Work, and the tossers I work with (part 1 of an infinite series)

I'm currently working as an administrator in the IT department of the NHS. Which is as exciting as it sounds. I'm grossly overqualified, underpaid and SERIOUSLY frustrated. (Reasons why I'm stuck in this mess to follow...). Approximately 80% of my colleagues are male. The remaining 20% of females tend to occupy similarly menial roles such as mine. This is depressing enough in itself, without the fact that some, repeat, SOME, of the men are old-skool - in the worst possible ways. I'm talking casual sexism, homophobia, racism, ageism - you name it, they're into it. It's hard to tell how much of the shite that spews forth from their gullets comprises actual belief and hatred, and how much is blokey banter. Either way, it leaves me feeling utterly powerless, isolated, depressed, desperate and, on occasion, psychotic. Anyone who's worked in a similar role, in a similar environment knows how the relentless torrent of propaganda can seriously wear you down...

Today, for example, we've been interviewing temps for posts as stimulating as mine. Poor bastards. I wanna run at them, screaming, "You don't know what yr doing, you don't know what yr doing!", whilst beating their chests - then mine - shortly before scooping up the arrogant, smug little fuck whom we're seriously expected to respect as our Project Manager*, climbing to the roof of the building, Manager in outstretched palm, roaring, before throwing his feeble body to the ground...

... apologies - I digress. Where were we? Interviewing temps... this involves my male colleagues giving potential co-workers marks out of ten based on whether they're "fit" or not. As you'd expect, the qualities that constitute their definition of "fit" are limited in the extreme. One of the Project Managers sitting in front of me actually moved seats to the desk behind me so he "could get a proper look". Discretion is not a familiar concept to these men, so I'm forced to stare intently at my screen and feign complete ignorance, whilst analyses of women's arses fly around me.

Sigh.

* "Project Manager"?! See? I've been completely indoctrinated. In a non-work capacity, I'm still writing his job title in capital letters. HE DOESN'T DESERVE CAPITAL LETTERS!

Allow me to introduce myself...

Before you all start getting hot under the collar, I can assure you that my 'late development' does not refer to my physiology... beestings did not develop into bazookas overnight. No sir. The late development I refer to is more of a mental, social and educational affliction of simply existing in the world and behaving 'appropriately' (whatever the hell THAT means...). It's about me trying to make my way through the world, and learning from my mistakes. Pondering on why it seems to take me three times as long as every other fucker to: finish education, learn how to 'make friends' - and keep them - hold down a job, figure out what I want to do, interact with people in the workplace (SO not there), the street, my family and friends, without self-combusting/ bursting into tears of frustration, confusion and fury/refusing to ever leave the house again. Confused? You will be...

I will be mostly blogging about the following:

- feminism
- knob-jockeys I have worked with, past and present
- my debilitating debt
- food, drink, other
- my attempts to stay on the straight and narrow
- politics
- the great outdoors
- my chequered CV and failed career
- films, music, books
- sexuality
- religion
- the meaning of life

There will be no room for self-congratulatory commendations. Similarly, I will be trying to avoid endless self-deprecation and flagellation. My blog aims to offer sanctuary and solace for fellow fuck-ups and social deviants, with the occasional thought-provoking insights and/or amusing anecdotes (ahem). It's also meant to be a record of one woman's journey through a cold and cruel world...

... did you buy it? Sorry - couldn't resist ;)

Any questions?

I'm 27. I have a girlyfriend. I used to go out with a boy for nearly six years. I have a wicked relationship with my parents. I'm a graduate whose degree certificate has only served as a useful paper hat. (So far. I desperately want to remedy this). I live with a pal in a university town in the south-east of England. All I wanna do is return to university, read loads of books and GET KNOWLEDGE. But I can't, because it's too expensive and I'm in too much debt. More on this later...

I've never done this before. Go easy on me.