Council Nutters, part 2
Keith

Keith was every accounting stereotype rolled into one. He had clearly halted every aspect of his development (except that which related to cost codes) at age 12. He wore a grey suit that was clearly designed for a teenager (a Mr. Byrite "My First Court Appearance" type affair, circa 1979), which showed us rather more of his shins and calves (and the grey socks with coloured stripes at the top that may well have dated back to the Winter of Discontent) than any human being could reasonably be expected to tolerate, as well as treating us all to the way his belly protruded from a jacket that clearly hadn't been buttoned up since Emerson Lake and Palmer were at #1. His hair, of course, was styled in the classic Grange Hill side parting, which is particularly appealing with silvering yet greasy hair.

Keith walked with a wobbly gait and spoke with a spittle-throwing slobber. And his chosen topic of conversation was accounting. Not finance, not the latest happenings in tax law (that would have been almost interesting), but the minutiae of subjective and objective project codes, cost transfers, and recharging. Keith found all this fascinating, and would write us long, incomprehensible emails whenever we did something wrong, which, considering that his definition of "doing something wrong" included using lower-case when filling out timesheets and using the wrong font on expense claims, was often. Not once did we ever take any actions as the result of a "Keith-a-Gram", but the boss's PA printed out some of the best ones and made an incomprehensible yet charming collage out of them.

On no account should you ever, ever, ask Keith a question related to accounting. Because he will give you an answer. An answer that could last over an hour, by which time those not equipped with a snorkel would have drowned in a sea of accountant-spittle (and believe me, compared to other methods of local-government related death, such as fossilizing at your desk or getting impaled on a traffic cone, is a good way to go), during which you learned exactly two things:

1) Local Government accountancy makes counting the hairs on your arm look interesting
2) No matter how bad your life gets, you will never stoop so low as to be a local government accountant, even if you have to gargle battery acid for a living to avoid it.

Our office once paid host to a new temp, a cocky Aussie kid on his first proper job (if you can call temping in a council office a proper job) after leaving uni. The guy clearly thought he knew everything and was in need of taking down a peg or two. So, one of the more experienced temps in the office (an evil-minded Kiwi called Steve, who hated this guy even more than the rest of us) suggested that he ask Keith to come to his desk and explain the Council's accounting system to him, on the grounds that "it will help your understanding of how Local Government works".

52 minutes later (we timed it), a shellshocked Aussie temp did indeed have an enhanced undertanding of what working for the Council involved. So enhanced was his understanding that he quit two days later.

When your personality is used by third parties as a biological weapon, it's time to re-evaluate your life.
(Axeman Jim, Fri 31 Oct 2008, 21:55, 1 reply)

Ted the health and safety guy
was pretty much in the same mold. At our christmas do we had to draw lots to see who would sit next to him during the meal.

Every conversation would be not so subtly steered to his favourite topic.

"This puddings nice" "Lighting the alcohol can set your house on fire if your not prepared"

The hours failed to fly by.
The big shock was when I found out he was married, the mind boggles...
(Bo Nidle Coming back in from the cold., Fri 31 Oct 2008, 23:28, closed)