I've always worked in the public sector...
Don't shoot me for that. But I've met my fair share of 'managers' who couldn't manage to get cunt-lashed in a brewery. I've also worked alongside some of the most gradist people imaginable - those who think that because they've worked themselves above the postroom that making their own tea is beneath them.

A few years ago now, I had the best job I've ever had. I loved the people I worked with, loved the environment, and loved the job with a passion. Ah, The Countryside Agency. Happiest 4 years of my working life... Anyway, whilst the people and atmosphere were generally fluffy and lovely, there was a fair bit of gradism amongst certain quarters. Not the head honcho - lovely guy, who would be the first to get the teas and coffees in for everyone. But one or two.

Our offices were in the centre of town, in a shared block. We occupied the 3rd and 4th floors. Admin on the third (plus the head honcho) and the technical staff on the 4th. As admin, we had to empty the post trays twice a day for our respective teams. All well and good, part of the job - no problem. Most people, if they were heading out, would bring what they had from their post trays and stick it on their admin bod's desk. However, one of the more grade conscious techies was a bit sniffy about the mundane things - making tea, wiping her own arse... that sort of thing.

One particular day, she left early, but after the final post collection time. On her way out of the building, for which she had to bypass the admin team, she stopped by her designated post monkey and informed her that there was some post in her tray that urgently needed to go that night.

Lazy, stuck up bint.

I've also experienced some incredible lack of tact. Like when I had to go all the way from Newcastle to Cheltenham and back for a job interview. It was a post I was desperate to get, having done it, and my own day to day job at the same time, for the previous 6 months. There was another person in for it - my immediate line manager (who I got on well with, and still have contact with occasionally) and we went down together.

Hours past, we had our interviews, and headed back on the train. As we were rolling out of Cheltenham, her mobile phone rang.

It was the head of department, to inform her that she had got the job, and me that I hadn't.

Longest. fucking. train. journey. ever.

I did complain, not because I hadn't got the job that I'd been doing for the last 6 months (and incidentally hitting all the targets for the first time since the programme had started), but because of the manner in which I had been informed. I did feel for the successful candidate, as she felt very uncomfortable on the way back, but even she backed me up.

Still, two years later, she was made redundant, the programme having ended, and I ended up with a double promotion and 8 grand a year more.

Not a bad result.
( Davros' Granddad a voice of calm reason in a world of spastics., Thu 24 Jan 2008, 22:58, Reply)