picture the scene …
you work within a small company of approximately thirty members of staff. your place of work is well resourced and your colleagues are, for the most part, fun and entertaining. nobody ever looks down on anybody else, everybody has respect for other people’s wishes and a smile beams from each face you pass in the corridor. when you have a problem you can go and see the well being facilitator, a wonderful woman with a cheery smile and a very unsarcastic manner. she plies you with tea and cream cakes whilst listening to your woes and giving you impartial advice and constructive criticism. once you’ve finished talking to her you skip off gleefully ready to face another day …
now picture the real scene …
you work within a small company of approximately thirty members of staff. your place of work is well resourced and your colleagues are, for the most part, fun and entertaining. the government wants you and your fellow colleagues to be happy because happy staff makes for happy education. they offer the place where you work a chance to nominate a well being facilitator. the well being facilitator is someone to whom all members of staff should be able to turn, confidentially, at any time. the head of centre chooses the well being facilitator. the well being facilitator is her bestest friend and went from being the lady in reception to keyworker in the blink of an eye [but that’s a whole other story, and a very bad one at that]. the well being facilitator decides on “events”. she doesn’t understand that not everybody will always want [or indeed, may not be able to attend, perhaps because they live miles away and it would be impossible] to join in with everybody else on a night out. the facilitator has organised a christmas dinner/dance. i don’t want to go. partly because i don’t want to go [!] and partly because it is totally unfeasible for me to be there. you know, i like the people i work with but i’d rather go for a few drinks in the pub after work, not get all dolled up to travel miles to a dinner/dance. a dinner/dance? how old am i? that’s for old people, godammit.
[apologies to all the old folk out there]
she put a list on the noticeboard. this is a noticeboard that can be seen by students as well as staff, because we don’t have a staffroom and although the students aren’t allowed in the kitchen, they do go in there at the discretion of staff. there is one list asking for names of people who want to go. and another asking for the names of people who would rather have hot needles stuck in their eyes.
i find this offensive. the implication is that i’m a boring fart. i’m probably wrong to find it offensive. indeed, i probably am a boring fart. i should laugh and be all jovial and have a sense of humour about such matters. but i also find it offensive that we don’t have a staffroom [surely that would help with morale a lot more significantly than a dinner/dance?].
ah, poo. this is just a rant. i’m feeling miserable, my neck’s been hurting all day and i feel like i’m turning into the woman who must do all things at once. australian men aren’t helping either, not when i have to wash their cups and teach their lessons. i’m sorry – i know many of you have things a lot worse and truly have cause to complain.
sometimes i wish i was only five years old again and could hide my head in my mumsy’s ample chest.
[do you think this may be pmt? my cycle is so haywire at the moment … ]
i’m a whinging bitch. isn’t it fandangly and fabulous?
please god bless the katiefinger who will awaken tomorrow in a happy mood full of gaity and love xxx elsabeth