The office door bitch in us all
When I bid my life in Sydney goodbye to start again in London I made a mental promise to myself to do and try things that in Sydney I would have dismissed derisively. So, while I’ve yet to enrol in salsa dancing classes (the last bastion of the tragically single and lonely) it’s only because I’ve yet to find a class near to me and I’m not really sure how committed I am to being the poster girl for something I have previously thought would be as pleasurable as puncturing my own ear drum, so not really sure how committed I am to crossing London town in rain/sleet to pretend I’m somewhere sunny when I come home and dance around my lounge room to the Cat Empire a bit for the same effect.
In Sydney I was also incredibly dismissive of people who came to work to make friends, like tragic school children. I always made friends at work, indeed most of my closest friendships have been established over the common bond of hating the boss/organisation or generally skiving off on Friday afternoons for drinks.
However, as I’m in London and the number of people I know here can be counted on one hand, I’ve become the social coordinator of the motley crew of temps with whom I share the privilege of working.
I’m currently working in an office of about 10 people, 6 of whom are temping. All of these 6 (some UK, some Australian, one token Kiwi-to prove we’re tolerant of all kinds) are top notch and hilarious and if it wasn’t for them, I would have committed hari kari by now. They similarly feel the burn of institutionalised incompetence, and so our lunches/after work drinks/outings are now becoming like secret society meetings.
I have taken charge of a) the event and b) the invitation list shamelessly. And so outlook event invitations invariably get sent around the office inviting my klan to lunch/ice skating/drinks, with specific instructions as to how this is handled in the cubicle farm to not draw attention to those excluded.
Very simply I have become the ultimate door bitch/mean girl and am using outlook to effectively say “not in those shoes” to the 4 remaining staff members.
Like all good secret societies, strict codes of conduct are in place:
1. Should one of the four be invited to an event, you’re out the klan.
2. We are not able to draw attention to the klan, so have to stagger our departures for lunch/drinks to make it look like we coincidentally all took lunch at around the same time;
3. We are not able to discuss the klan meetings/outings in the cubicle farm for fear of one of the four overhearing;
4. All communication amongst the klan must be done via email, regardless of how close we all sit to each other; and finally
5. We must pretend to be tolerant the four to not draw attention to the rising levels of discontentment amongst us all.
I’ve always had a hankering for being a cult leader, and believe I have a natural disposition for malevolence, so while this Lord of the Flies vs the Office is no real surprise to those who know me (or have worked with me) I am loving the fact that only 6 weeks ago when I arrived, the office was mildly dysfunctional but most people were just gritting their teeth and getting on with it. Since my arrival, I’ve given voice and a platform for people to vent their spleens, and vent they do.
In the last 3 weeks, as the klan has gathered confidence and loyalties have been demonstrated through silent but necessary support, a smog of apathy has settled on our office which makes LA look positively pristine.
Our Christmas party is next week, but I think I’ll not drink. My mental filter of “do not say that” is thin at the best of times. If I get through the lunch/drinks without word vomiting on one of the four I believe I’ll have jagged the Christmas miracle. For nightmare office Christmas parties, check out this piece from the Sydney Morning Herald.
Tomorrow the klan and I are going ice skating here, which has a bar. Yep, alcohol, ice skating and frustrated venom. What can possibly go wrong?!
In Sydney I was also incredibly dismissive of people who came to work to make friends, like tragic school children. I always made friends at work, indeed most of my closest friendships have been established over the common bond of hating the boss/organisation or generally skiving off on Friday afternoons for drinks.
However, as I’m in London and the number of people I know here can be counted on one hand, I’ve become the social coordinator of the motley crew of temps with whom I share the privilege of working.
I’m currently working in an office of about 10 people, 6 of whom are temping. All of these 6 (some UK, some Australian, one token Kiwi-to prove we’re tolerant of all kinds) are top notch and hilarious and if it wasn’t for them, I would have committed hari kari by now. They similarly feel the burn of institutionalised incompetence, and so our lunches/after work drinks/outings are now becoming like secret society meetings.
I have taken charge of a) the event and b) the invitation list shamelessly. And so outlook event invitations invariably get sent around the office inviting my klan to lunch/ice skating/drinks, with specific instructions as to how this is handled in the cubicle farm to not draw attention to those excluded.
Very simply I have become the ultimate door bitch/mean girl and am using outlook to effectively say “not in those shoes” to the 4 remaining staff members.
Like all good secret societies, strict codes of conduct are in place:
1. Should one of the four be invited to an event, you’re out the klan.
2. We are not able to draw attention to the klan, so have to stagger our departures for lunch/drinks to make it look like we coincidentally all took lunch at around the same time;
3. We are not able to discuss the klan meetings/outings in the cubicle farm for fear of one of the four overhearing;
4. All communication amongst the klan must be done via email, regardless of how close we all sit to each other; and finally
5. We must pretend to be tolerant the four to not draw attention to the rising levels of discontentment amongst us all.
I’ve always had a hankering for being a cult leader, and believe I have a natural disposition for malevolence, so while this Lord of the Flies vs the Office is no real surprise to those who know me (or have worked with me) I am loving the fact that only 6 weeks ago when I arrived, the office was mildly dysfunctional but most people were just gritting their teeth and getting on with it. Since my arrival, I’ve given voice and a platform for people to vent their spleens, and vent they do.
In the last 3 weeks, as the klan has gathered confidence and loyalties have been demonstrated through silent but necessary support, a smog of apathy has settled on our office which makes LA look positively pristine.
Our Christmas party is next week, but I think I’ll not drink. My mental filter of “do not say that” is thin at the best of times. If I get through the lunch/drinks without word vomiting on one of the four I believe I’ll have jagged the Christmas miracle. For nightmare office Christmas parties, check out this piece from the Sydney Morning Herald.
Tomorrow the klan and I are going ice skating here, which has a bar. Yep, alcohol, ice skating and frustrated venom. What can possibly go wrong?!
