In the two months or so since I have been in my current job, I’ve probably been given around eight hours’ worth of work to do. One of the very few satisfying tasks I was assigned was to proof-read a document that would eventually be sent to thousands of company workers, informing them of radical changes to the business. I duly checked the pages for flaws, and identified several, including a grammatical error in the first line – a find which resulted in several consecutive moments of shaming self-congratulation and smuggery. I attempted to hide my glee as I returned the document back to its writer, anticipating praise and thanks.
Imagine my surprise and irritation, therefore, when this very afternoon, the finished document dropped into my inbox (and the inboxes of countless reams of other employees) complete with its original uncorrected errors and the same glaring syntax issue beaming out from the opening phrase.
It’s demoralising enough to have so little to do – but when what you do do is disregarded or lost, it’s really somewhat irksome. Still, the Bank Holiday beckons and I’m off to Suffolk on a hen weekend. All being well I’ll return in one piece next Tuesday.
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