From the chaff
Thrush alternated “Glad you’re back?” with “I bet its like you’ve never been away,” throughout the last couple of days.
I have been a man on a mission since my return. I have been clutching my luminous ‘Things To Do’ pad as if my life depended upon it. I have been switching on my empathy too and trying to get to grips with the various neurosis of my team.
I don’t like to make light of these matters, and if you are suffering from stress yourself, you have my ‘empathys’ – but bleedin’ hell - I think the world is going mad.
Consider my team: a few months ago Joan needed to blow into a bag to calm her down; Fido through a wobbly at the canteen manager because there was too many carbs on the menu (I had to go and break it up – he was off for three weeks because he was ‘tired and emotional’ following the incident); even Barney, the big gay bear, left his previous job at tetrapak because he couldn’t hack it, “I could never get into a box” he said.
Tizzy came back into work again today following her ‘stress related illness’ that was brought on by losing her little grey book. “I don’t think it was just that,” she said.
“What do you think it was?” I said, managing to resist saying ‘get a grip’.
“Dave brought home a Warburton’s toastie loaf and I think it triggered my wheat allergy.”
I am glad I’m back.