Filling time?

I went to the dentist this morning.

Its amazing how much time has elapsed since I was last there 13 months ago. 13 months. Wow.

They’ve got a new extension to the practice.

They’re making far too much money.

I’m not scared of the Dentist, but I am marginally suspicious of their motives. Their sports cars tell me that there’s more to their caring nature and code-speak than there first appears.  

Anyway – the Dentist, Mr Peach, (who should have a picture on his ceiling to look at while you’re lying back in the chair of destiny) told me that he was ‘concerned’ about several areas of enamel in strategic points in my mouth, so he sent me for a few X rays.

I will never know whether the Xrays were truly necessary, but I went along with his game, anyway.

2 out of 3 areas were absolutely fine after all – but one area looked a bit ‘concerning’ and so I have to go back for a flling.

I’ve asked for a white filling this time because its near the front of my mouth, and while the molars remind me of knackered old cars in a scrap-heap, my front teeth look fine, and I’d like to keep it that way, thanks.

So I’ll be back in January for the second episode.

God knows what that’s going to cost me.

Cheating?

Is doing all your christmas shopping on-line just cheating?

Or should I have to fight my way through the shopping centres, the screaming children and the unpredictable old-folks in order to appreciate the full magnitude of christmas?

You tell me……….

The Meeting

It starts as usual. I’m already there, talking to her manager at his meeting table. We call her in, and she looks at me apprehensively, then to her manager, and then back to me. She sits down, head down, hands in her lap, looking at us nervously. I can tell she’s thinking “There’s the woman from HR. I wonder what’s going to happen to me now?”

There’s a tension in the air. Who will break the silence?

I start by smiling, and telling H that we’re now at the end of the first 4 weeks she’s been back to work. This is a review. How is it going? – I ask them both.

The nod and mutter. H says she feels frustrated, her manager says the same. They’re observing from different viewpoints, and I can tell that while their words are similar, their meanings are very different.

H is frustrated because she can never get to the bottom of the in-tray because she’s too busy. Her manager is frustrated because she never gets to the bottom of her in-tray because she’s wasted hours on pointless activities – mainly searching for items which aren’t there.

They’re both looking at me, both old enough to be my parents, pleading with me to sort it out – to tell them what is for the best. There’s no ageism in this room. They know I can help them, and they hang on my words.

I tease out the problems, make them air them. Lay them on the table and examine them closely.

But its early days. H isn’t back to full hours yet. Its all so new. We must give it enough time.

Both think the meeting went well. I come away feeling uneasy. They will part company, those two.

The manager hopes it will be soon.

H goes in search of folders, oblivious.

Still Alive

It occurred to me today that I hadn’t been on and blogged for a while.

But I’m still alive.

The nutters are keeping me busy!!

Like J, the chap who might have had inappropriate relations with a girl under 18 in his care…..

Or L, the lady who keeps falling asleep in class and not watching the disabled students when they’re pulling boiling kettles of water towards them by the cord…..

Or M, the lady who is just not able to master her job after 12 months of support.

Or K, the woman who doesn’t want to come to work anymore but would really like us to keep paying her for 6 years……

Oh it has been a wonderful few weeks………………

;o)

Very Essex-Girl

I need help. I’m after a pair of nice white shoes or sandalls to wear with a white and green dress for my sister’s wedding in a few weeks’ time. At the moment, every single pair of shoes I own is black. I don’t even own a brown or a red pair – but I’m really struggling.  

There are no white shoes.

Lots of lovely shoes out there, but nothing in white.

I may have to go looking like Dorothy in the Wizard of Oz.

Yuk.

Chas & Dave at the 100 Club

Badger and I went to see Chas and Dave at the 100 club in Oxford Street, London on Friday night.

It was a proper cockney knees-up.

Brilliant!

A cut above the rest??!!

Apologies for the hairdressing puns, but today’s HR problem relates to a Hairdressing Salon I work with.

Cindy is around 40, and a junior member of the hairdressing hierarchy, but a valuable one, nonetheless.

Cindy is contracted to work 4 evenings a week, Monday to Thursday because they don’t open late on Friday. Her hours are between 4.30 and 9pm. Because Linsi was seconded to a sister-salon, Cindy was asked if she would mind doing two evenings and two mornings for a while, until Linsi came back. Cindy was happy to, so the Salon Manager got in a temporary person called Jan to cover the other two evenings.  

Sadly the sister-salon closed, and Linsi had to come back after about 9 months, putting Jan out of a job, and Cindy back to her 4 evenings a week. Jan was sad, but knew this was on the cards at some point, and went to find another job. Linsi went back to her job during the day, and Cindy was therefore required to revert to her old work pattern.

Except, in the 9 months, Cindy’s husband had changed jobs, leaving Cindy with a child-care problem on a Thursday evening. So what did Cindy do?

Did she find a babysitter? No

Did she start looking for another job? No

She came to her manager and demanded her work pattern remain at 2 evenings and 2 mornings a week.

Well, her manager told her she could not accomodate her in this work pattern any longer – as all the day work was covered, and Cindy’s contract was for 4 evenings a week, so that’s what she’d have to do.

So Cindy sulked and cried and stamped her feet because she said the hairdressing salon should be accomodating her personal needs because she’s got children………………………………………………….

So what do you make of that, aspiring HR managers???

What do you think my advice was?

A glimpse into the fog….

At a country fair on Sunday, I bumped into a man who smiled at me a familiar smile. Older, greyer, but still the same shape of a face I’d once known. I approached him, and spoke.

Spaniel, so it is you! How are you?

Oh, you know. I’m doing well, Ted.

Ted: Oh good. Settled down again now? Its been a while. Still working at the government building? 

Me: Oh yes, all is well. No, not working there any more, had a change now, working in London.

Ted: Oh good.

Me: Yes, and getting married again.

Ted: Oh, that’s such good news! 

Ted beams at me – he genuinely means it. He’s pleased for me.

Ted: Well, you’re both settling down again, then.

I glimpse into the fog, hoping to make out the shape of something that isn’t really there….

Me: How is BastardChris* these days? Still see him?

Ted: Oh yes – he’s me mate, you know that. I like him, he’s a friend. But I warned you, didn’t I? I asked you if you were sure….

I smile now and say ‘yes, yes you did. ‘ We both pause, thinking of memories. A time past.

Me: Where is he now?

Ted: In OldTown. He’s OK. Moving from business to business, here and there. (Ted chuckles). You know what he’s like. He’ll never change.

I smile again, a joyless smile, by way of reply. I want to know a little more, maybe, but looking out at the shapes in the mist, I’m not sure I want to see so clearly after all.  

Me: Its been about 5 years since I last saw him, you know. October ‘03. A long time.   

Ted: Yes, I suppose it must be. I saw your mother a while ago, She seemed as concerned about him doing OK as you seem to be.

I can do no more than smile. Wondering whether I am concerned about him or not. 

Ted: You know he’s an odd bloke. He’s just so daft, he needs someone equally daft to put up with him – and you weren’t daft enough.  

Me: Yes.

Ted: Well its been lovely to bump into you, Spaniel. Take care of yourself, and I’m so glad things are working out for you. I knew you just weren’t silly enough to put up with him. Congratulations on getting married again.

Me: Thanks Ted. You take care now.

Ted: Bye (he waves).

Me: Bye, then.

I stood, squinting slightly to see if I could make out anything more than I had already seen, and realised I could not. But then I don’t think I’m really that interested, after all.

When the fog lifted, there was nothing there. Nothing at all.

  *see Cast List.

Unbelievable

Today I found myself completley unable to express my true feelings, which is very unusual for me. I was so appalled and horrified, I just ran out of words to adequately express it.

See what you make of it.

Bianca works as a teaching assistant in a college. She is part of a team of people who work one to one with students in need of additional support because they have disabilities or particular special needs. Bianca is an ex-nurse, an asthmatic and suffers from some allergies already. Probably as a result of her work with patients over the years, Bianca had a severe allergic reaction a week or so ago while blowing up a party balloon, and was rushed into hospital, having difficulty in breathing. She had suffered an anaphylactic reaction to natural rubber (latex), and has been warned that she must carry her epi-pen (an auto-injector containing synthetic adrenaline) with her at all times. If she comes into contact with a latex or rubber item again, her body will dramatically react to the rubber and start to shut down within minutes as it goes into anaphylactic shock. She has been left in no doubt that the next reaction will kill her if she doesn’t receive the adrenaline in her epi-pen quickly – well before any ambulance is likely to arrive.    

When she returned to work, she explained to her colleagues what had happened, and that if this were to happen to her at work, she might need one of her colleagues to administer her epi-pen to her, if she was unable to do it for herself. Bianca’s colleagues, because of the students they work with, have all been trained to administer an epi-pen in an emergency. Bianca felt safe because of the sheer volume of people trained to respond in an emergency all around her……

Except…..

Except her colleagues told her they would not be prepared to administer it to her because she was not a student.

 

 I am truly speechless.

The drama of Diane

Diane is 59 years old, and she suffers from anxiety and depression. I would be sympathetic for most people, but Diane isn’t most people. She had 2 years off work and would never have come back except she thought she might get a few quid if she made a big fuss.

So she made a big fuss, hoping that during the restructure the company had forgotten about her and would pay her to go away rather than make room for her. Except the company did make room for her, and welcomed her back (albeit slightly reluctantly, since they knew she’d be trouble).

Since then, Diane has behaved like a spoiled child, stamping her feet and making a scene wherever possible. Despite coming back in a supervisory role, she tried not to do her job, and got away with it. The company allowed her to continue with her therapy appointments, and time off to go line-dancing (since it helped her stress-levels).

Finally, her manager had had enough and started to make her come in on time, manage her staff and get on with her job.

She threw a strop, and cried and made a fuss and went off sick.

She didn’t want to see a doctor from Occupational Health, so we send him to her house.

He told us she would be ok to go back to work if only the relationship with her line manager could be resolved.

That’s where I came in.

I went to see this pathetic little slip of a woman, hiding behind her arms, peering out with wide, anxious eyes at me. Scratching at her neck, worrying and wringing her hands.

Oh dear. Said I. This is terrible. I think we need to take your grievance further so we can sort out the problems with your line manager and get you back to work.

Oh no, said her union representative.

We just want £150,000 instead.

Why? Said I.

Because she doesn’t want to go back to work, and her manager is making her do things she doesn’t like.

What, her job, you mean?

Yes, but she can’t do it.

No kidding.

Oh well, we’ll see, say I.

So I ask Diane about the work she used to do, many years ago in Finance, when things were better.

Her arms came down to her lap, she looked at me and smiled, and chatted away like a grown up for the first time in the meeting.

Ill?

Ill my arse.