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Wot, I have to work, speak English and be polite?

Ed the Editor's personal blog corner

Imagine being sat in a Government office waiting for some paperwork to be processed by a jaded worker who won't stop yakking (speaking) about her weekend and recent job application and boyfriend. She wasn't addressing me, of course, but a co-worker sat across the office - and she was conversing in Spanish.

I thought it was quite ironic, considering the decal that a Brazilian guy, Rodrigo, noticed.

speakenglish

Time and Motion?

I also wonder if any supervisors in Government offices have ever studied Time and Motion! You go into a huge room filed with patiently waiting, processed humans, and sometimes the rent-a-cop at the welcoming desk is in front of you, good, or set off to the side, bad. So when you walk into the latter for the first time, you are bound to be hollered at by the desk person you ignored in your ignorance.

The welcomer's main job seems to be giving you a ticket with a number on it. To make it easy for everyone, there is a predominantly displayed sign showing the number of the next person to be called, but for some unknown reason, the desk person insists on hollering out the numbers in garbled, the language of choice of disgruntled employees. And it is even more ridiculous when that desk person is the only one in the room who cannot see the damned sign without getting out their seat every single bloody time. I never figured how such a physically active person could balloon so much?

Hunting for service

And talking of ballooning, a friend was telling me how he went to an office for a hunting license. This time there was no ticket number, there was no one in the room, except him and an employee sat at the desk reading a newspaper. He stood patiently awaiting a call to arms, and stood, and stood. Unlike the woman he was polite! The woman eventually looked up at him and asked what he wanted! He said the worst thing he could have said,

"I was wondering if I could have the form for a license, please."

Apparently she threw the paper down on the desk and told him to go sit down and wait! Still polite, he did as he was asked, and sat. She ruffled through a desk and walked over to him like she had the weight of the world on her shoulders. At 900lbs (his words, not mine) she could barely walk. And then she thrust the form in his face and sneered,

"This isn't my job, you know." She then flabbergasted him with her closing remark. "I can't handle the stress, I am going to put in for some vacation time!"

Amazing innit. There is something very wrong when that sort of person has to do a job she isn't suited for! Or maybe she was worried that she might be shot by a hunter licensed to shoot big game? Mad!