by Jo Edwards
I arrived at work feeling extremely hungover and horribly conscious that I reeked of booze and probably should not have driven. I felt very sick, though I didn’t know if that was caused by the effects of too much wine, or too much cream, or by fear of the impending audit. I tipped a pile of Tic-Tacs into my mouth as I walked into the building. I considered smiling at Stalin Stan but in the end I couldn’t be bothered - no point wasting energy, I needed every ounce of strength today.
I didn’t get the chance to tell my team about the audit as I had to undertake a colleague “Health Check” visit first thing in the morning. This is when a very poorly member of staff has a manager, to whom they’ve probably never spoken before, turn up at their home, question them about their condition and other deeply personal issues, whilst pretending to show concern for their well-being. All the manager really wants to know is: “When will you be back at work you shirker? You’re making my absence figures look terrible.”
Today I was going out to see a young lad, Lee Halfpenny. I was taking Hissing Cyn with me, as Lee’s team manager, and she would be useful as a note-taker. His address wasn’t in the nicest part of town, so I told The Snake we would have to take her car. She wasn’t very happy about going.
“Wouldn’t it be more appropriate for someone in HR to handle these types of meetings?” she asked me, not unreasonably. “I mean, that’s what they’re trained for isn’t it? We’re not.”
“They do provide us with support, Cynthia,” I reminded her. “They’ll read our notes from the meeting and tell us what we did wrong.”
“But why don’t they come out and visit the colleague? Surely they’re the ones with the expertise? I mean, they have to take a qualification in HR don’t they - what’s it called?”
“It’s called ‘Difficult Colleagues and How to Avoid Them’. Come on, let’s go and get it over with.”
I had a quick read of Lee’s file whilst waiting for The Snake to come out of the ladies (I assume she was powdering her scales). Lee hadn’t been with Perypils very long, and had been struggling with his performance. His attendance record was poor, and he had been signed off from work for the last four weeks with “anxiety”. He still lived at home with his parents. I prayed he didn’t have a skanky cat that would leave horrid clumps of fur on my suit, or a smelly dog that would try and hump my leg. Or the worst thing I’d ever come across when visiting a colleague in their home - a ferret.
The Snake began to inject me with her venom as soon as we got in the car.
“I shouldn’t really tell you this,” she began conspiratorially, “but Lee’s recently put pictures of himself on Facebook, out on the town getting plastered. He’s done this several times since he’s been signed off.” Bloody Facebook. “And there’s something else...” Hissing Cyn looked like she was working up to something, I could see her coils constricting. “He also posted a comment on his Facebook wall that he hated it at work, and was looking for another job that wasn’t - and these are his words of course - as dull as shit. And you’ll never guess who said they liked that comment!” No, I couldn’t guess, there could be a cast of thousands. “It was George,” The Snake finished triumphantly. When I didn’t react, she went on: “Well, I was shocked of course, you don’t expect that from a team manager, do you?”
“No, you don’t Cynthia,” I agreed and added, “No more than you’d expect one team manager to drop another team manager in it.”
She went on the defensive immediately.
“It wasn’t me that saw it, one of my team showed it to me, they were all talking about it. I’m sure I can trust you not to tell him it was me that told you? I just thought you ought to know. As his manager.” Oh, you’re too kind. Still, The Lazy Shit was beginning to get on my nerves; I’d have to have a word with him.
We arrived at Lee’s house, or to be correct, at his parent’s house. I was pleasantly surprised to see that it looked quite nice; a very small but smart bungalow with a well-kept front garden. His mother answered the door; a thin, ratty-faced woman with strands of wispy brown hair framing her pointed face. She shepherded us inside and oh God, there was a large fluffy white cat sitting in the hall. I was wearing a navy suit - just perfect. We went into a tiny lounge where Lee was slouched on the sofa in front of the biggest television I had ever seen. It took up almost an entire wall. The coffee table had about six remote controls on it.
“Hello Lee,” I said brightly, as The Snake and I shuffled around the coffee table to reach two armchairs on the other side of the room. I examined mine for cat hairs and it looked ok, but I still perched with my buttocks right on the edge, just in case. The cat had followed us in and was watching proceedings through its big yellow eyes.
“Turn the telly off, Lee,” said his mother, as she went to make us some coffee. I could see she was trying to listen in through a gap in the kitchen hatch.
“Right, well,” I began, watching the cat, which had jumped up onto the coffee table. “Thanks for seeing us today Lee. How are you doing?”
“Oh well, you know...” Lee sat up a little and pushed a floppy strand of hair away from his eyes. “Not great, really. Feeling very down, not really coping with everything.”
“What are you struggling with in particular?” I asked, my face full of concern. The cat was headed for The Snake. Watch it mate, she could easily swallow you whole.
“Well, it’s just everything really, you know?”
No I don’t bloody well know that’s why I’m asking! I tried again. “Your doctor has signed you off with anxiety. Can you tell me what’s making you anxious?”
Lee rubbed his eyes. Please try and stay awake, I have to. “I’m not sleeping very well, and I feel quite tired a lot.”
It was like pulling teeth. I gritted mine.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”
“I don’t really know. I split up with my girlfriend a couple of weeks ago, so I’ve been a bit fed up about that, and I’m quite skint, so that’s really worrying me.”
“How long were you with your girlfriend?”
“Not sure really, about two months, on and off.”
Serious stuff then.
“And you’re struggling financially? Do you have debts that you can’t pay?”
“No, I don’t have debts as such, I just can’t afford to go out much.”
“He lives here rent-free,” interjected his mother who had appeared with our coffees.
“Go away, Mum,” Lee said, quite rudely I thought. She went back to the other side of the hatch.
“And what support have you received from your doctor?”
Lee looked blank.
“What has your doctor suggested to help you?” I was doing my best not to laugh as next to me The Snake was trying to take notes while the cat had climbed into her lap. It kept sticking its bum in her face and swiping her across the nose with its large fluffy tail.
“He’s not suggested anything,” Lee replied.
“But he signed you off work for four weeks, Lee, with anxiety. Did he suggest you see a counsellor?”
“Nope.”
“Has he prescribed anything for you - sleeping tablets, anti-depressants?”
“Nope.” No, he just wanted to get you out of his surgery and not have to see you again for another four weeks. Brilliant.
“What have you been doing to manage your condition then? Good diet, exercise, been out in the fresh air?” I thought I heard a snort from behind the hatch.
Lee knew where I was headed with this line of questioning, he wasn’t daft.
“I have been out in the evening sometimes. Friends have paid for my drinks,” he added quickly, “and the doctor did say that I should try and do things that I enjoyed, so, you know, I wouldn’t feel quite so depressed.” He looked sadly at the floor. Give that boy an Oscar.
“Have you been thinking about returning to work?” I asked the six billion dollar question. “How do you feel about it?”
“I really want to get back to work,” he said, still looki
ng at the floor. Not according to Facebook. “I just feel so down though, it’s really horrible.”
The only horrible thing I could imagine in Lee’s life of privilege was having a giant-sized Jeremy Kyle projected into the lounge from that enormous screen.
I picked up my coffee and turned to The Snake, who had managed to dispatch the cat and was busy scribbling away. She too picked up her coffee to take a sip, and as she did so, we both saw a flea jump into her mug. We looked at each other in horror. In sync, we both replaced our mugs on the coffee table. I scratched at my arm.
“Cynthia - when does Lee’s pay run out, do you know?”
Hissing Cyn pretended to check her file. She scratched her leg. “Er, yes, here it is. Lee, your pay will run out on Monday.”
We looked at Lee.
“I’ll be back on Monday” he said.
“But how will you be up to it?” I asked, sounding astonished, “You’ve just told us how terribly down you’re still feeling - you really ought to check with your doctor first. You don’t want to come back before you’re ready to.”
“I’ll be back on Monday,” Lee said, suddenly very firm and decisive. A thought struck him. “But I’ll need re-training.” He looked at The Snake. “I’ll need a lot of support when I’m back, after all this time I’ve been away.”
Hissing Cyn took a deep breath. I thought she was going to burst out with “but you’ve already been through the training twice, you little shit, and you’re still completely useless. You’ve maxed out on your sick pay, you’ll come back for a few weeks when we’ll have to re-train you all over again, you’ll still be useless and then you’ll resign before we can sack you.” But instead she said: “Yes of course Lee, we’ll discuss that on Monday shall we? Sort something out for you.”
We got up, me scratching my head and The Snake still scratching her leg. We called out a thank you to Mum and quickly left before she could see we hadn’t touched our coffees.
Back at the office, I started to fret in earnest about the audit. I just didn’t know how I was going to accommodate it right at the start of a new year, when there were already a million things to get done. The auditors were due to arrive next week - they purposely didn’t give much notice as they didn’t want to give you the chance to change/hide/delete/shred anything you didn’t want them to see. There were also several members of staff that I really didn’t want them to have any contact with. I referred to these (just to myself of course) as the Muppets, the calibre of staff you could rely on to say things like: “Oh hello, are you one of the auditors? Please do use my system if you want to, my secret personal password is Numpty, everyone knows it, and look, I’ve stuck it up on my screen so anyone can use my system and log in as me.” Or “Are you one of the auditors? Hello. Yes, I always take our customers’ personal information home with me. Is it secure? Oh yes, I keep it in my handbag, when it’s not lying on the front seat of my car, that is. I sometimes pass it on to a nice gentleman from Nigeria. That’s ok, isn’t it?”
I wondered if I was allowed to insist on the Muppets taking compulsory holiday for the duration of the audit. It was worth a try. Or perhaps I could lock them away in a cupboard? There was a huge safe on the ground floor with a very dodgy locking mechanism. I bet there was a whole team of Muppets trapped in there from previous audits.
I needed to buy myself time - what excuse could I come up with for getting the audit put back? Department hit by bubonic plague? Staff abducted by aliens? I emailed Brett The Boss to see if he could do anything about the date of the audit. He emailed back:
Kate
Just get on with it for christs sake. I’ve got enough on my plate without pissing off the audit team.
I’m here for support.
Brett.
Here for support? Where exactly? I’d not seen him in months. With a feeling of doom, I rounded up my team managers to break the news of the impending audit. Martin the Drain was talking to someone on the phone. Presumably his wife, as I heard him say: “I’m sorry about the misunderstanding dear, but I always keep my Anusol cream in the fridge.”
I managed to herd them all round a table and did my utmost to sell the audit as a real positive.
“It’s an opportunity for us to show how good we are at what we do and how great our people are.” I thought they might just see through that crock of shite. They did.
The Rock: “We’ll need to shoot some people first.”
The Snake: “The teams will wonder why we’re being inspected, there’s bound to be speculation. Will they close us down?”
The Drain: “I need to go to the toilet...”
The Climber: “Can I take the lead on the audit?”
TLS George: “Whilst we’re all together, is it ok if I take some holiday next week?”
I said we had no reason to worry, which was quite a big lie, and then tried to get them organised. I asked them to make sure all their admin was up-to-date and reminded them of the need to be extremely vigilant during the audit. If they saw an auditor heading towards one of our lesser-skilled people i.e. a Muppet, they needed to step in and head them off. I also asked them to check all round their teams, on desks, in drawers, on the walls to make sure anything out-of-date or incriminating was removed. I was keen that we made a good first impression on our visitors, as that counts for a lot at Perypils. “You never get a second chance to make a first impression” was one of the company’s strap lines. I translated this to my team as: “If you make it look nice and shiny on the surface no one will want to look any further. So make sure you sweep all your shit under the carpet.”
We agreed that a departmental tidy-up would be a good idea. I told TLS George that one of his team, Scott, had an inappropriate photograph of a woman on his desk. Although she was impressively heavily tattooed, you could still see that she was naked apart from a tiny thong.
“But that’s his mum!” Oh dear God.
I thanked The Climber for offering to take the lead, but told her that was my job. She pursed her lips together and crossed her arms, presumably unconvinced that I could do as good a job as her. I told TLS George that I couldn’t let him take any holiday next week as I needed everyone’s full support. He wasn’t very happy but it was tough titties. Plus I wanted to put George in front of the auditors. He might not be the sharpest blade in the knife-block, but he excelled at bullshit. That’s how he’d got a team manager’s job in the first place. Bullshit was just what I needed right now.
I set them off into action. The rest of the week was exhausting; trying to fit in preparation for the audit whilst juggling the usual meetings and briefings, and being swamped by emails. I think everyone had been saving them up over the Christmas period and had now gone completely trigger happy. I was getting into the office at seven and leaving at seven, driving home like a mad woman so I could get some food on the table before The Husband complained. Yesterday, when I’d placed his supper in front of him - fish fingers and spaghetti hoops - he’d looked at it very sadly and said “You really have given up, haven’t you?”
He was going to the gym most evenings straight from the office, to work off his Christmas tummy, so I usually managed to get in just before him, nip into the kitchen, microwave a ready meal, and chuck it into the oven in a roasting dish. Serve it up with some fresh veg and it looked as if I had cooked it from scratch. I shoved the packaging to the bottom of the swing bin. Do other women fake it at mealtimes? Surely they must do. Even Nigella has a dish named “Slut’s Spaghetti” because the recipe calls for a shameful amount of tin-opening. Or possibly it was because she tossed it with her breasts.
I began to worry about the amount of salt we were consuming through ready meals. I Googled “Signs that you’re eating too much salt.” The top five were:
Irritability - yes definitely, The Husband was beginning to show major signs of this.
Confusion - possibly, I did put both feet through the same knicker leg this morning.
Depression - well, if not now,
certainly after the audit.
Bloating - yes, I was well on my way to having four stomachs, like a cow.
Excessive thirst - again yes, I drank a vodka and tonic in under two minutes last night.
Constantly at the back of my mind, buzzing around like a gnat, was the question The Husband had asked me over Christmas:
“Are you really happy? Don’t you ever wonder if there’s more to life than this?”
At the time, I’d swerved the question, laughing it off as a joke. He hadn’t persisted, but I had been glued to the Wizard of Oz at the time, so he probably thought there was no point. In truth, his question had caught me by surprise; if someone asks you that sort of question, they’re only asking it because that’s how they feel themselves. Hopefully, he’d just come down with the Christmas Blues (after all, he wasn’t a fan of the Wizard of Oz, he found the Munchkin Men disturbing) so perhaps it was just a blip and he was fine. But was he really?
I couldn’t worry about that now. I just needed to get this bloody audit out of the way and then I’d give the matter my full attention.
Chapter Four
