» Cringe!

I'll get my coat, my p45 and any dignity I may have left.
So I'm 18, possibly 19. Working in my first IT job in a manufacturing site. There's 3 of us who 'do' IT in the computer room. Next door there's two women 'the girls' who do various clerical tasks including data entry. One's early fifties and probably doesnt need the job but hey, its a nice place to work. The other, 'T', is late twenties - married already and happens to be quite nice. Which makes this story all the worse.

T leaves, she's pregnant after all. She's not coming back either. She's off to do a proper job - be a mother.

Fast forward, 2 years. T is back. 12 months earlier the baby died - cot death. Think, this is when cot death was unheard of in the public domain. Can you imagine the heartbreak. I could. I probably shouldn't have. The poor woman. The poor baby. The poor baby.

How does a 20yr old 'lad' try to talk about that subject? And in work? You realise that you don't really know the woman that well in the first place. Its just a skin deep 'work' relationship, like so many we have.

Weeks go by. Each day we talk - always about work issues. And as we'd say now - that 'elephant' was always in the room. At least that's how I felt. Eventually I came to the decision that the last thing she wants after all this time was to be reminded of that tragic incident. The BABY should be allowed to rest in peace.

One day, workmen are drilling down on the ground floor. We're up on the second. They're drilling into the support columns of the place and causing a low, weird variable howling sound all over. Depending on where you're standing, it drowns out conversation - at least until they reposition the drill and you get a few seconds to say what you need to before the howl is back. Oddly it reminded me of whale 'speech'. But so low that any sort of whale that made it would have to be on its last legs. [pause - while burning shame sensation once again rises up my throat]

Popping next door to see the 'girls', I had my 'sounds like a dying whale!' line ready, 'funny' guy that I was.

In the 10 steps between rooms a thought ocurred to me thus:
"Dont talk about 'baby' - thats in the past. Dont emphasise the word DYING in your 'joke' and don't, under ANY , I mean ANY, in fact there are NO circumstances permissable, get confused and say 'dying BABY' No. NO. NOT EVER. J.U.S.T. D.O.N.T.'.

I popped my head in, the drilling ceased for a moment. The girls made a 'What the hell is that noise eh?' gesture... the second hand ticked.....
And now , ladies and gentlemen , boys and girls, if I've painted the picture well , you KNOW what I went on to say, and to my eternal cold,stark,utter,shame 'in a JOKEY manner'.

Each time I think of it, breath chokes in my throat.

cringeworthy? and the rest.
(Wed 3rd Dec 2008, 18:11, More)

» Sexism

less sweat = less money?
Trying to stick with the QotD central theme ... I've never been comfortable with the female tennis players get paid the same ( or almost the same? ) prize money at Wimbledon than the men?
The men have played several matches , each the best of 5 sets to get to the final whereas the women have played best of 3.

Whilst I think the prize money is obscene regardless, I still think the men have 'earned' the right to more money.

Looking forward to it this summer in HD tho!
(Sun 3rd Jan 2010, 17:48, More)