HR A Go Go

Oh, HR are drama-ering again, namely my old nemesis Fish Face. I quake in my boots when I see her extension come up on my phone, usually – there is a quick decision to be made of answering it, or killing myself, on the spot, to avoid her – except now a days because my work phone is diverted to my mobile, I don't even get that pre-warning name to decide if I am going to answer, or not.

No. Grrrr. I can tell it is a work number by the number on my screen, but I don't know who it could be anyone.

"Hello Christian speaking."

"Hello Christian its.... " she doesn't have to say her name, I can tell instantly from the distasteful, bogan, nasal tone – she talks out her nose, I image as the Wicked Witch of the South did – now threatening to damage my ear drum. 

Hello, you lying, duplicitous, self interested, opportunistic cunt, how may I help. "Hi."

Oh, shake of the head. Oh, it is going to be a bad day.

And it was all my fault. I was doing some house keeping and I noticed some paperwork had the incorrect dates on it and as it pertained to the Perth office, I corrected it and sent them a corrected copy with a brief explanation.

The next thing I know, is I get an email from Fish Face demanding an explanation as to how this happened. You see, the Perth office had done the work for the NSW office, and it had forwarded my correction east to Beelzebub. Oh, the horror, I thought. It is like inviting a vampire into your house, you just don’t do it. You'll never get the smell out.

I would never have sent the correction if I’d known that that opportunistic useless piece of …. bleach blond, straightened hair and bucked teeth, and too much fake tan, was going to have anything to do with it.

And, true to form, Fish Face has misunderstood the correction itself, just two dates, and has gone down the process of demanding details to effectively guard herself against anything that may come back on her on the arse. It really is pathetic to listen to. It is like hearing a drowning child on the other end of the phone flailing around trying to make sure it is safe at any cost.

And it makes me anxious, usually.

And, you know, while it is making me a little anxious, I’m thinking fuck it, and moving forward. I’m BatFink. Fuck off, Fish Face… my wings are…

And, of course, Boris is swanning around Europe some where and of no use to me at all.

The thing is, Fish Face has gone quite since yesterday, but sometimes that is just me lulled into a false sense of security, before she comes back over the parapet all self-interested guns ablaze. Cross your fingers.