My arrival at my new employer could be described best as accidentally falling from a moving car, and landing completely unscathed, on your feet.
A few short days ago I was watching the world go by from the window of a portacabin in a hell hole. I now had my own desk, my own computer, my own chair, my own stapler, my own pens, pencils, ruler, pen holder
While admiring all my new toys, the chap in front of me span around in his office chair.
“Right then young John. Is it John or Jonathan?”
“Either is fine, I don’t mind.”
“Tea or coffee?”
“Oh! Coffee please”
“If you come with me, I can show you where everything is, and I’ll introduce you to some of the useless rabble. They’re less use than a chocolate fireguard, I’m telling you”.
And so was my introduction to the world of Dick Lions, conservatory salesman, draftsman, and bullshitter extraordinaire. He stood about 5 8 tall, early 60s, a little portly, with 60s style horn rimmed glasses, and a shock of curly black hair combed into a curl perched high atop his forehead. If anybody looked like a mischievous character from a childrens comic, he did.
While we made coffee in the kitchen area, he told me how he had been poached from another construction company where he had been in charge of salesand interestingly senior to one of the salesman who he had worked for many years previouslyJock Gadwin, geriatric World War 2 fighter ace (or at least that was the impression he liked to project).
The ill feeling between Dick and Jock was my earliest introduction to office politics, and the concept that some people didn’t so much want to get on with one another, as actively want to set fire to one another if given the chance. I was oblivious to it at this early stage in my educationit would take many apparently unprovoked slanging matches between fellow colleagues before I started to sense the warning signs and retreat to a safe distance.
Apparently women are far better at sensing these things than men.
It’s amazing how much you can find out about somebody while them make a round of teas and coffees. It turned out Mr. Lions had been a radar technician on HMS Ark Royal during the 1960s. He hinted at all manner of adventures while serving in the Navy all over the world.
“I was a test pilot in a knocking shop in Bangkok you know”
“Really?”
Time to take the coffee’s back. I couldn’t figure out if anything I was being told was the truth or not, so started busying myself with carrying the tray.
First desk on the way back was the company secretary and book keeper.
“This is the lovely Sian. She pays us adoring staff and we do anything she asks us to. Isn’t that right?”
“Hello Jonathannice to finally meet you! we heard there was a young lad starting that was a whiz with the computers. Actually, do you know anything about Wordstar?”
I peered at her screen with an interested look. In reality, all I actually knew about WordStar was that it was a very famous word processor I had never seen, and it was chiefly famous because it used key combinations not used by any other piece of software in the known universe.
“I can’t remember how to save”
Another voice drifted up the office “press F2” (thank godI had no idea)
Sian was in her early 50s, and immaculately turned out. Her hair seemed to have come from a Nicky Clarke brochure, and had perhaps two entire cans of hairspray reinforcing it’s just-so look. Later in the week when she would appear at the end of the day from the rest rooms wearing lycra leggins, a running club t-shirt, and running shoes. For a moment I found myself admiring her in the way young men tend to when faced with female curves.
Sian took tea with one sugar. Must remember that.
Mr Lions reminded me at a volume the entire office could hear that she was the most important person to be nice to, on account of her paying our wages. One little guy grinned as he walked past, trying to look busy.
Next up was a bubbly looking girl introduced as Dick’s assistant.
“No I’m bloody not you old bugger!”
She then laughed in a high pitch whoop not sounding entirely dissimilar to a U-Boat dive claxon. This was Anitahappiest, funniest, and perhaps the most optimistic person I would meet for years to come. Anita was larger than life in more ways than onevoluptuous, loud, and apparently very good at producing offspring. She had photos of three children of varying ages stuck on the wall next to her desk.
“Oooothankyou for the drinkyou got it right too!”
“He didn’t make it, I did, and you’re lucky I didget on with your work!”
Dick liked to think he was Anita’s boss, when in reality she just took overflow work from him. In his previous job he had been an executive in a much larger company, and given the era of the earlier part of his career (the Jurassic), Dick didn’t always see women as equals. If there was a position free within the office for “male chauvenist pig”, he was in the lead by quite some distance.
The little chap that had bustled past earlier now reappeared and blocked our continued route through the office. Before he even said a word you could tell he thought he was terrifically funny, astoundingly good looking, and remarkably clever. Call it an air of confidenceor call it being a born wanker. Probably not the best first impression to have of somebodyand totally wrong as it turned out, but here he wasnow stood in front of me, palm held out to shake hands.
“Hello Jonathan, I’m Darren, and I’m the Sherrif of Chickensaw County”
(he proudly points to the toy sherrifs badge now attached to his pinstrip shirt)
Mr Lions jumps in “this is Darren, younger brother of GGL, our ‘Great and Glorious Leader’”
“Ha ha Dick. I do the jokes. So what are you here for then?”
He turns to face me and looks up into my face. Apparently somebody removed his humour chip. He’s 5ft 4ish, stockily built, and takes an obvious pride in looking good. I get the feeling that my being over 6ft tall is an issue for him somewhere deep in his psyche. His flat-top haircut is worryingly immaculate. Behind his blow and bluster there is something terrifically insecure about himperhaps a need to be likedand I can’t help liking him.
“I’m here to help you start using computers throughout the office, and hopefully make life easier for everybody”
“You can make my life easier right now by”
Suddenly his older brotherthe MD pipes up “you can make his life easier by leaving him along and getting on with your work Darren”.
“Sorry Sam. We’ll organise to go to the pub at lunchtime thoughgive you a chance to meet us all properly!”
The phone on his desk begins ringing. He picks it up and shouts “Alright Minnie!”. I’m starting to wonder about the sanity of people who work in offices.
Dick points over to the corner of the room, and a middle aged guy hunched over his desk, his forehead cradled in one hand, and the phone clasped against his ear in the other. He is wearing a grey suit, and looks strangely reminscent of Will Carling.
“That’s Georgehe’s in charge of the fitters out on the road”
George lifts his gaze, and smiles a childish smilea complete contrast from the furrowed brow of a few moments before. I get the impression that he has the weight of the world on his shoulders.
George and Darren’s desks face each other. Between them is a huge slotted board attached to the wall with several hundred multi-coloured cards in it. Apparently this is the height of their inventiontheir work tracking systemand the smooth running of the business rests upon it. It’s one of the things I’ll be replacing.
Finally we reach the desk of the man who hired me.
“And this John, is G.
G.
L.our Great and Glorious Leader”
Sam shifts his attention from his work, leans back in his chair and rotates round with his hands stretched behind his head.
“So thenwhat do you think so far?”
Dick is hanging aroundapparently enjoying the few moments of getting away with doing no work. His phone rings, and he shouts across to Anita
“Get that will you love”.
“I’m not your bloody servant!”
“Language”
Sam continues to smile, but says nothing. Oh yeshe asked me a question.
“It’s greatDick’s just been introducing me to a few people”
“So I see. He’s full of crap you know”
Dick feins shock and staggers back towards the desk behind him.
“The Salesmen will be in later for the Monday sales meetingyou’ll get to meet them too. Is the computer alright?”
“Yepfinereally good actuallycan’t believe you bought a pentium for me!”
“I knowneither can I. It’s better than mine.”
Sam was difficult to figure out. Early 40s, untidy (as evidenced by the mound of manuals, printouts, brochures, folders, and various pieces of window and conservatory littering his desk), and obviously incredibly intelligent. I would later learn that he arrived before anybody else, and left after everybody else most days. He was divorced, and had two sons at school who lived with their mum. He was stocky like his younger brother, but seemed to have the greater share of the height genesstanding as tall as me, but with a rugby player build.
His phone began to ring.
“Rightbetter get onwe’ll try to catch up at about 10, okay?”
With an incredible amount of foresightperhaps nudged by our mutual astral travelling accountant friendhe had hired me to help grow the company. To install and network computers on everybody’s desks. To invent software, and in doing so create a competitive advantage that would be jealously guarded as the staff swelled towards 200, and we all learned about being managers.
That’s another story for another day though.
For today, I read the end user license agreement for Microsoft Access. Apprently opening the envelope containing the floppy disks gave Microsoft the right to remove my kidneys and feed them to their pet rabbit.