Working as I do in the NHS you'd think that stupid rules and the kind of stupid people required to follow them would crop up more often but it doesn't really, which is disappointing. I mean to say, who doesn't enjoy a good old rant at some stupid directive thought up by an equally stupid person for other stupid people to cling onto in the face of opposing good sense and just not being a total fucking numpty about things.
I only had one story to relate but I've just remembered another, lucky you.
I work in a large open plan office, parking is crap, there are never any spaces left or, I should say there are never any designated spaces left. This is an important point in fact, the term 'designated'. You see, that word is invaluable to the kind of people who enjoy making and/or enforcing intensely moronic rules. For example, there are showers in all four corner toilet block thingies in our office (its square, so we have four on each floor) only not all showers are actually showers. There is a cubicle and an electric shower, in fact all the accoutrement one requires to have a shower (bring your own towel and Vosene though.) Some time ago, I decided I'd cycle into work (a trend that lasted as long as it took for me to realise what a shit idea it was.) I'd arrive, clock in (a bit cheeky) then go and have a quick shower. They were always busy, people here like cycling (the lunatics,) so I asked 'Facilities' why I couldn't use the shower in some of the other toilet block thingies, (some didn't have a shower hose and head.) The reply I got was thus: 'It's not a designated shower.' Well what the fuck is it then, it looks like a shower to me, what possible reason other than this arbitrary 'designation' could there be for not having it as a shower, especially given that it is a fucking shower cubicle with everything required except the hose and head.
No other answer was forth coming, not even a lame attempt at some health and safety issue, like we can't run all the showers at once because the combined force of all power showers running means the building would take off, or something. It just wasn't a designated shower.
Anyway, I digress. What was I talking about? Parking. Or rather designated parking, I arrive at 9:55am (flexi-time: its a fantastic thing) and see no parking spaces, indeed I can see ahead some jammy sod just got one, which is odd given there aren't usually any at all. I watch with envious eyes as he exits his gleamingly polished Rover 75 (a shit car, lets be honest.) Meanwhile I switch on the four wheel drive and park the car in some bushes. I can see him now standing at the corner of the building with a look on his face that was either a) awe at my inventiveness or b) horror at my total parking rebellion. Can you guess which one it was? Of course it was b, the latter, he was horrified. Even although I wasn't blocking anyone in, nor blocking the road his mouth as a distended O of aghast shock and surprise, and no; I'm not exagerating. (Well maybe a wee bit.)
I think to myself, who cares but, he produces a pen and note pad and proceeds to write down my license number while I'm walking towards him. We've made eye contact, he knows that I know what he's doing and I know that he knows, indeed we both know everything about our actions and motives. I'd parked in a rather adventurous manner and he didn't approve, even although its not his job to monitor the car park (he's a web design twat) but he's going to daub me in anyway. Seriously, what total fanny.
Later on in the afternoon sure enough an email arrives from 'Facilities', they who designate what is to be a 'designated' thing. "You have parked in an undesignated space, please move your car immediately to a designated space." I decide to ignore it.
Later on though I do go out with a friend (my fake girlfriend in fact.) We'd hatched a plan (well I had,) since I saw him park up and knew what kind of car he drove (the shitty old Rover 75, I mean who drives those shitbuckets anyway?) We thought, wouldn't it be funny if there was a space next to his carefully parked and polished turd- I mean car. And do you know? There was. On the drivers side and everything, needless to say, I parked my car about a millimetre from his drivers-side wing mirror (and no, I don't care if my car gets scuffed or dented but he clearly did.) I leaned out and asked my 'girlfriend' (who later denied any involvement) if I was close enough, she shook her head.
Now I don't like to think of myself as a petty person although it is possible that I am, I don't do this often but when I do, I take even more pleasure in not being there when the trap (such as it is) is sprung, its enough for me that I know. I left the office a good deal later and his car was gone, mine was untouched and I knew then he would've had to have climbed over his pristine upholstery to get into the drivers seat.
It gave me pleasure, although I appreciate both our actions could be classed as petty but, and this is the main thing: I won.
Anyway, that wasn't what generated today's vomiting of words. I'm involved in a large youth organisation (only one person reads this so you know that given you're also in that organisation.) I had to fill out a PVG form (its stands for Protecting Vulnerable Groups, which is interesting because the kids don't have to fill one out and they frequently turn the leader team into a vulnerable group.) I've been involved for years, almost twenty as it happens, I did fill a similar form out years ago but since then haven't bothered, none of the kids have been that attractive... I'm joking, no seriously. The point is, its an invaluable tool (so to speak) in ensuring we don't get any pedo's on the team. I sent it away but got an email saying I'd need to show a fellow leader three forms of identification. Understand, my beef is not with the system per se because if I was a new person, the fellow leader wouldn't know me from Adam, however, I've been there for twenty fucking years! He insisted he'd need to follow the rules, I'd need to show him the ID. 'But its me!' I said, 'You've known me for 15 years! I couldn't live in such deep cover for that length of time masquerading as a fucking Scout leader and hiding my secret life as a kebab shop proprietor at the weekend' (bare with me, I look a bit swarthy and foreign.) To no avail, he went on to say, his own son, now grown up and helping out occasionally also had to show him three type of ID.
Yes, you read that right: he ID'd his own son! There's only one word for it: Absurd.
Now I know we're supposed to take this seriously, 'what about the cheeeeeeldren' etc. But this is flawed, if I was a new volunteer it would be eminently practical but I'm not, I've been volunteering for years, if anything its dangerous because at this stage my identity is not in question so there's no point in an ID check (my criminal record is another thing entirely,*) I mean If I felt someone up (which I bloody haven't by the way) 21 years ago and had been living in deep cover as someone else ever since keeping my hands to myself... Its just too far fetched and totally pointless. Its dangerous because if there was any sort of collusion amongst leaders (God forbid) this is a massive hole in the system, dirty leaders could give the OK for other dirty leaders.
Beyond that, the other leader ID'd his own son.
Its just stupid. What I'm going to do is take my forms of ID to the area secretary (who looks after such things) because she doesn't know me, it just seems more sensible and redolent of an activity that has a point.
I think that might have been three instead of the promised two points I wished to get across. A three for two deal, not bad value really, if you ignore the content...
* I should say I have no criminal record, I mean to say I'm the first person to admit I'm not a great role model for the young people who come along of an evening but to date, I've managed to not shag any of them. If I'm being honest, it's not been much of a challenge to contain myself on account of how ugly they all are... There, I'm joking again...
Reading that last paragraph back, I hesitate to click on the 'PUBLISH POST' button, under this window...
Ah dear, the register beckons...