Unusually Persistent Sleazeball

What is it about sitting behind a reception desk that makes certain delivery men interpret civil conversation and eye contact as sexual availability? I am nearly always pleasant to the men who collect and deliver things not because I am in need of attention but because having them like me makes my job easier.

Today the UPS man was insisting that he wants to take me to coffee or lunch. I don't want to go to either but I'm not entirely convinced he got the hint. I expect I'll see him again tomorrow and he can hassle me some more while he's dropping off computer equipment.

I wish Imelda was there to help me fend off the pervs. Sigh.

You CAN'T be serious...

Sitting at a reception desk there are many recurring themes. As I was a little hormonally charged today my tolerance for stupid questions and comments was pretty low. In fact today I think it reached an all time low. 


It's really a shame that the storage space behind our reception isn't soundproof or I'd be treating myself to regular screaming breaks.


Today's highlight:


A flustered man enters the building as I dispatch a particularly smarmy cold-caller on the switchboard. As Mr Visitor finishes signing in he starts looking at the basic blue biro in his hand with great interest. 


' Do you mind if I borrow this pen?' Apparently the fact that he needs a pen for the day's activities has just occurred to him. 


I play Fervent Protector of Company Property. 'Really, that pen...? I guess so. Are you here for a meeting?' If he was a sensible person he should start to feel like an idiot or at least some sort of creeping embarrassment. Pause. If he's feeling either he's not letting on. 


'Yes. I'm here for a meeting. And I'll give it back.' He starts to look at bit impatient 'Actually I need some paper as well - can I borrow a notepad?' 


'Of course.' I find a scabby-looking notepad in the drawer with some doodles on the cover and pass it to him with an apologetic shrug. 'Sorry, I'm afraid that's all I've got handy, hope that's all right?' 


He looks at the notepad with disdain and turns some of the pages to hide the scribbled bits. The switchboard bleats demanding an answer and I snap up the headset, very efficiently doing my little job. Though I am thoroughly engrossed in my conversation about office cleaning contracts I am pleased to see him shuffle out of my peripheral vision in the direction of the meeting rooms. 


Who employs an extra-clever consultant who turns up to a Very Important Meeting with no writing materials? Is it my job to educate these people? Certainly not, but it amuses me.

Big News - the Opening Chapter

My colleague Imelda is being made redundant. She's been my colleague for the last five years and an employee of the company for ten. If I thought I was angry before that was nothing compared to this.