have the right passport and all that shit. You *were*, then you fucked off and now you can just eat shit and die, you leave la famiglia, you’re out.

Out. I’ve seen slack cut once, and I can cue a mass indrawn hiss of breath from any ranks of management by mentioning the subject (which I do at every opportunity just for the effect) but that one guy was cool, had people skills and when he came back, he came back, back on the payroll, back in the share schemes. I have *little* patience with the constant clutching of the hordes of subcontractors with their networking and relationship building. Get the hell away from me, I want something off you, I’ll pick up the phone. Otherwise, I want a sterling impression of Victorian children – in fact I don’t even want to see you. I have your card, kthnxbai.

I don’t think its too twitchy to get riled by the sheer unadulterated cheek of the phonecalls to arrange your own goddamn business off the desk we’re paying you to work off. I’m not stupid, I can tell the difference between the click-click-click of the work that supposed to be done and the high tempo typing of emailing new contracts, your mom, your fuck-buddy in Shell, I don’t give a shit who. I know no reports have been set, I know I’ve seen nothing of worth to match the time spent parked at that desk.

Tips to anyone whos going to go work for a big company – don’t piss off the natives. After a certain threshold, then they really do find it worth their while to make sure you can’t get work cleaning piggeries. Its got a certain satisfaction to it.

I have got to get off that desk, get the hell out of that office before I do something I’m going to regret.

Listening to: Happy Nation – Ace Of Base