Let me tell you how this works

Fairly standard day begins - white coffee, no sugar.

'Can I have a pass?'

I look up from my console.

A smug face is looking back at me, craning his neck to see if he can somehow reach over the desk and open the drawer to get the visitor's security pass himself.

Never having seen him before, I ask: 'Are you a member of staff?'

He looks at me with a pitying smile. 'Yes, I've transferred from Southampton.'

'My apologies, I've been on leave so I'm just catching up. What's your name?'

'Joe Blow. How do I go about getting a pass so I don't have to sign one out? After all, I am based here.' He looks at the day pass in his hand with longing and I know I'll have to make sure he hands it in on his way out.

'The best thing to do is speak to your administrator and she can take care of it for you.'

'I'm not sure who that would be.'

'Which floor are you on?'

'First.'

'That would be Rachel. You'll need a photo taken...or if you have a photo that you're happy with in JPEG format we can use that.'

'Ok.'

The next day he comes in and hovers over the desk as clients are signing in, pacing back and forth in the background. As soon as they disperse the question comes:

'Is my photo pass ready?'

I look up at him with my best puzzled look, which I'm sure looks a bit sarcastic around the edges.

'I haven't received a photo. Did you speak to Rachel about sorting out your pass?' Visitor start to accumulate behind him, I motion for them to sign in and I continue speaking to Mr Blow.

'No, not yet.'

'Did you send me a photo yourself?'

'No.'

'Okay, if you just sign in the staff signing in book you'll have to take another day pass today.'

He looks at me with a hint of malice as he signs his name in the book and taps the pen in short sharp bursts as I select a pass from the drawer.

'You're number 12. Please enter the number in the book. Don't forget to speak to Rachel about your pass today. I can issue it as soon as I have that photo.' He slopes off, not a moment too soon.

Later:

The photo comes through via email and I print the pass. He collects it.The following morning he signs out another visitor pass because he has forgotten his shiny new one at home. All cretins, please report to reception immediately...

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.