Goldfish Syndrome

Hmmm, yes, back at Real Work today, after a five-day weekend. I think that’s how it should always be. Two days work, then a five-day weekend. I really think it’s a good idea. After all, everyone goes on about how we need to improve our qualities of life and stuff. It just makes sense. I shall have to spend my day working out who to speak to about making it happen.

Anyway, beside all that, I have a gripe. About our IT department. I work at a university, so I assume that the guys in our IT department are good guys, who know what they’re doing and are, well, not only Pimply Youths, but Clever Pimply Youths (referred to from here onwards as CPYs). It seems I assume wrong.

Well, no, maybe I’m blaming the wrong people. Thing is, you see, when one gets into work on say, a Wednesday morning, and one pushes the little button on the box, hearing the whirr of it coming to life, and then pushing the button on the screen (yes, save electricity, I religiously turn it off daily), one expects the screen to light up with one’s lovely donkey picture. When one doesn’t get this, one panics, and picks up the phone to call a CPY at IT.

And then, one gets this message: “You have reached the ITS Helpdesk. Your call is important to us. All of our consultants are currently busy but your call will be answered as soon as one becomes available. Alternatively, you could e-mail us, on its-helpdesk@***.**.**.”

Let’s dissect that, shall we?

Sentence 1: Yes, thank you for the reassurance. I was concerned that I may have dialled the wrong four digits to get to you. I have only done it 328 times in the past year, since you changed our e-mail program to some obscure, ill-functioning one that I’m sure was designed by one of your very own IT post-grads with a chip on their shoulder because they slept with the lecturer (who was involved with the HoD at the time) once, after one of ‘those’ staff parties, and she never spoke to him again.

Sentence 2: If it was important to you, I would not be listening to this message. Instead I would be talking to a real, live CPY. In fact, if I was really important, said CPY would’ve come running over and be beside me, sorting out my problem. And he would’ve brought me a Cream Soda. In a bottle.

Sentence 3: Ah yes, how busily important you are. Or is it importantly busy? Don’t fret though, I don’t have piles of work waiting, I’m perfectly happy to wait 45 minutes, listening to your phone ringing and, intermittently, this message.

Sentence 4: Fuck me, but are they stupid? If I had access to my e-mail, would I really be putting myself through this hell?

And the worst thing? They repeat that message at approximately 26 second intervals. While I know they’re terribly busy, and very important, as am I, and I also know they’d like me to e-mail my problem, I cannot, for the life of me, understand why I need to hear it, on repeat, every 26 seconds. I am, as far as I know, not a goldfish, and therefore do not, as far as I know too, possess a goldfish memory. I think I’d prefer the doorbell songs. Oh, wait, maybe not.

Maybe I should just stop whinging and swim around my bowl again. Oo, that’s a new plastic castle in the middle… Was that there before?