Funhouse

As you may have noticed, I have been pretty slack recently in regards to posting on the blog. There are two main reasons for this, both of which are work-related:

1. An unwelcome spike in my workload.

2. An even more unwelcome change in office seating arrangements.

For several months I have enjoyed the freedom that comes with sitting next to a tolerant colleague, or even better, an empty chair. Yet now I am being flanked by two new members of staff, which means that playtime is effectively over.

My new deskmate is a solid looking chap named 'Alp'. He seems pleasant enough, but our conversational topics have so far been limited to football and the temperamental data entry system that we both have to use. While he didn't seem to disapprove when I called a computer program a 'cunt', I still don't trust him enough to reveal how little work I am actually capable of doing. I generally don't use real names in posts, unless I am comfortable with the individual in question reading the blog. Alp can be the exception to this rule (congratulations Alp).

While I am not enamoured with the prospect of Alp following this blog, he does not strike me as the type of character who 'blogs' or even knows what a blog is (this is in no way a jibe). I don't believe that Alp would even think to Google search his own name. Even if he did, I imagine that he would soon become disheartened, as the search results would be dominated by the mountain range with which he shares his name, as well as the Australian Labor Party.

The other staff member who is now happily encroaching into my workspace is none other than the PA for my head of department (BIG SHOT). She has been positioned on a right angle to myself, and I often catch a glimpse of her staring blankly at the side of my head. I'm pretty sure that she's just zoning out rather than losing herself in an erotic moment, but it's still disconcerting. She is a broadly agreeable woman in her mid-thirties who laughs at EVERYTHING that I say. At first her enthusiastic responses to my 'funnies' were greatly appreciated; my thirst for approval never having been so effectively satiated in the workplace. However it soon became apparent that my colleagues laughter was pretty cheap, and that virtually anything, if said with an appropriate tone of voice, could provoke her extreme mirth.

Obviously this has cheapened her chuckle, and every time I hear it (which is all the time) a mild sense of resentment swells inside me. I have yet to ascertain whether her seemingly indiscriminate bouts of laughter are a consequence of a genuine lust for life, or merely symptomatic of a dependence on prescribed anti-depressants. Either way, she's having a hoot.

Below is a bonus snap of Andi Peters that I found whilst Google image searching Pat Sharp.