The Tangled Ties Of Work

The following tale contains several lessons to be learnt but they may not be immediately clear so I shall list them for you now – 1) most office work is pretty much the same, 2) you will become attached to your menial and incomprehensible task and end up staying to finish until long after everyone’s teatime, and 3) strange things happen in the drabbest of places.

So, the story goes like this: you have been offered a temporary assignment as an administrative assistant in the sales office of a company called Hi-Tec Lavatories.  You take it because it sounds like an interesting company but when you get there you see not one toilet of any technological intereste.  You are not particularly interested in toilets but you thought that it might have brightened your day.  Your job is sorting through the paperwork for the sale of batches of space age toilets (that you never see), though occassionally you help order parts (more dull paperwork) and arrange meetings between lavatory professors and marketing men (dull paperwork and some emailling).  You are soon ensconced.

The days trickle past and you become used to sitting at your desk, smartly in your red tie.  You put up some pictures and bring in a mug.  As you walk home at the end of your first week you notice that your tie, previously a respectable length has somehow crept out of the bottom of your jumper, like an inquisitive snake.

The next week there is more important toilet work to be done and as you work longer and longer hours to clear the paperwork backlog (a task that hi-tec lavatories claim should not be neccessary to perform) your attire becomes less important to you and you fail to notice that the tie is growing longer and longer and wrapping itself in knots around your legs, making it difficult for you to walk home.  You focus on your work, the dull tasks having taken on new importance as they fill your days.

Your tie grows longer and longer.  People begin to talk.  You merely ask them if they have seen the invoice which you need to send to the fake space shuttle builders for several anti-gravity u-bends delivered earlier in the week.  Your brain is filled with flush rates and stopcock statistics and you have so much to do that your tie is the least of your worries.  This is what working life is all about.

By Friday afternoon at the end of your second week you find that you cannot move.  Your tie has snaked its way all the way down your legs and wrapped itself securely around the base of your chair in a terrible tangle.  Your boss kindly writes you a note excusing you from the weekend and you forage on through your puzzling paperwork.


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