One of the curious things about working where I do is that it’s my old stamping ground from 1988 to 2000. I’m a street away from the offices I used to occupy so I keep bumping into old colleagues . I also keep bumping into a rather blowsy woman & a camp manager from a company that interviewed me in the same building;having seen how shitty their offices were I’m quite glad I didn’t get their job; working with one mincer with a high opinion of himself in St Crispins was enough for me, to work for another fourteen years on would have been a deleterious move indeed.
You can get a good idea of if a company values it’s staff by the accomodation it provides for it’s staff as opposed to it’s managers. A previous employer had beautiful offices for himself & his management team but expected his workers to slave in a room the size of two football pitches & a mere three windows on one wall, with aircon that was rarely if ever cleaned. And the desks you were expected to use were frankly shit. Same with this lot who interviewed me. The call centre was crammed into one half of the room, while the managementhave a suite of well appointed offices two doors away from my own.
I saw one particular old colleague yesterday. She will remain nameless but was one of those rather vain women who was good looking & knew it, they once put her face into a publicity brochure & she never let anyone forget it. In fact she was so vain of her image that she made her husband change his family surname because she thought it was too phallic. Phallic, however, is not a word this lady would use, I don’t believe from my long association with her in those days that she knew many words of more than one syllable (and probably thought syllable was a foolish cow. Which also sums her up to perfection).
“Paul ” she said “I’d never have believed it, but apart from being fatter you actually look better than you did twenty five years ago” . Then she paused.
“Do you think I’ve improved with age? ” she asked.
“No.” I replied. She’s still an airhead.