My new job

I’m settling in yet. Place’s good, surroundings are beautiful. Boss lacks latitude but otherwise is okay. Coworkers seem nice, but we’ll see —I sit backwards to the psychologically unstable one; luckily for me, she has no pair of scissors of her own, so that to stab me from behind she would previously have to borrow them from me, which hopefully would give me time to get to her pills.

It’s two months and a half since I started. I’ve already raised the clothing standards, males’ category. My casually worn ties and ironed fit shirts have made them aware of their lousy ways —and nobody’s trying with bermudas and slogan-filled t-shirts, thank goodness.

I process files and file files and stamp stamps upon them, which is a civil servant’s dream come true.

And I work —more than my coworkers, which is not making me especially popular. While they’re chatting, I work; when they’re chilling out or eating snacks or having lunch in the kitchenette, I work; all the time they spend on Zara online, I work. I work because I have the odd idea that I get paid for doing so. Also, I really love to see my workload pile by my side vanish into nothing and then got refilled with a new one, Sisyphus’s style.

What it’s causing an impression on my colleagues, I didn’t expect it —the tidiness of my desk. They come in droves and lean over and say oh, you have everything in place, and oh, your drawers are perfectly in order, your pencils are in line, oh, how can you manage to do that? Then I point them to my Windows only-two-icons-in-desktop‘s desktop to let them go feeling superior —the guy very neat, yes, but the moron doesn’t know how to clutter his computer’s desktop yet, ha ha!

No ordinary streets

I like, when I’m on my nordic-walking, to turn left at carrer de l’Anglaterra, then straight for a little while through carrer d’en Robert Graves to finally turn right and up to Bellver’s Castle through carrer del Polvorí.

Not only the names —the part of the city they’re in, their lack of pretense, and the sheer slope.

Rei meu

There’s this guy who is giving a training course at work about how to adapt to change. Then he suddenly stops speaking and contritely, small panic showing up in his countenance and voice, interrupts the class flow, and solemnly says, you know, there are things we could easily talk about in the past but we can’t, shouldn’t now… A moment ago I’ve said something I profoundly regret having said, when in reply to A.’s comment, I’ve said, ‘Si pasa eso, nos tiramos directamente por la ventana’ (If that happens we throw ourselves directly out the window). In speaking so I’ve trivialized… well, I’ve trivialized that big human drama that is suicide. I apologize to you for such disgraceful and utterly disrespectful remark… Can’t even begin to imagine what would someone who has been through the situation I’ve joked about and taken so lightly feel right now… I recant my comment and apologize again.

Of course I went straight to the trainers’ supervisor’s office after the class to tell her to dismiss him immediately and altogether. She showed restraint, that one being his first and only fault until now, she said. So I had no choice but to tell her the whole truth, that over the total of the twelve hours’ course twice or thrice he had failed to use inclusive language.

That was it. He’s no trainer anymore. Good riddance.