Chantal - Have Laptop Will Travel

I do have, however, someone I walk with to Tesco to get lunch, and who I chat with lots during the day (a fellow musician, with a strong interest in dance), also a rather camp smoking buddy, whose main passions seem to be Holland and Dutch pop music, but who swipes me into the 5th floor smoking room, and also the very friendly administrator with whom I had a lengthy gardening chat today. Apart from the head of the department, who is widely regarded as a cross they have to bear, they’re all extremely friendly, relaxed and chatty. It’s a healthy work environment after the traumas of leaving Network Rail, but I’m still torn between being upset over how my job ended, and missing my old crowd like hell. And being upset that I don’t hear from them nearly often enough.

One of the hardest things is explaining the uniquely bizarre work culture that was Network Rail; though I became less sociable over the last year, I was completely immersed in the Project till the very end – to the extent that I wouldn’t stop working in order to jobhunt - and it’s hard to describe how we were all expected to put our lives on hold till the Project (or our jobs) was over, and how our colleagues were expected to replace our families and friends. How we were expected to work so hard we’d barely have the stamina to get home, but never question it. And above all, how we’d form a close-knit unit based on ‘sharing the pain’ of the Furball.Much as I resented Ian when he first arrived for his loud phone calls, he’s actually one of the people I miss the most; this morning my train ceased to exist, and its follow-up was delayed; I pictured him spluttering with laughter as I’d spit, ‘I hate trains’ as I arrived. Or him trying, and failing to contain himself as Matt would mutter away while the Furball would brag about himself over the phone. Which would be swiftly followed up by emails between Matt, Jenny and I, which I’d then cc to Ian, the Furball clueless as to why we were all helpless with laughter, much less that he was the source of it. Today, analysing a database from hell, I bashed my head repeatedly against the desk, pulled endless faces, and kept waving my hands in frustration; I would have had any of them sympathising and enquiring within seconds, whereas instead, the administrator simply handed me her swipe card without a glance so I could go for a cigarette. Although my mini rainforest is now filling the kitchen windowsills and the top of the fridge, not arriving to it every morning seems wrong, as does not having friends visiting me at my desk or phoning up to chat at length before they came to some work-related point. Or emailing for days after they’ve reached that point.

So I’m full of anecdotes, and I’m sure they’re fast getting bored of them, especially when I talk of Network Rail in the present tense. I never thought I’d believe it, but Lewisham’s IT infrastructure actually makes Network Rail’s look impeccable, and having spent nearly two years either wanting to throw my computer out of the window or shoving my foot through the monitor, I’m familiar with most of the problems they’re having. But a lot of the time, it feels like I’m at the pub with Gary or Tim, and I’m simply recounting the events of the day, in other words, being full of all these stories I need to share so that my new colleagues know where I’m coming from. But then, we had to attend a leaving presentation today, for a woman who was leaving after 19 years, and it reminded me that after almost 2 years, nobody raised a collection for me, nobody really bothered to say goodbye, and that none of the good friends I’d thought I’d made over the last 20 months actually cared, in the end.

So, new job.A week ago, I signed up at a temp agency, and I’m currently earning the minimum rate they offered me as a secretary or adminny-type person. My only interest in taking the job was that at least it was a technical role, and not vaguely secretarial, and though I occasionally have to do the crap the Furball’d inflict on me, I don’t let myself resent it at much, probably because I have no commitment to the job, illustrated by applying for 43 jobs on Thursday. Theoretically, there’s a 1-week trial in which both I and they are meant to decide if it’s going to work out, but I’ve not received any indication that I’ll be out of work again at the end of Tuesday. So far, I’ve met two databases – one SQL Server, the other in Access – the former has strengthened my resolve to avoid SQL Server at all costs, and both are without question the worst-designed databases I’ve ever come across. I’ve not yet asked how much the former cost. Zak, the database guy, firmly defended his complete rejection of naming conventions, or even understanding of basic database design. He even argued with my identifying lookup tables and subforms as such. When, after much egg-sucking, I reminded him that I’d worked with Access for years, he replied that he had too; nothing in the database I’d spent Friday analysing gives me any indication that he has the slightest clue as to what he’s doing. I’m reminded of the quote that a full version of Access is extremely dangerous in the hands of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing…

Like Network Rail, I’ve spent the last few days not really knowing what I’m meant to be working on, who I’m working for, much less what I’m meant to be doing. I don’t like SQL Server, I don’t like the databases, I’m clashing a bit with the database guy, but …. at least the people are friendly.

Okay, back to Network Rail, and I’m silently livid that Donna (Elsa) has managed to keep her job, while her pettiness and childishness cost me mine. My mother has always cautioned me not to be bitter, but I can’t help it, not after she told me about her relationship problems the first time I met her, her pregnancy scare, her relationship and sex life problems, her one-day stand with Dougie, then drastic improvement – then Carla started and she had a new friend who didn’t silently criticise her work habits, and I no longer was her friend. I’ve wondered if it was about projection – my silent disapproval of her overly chatty, playground bully personality which turned her against me, leaving her to feel she had to pull rank just to justify her role, ill-defined as it was. I don’t waste that much of my time thinking about her, but when you compare a person who works as hard as she can – pausing only to water her desktop rainforest – and someone who chats for at least 4 out of the 6 hours she can be bothered to work, I’m almost demoralised that I have to question which one gets to keep their job.

Maybe I’d be coping better if I’d had more clarity about when my job would end. Rob, the person who appeared to control the fate of my contract, mid-morning on my last day, stressed that he Didn’t Do Ambiguity, but never gave me the chance to remind him that he’d offered extensions for two separate projects. Up until about 11 am on my last day, I was fully expecting that I’d be back at work on the Monday, and given how hard I’d been working till then, I’d not had the chance to start distancing myself from my immediate colleagues and the job itself. It’s all too easy to settle for Rob picking that day to be my end date on purpose out of spite – a weekend when most of my friends had chosen to go on holiday, and when the rest would be at any of three other parties scheduled for that evening, meaning a grand total of two people would be there to say goodbye to me, even if one had to backpedal quickly to get to the party arranged for herself at a bar which I’ve always hated with a passion. The Furball was off sick, Rob was off for some vague reason, Geoff was otherwise engaged, which meant that none of the potential candidates for my final boss were actually around to say goodbye after almost two years’ dedicated work. Matt may say that that’s how contracting goes, but he’s never involved himself the way that I did.

I’m very clear that I want my next job to be exactly what I had at Network Rail – the freedom and flexibility – but without the insanely unhealthy work culture of the Project. When Dominic (Tesco buddy) told me that people didn’t go to the pub, I was relieved; I don’t want to bond with colleagues again to the extent that I’ve done over the last two years. The reality is that few of my closest friends ever went to the pub after work, and that I rarely saw most of them, and nevertheless never stopped caring for them deeply, but that’s more than should have to happen in any job. If, of all of those I’d made friends with over the two years, they’d made the effort to turn up to send me off, I’d maybe be less bitter, but I find myself starting my new job haunted by memories of everyday life there, and the half-hearted attempt at a farewell.

I never believed that the day would come when I wouldn’t have Ian to my left, Matt to my other left, Simon beyond Ian, Jenny diagonally across from me, and the Furball to my right. I never let myself imagine a future without Ian, Jenny and Matt, even if we all knew it would happen someday. I’ve worked for so many companies that I strongly believe in my definition of professionalism, but I never expected to suffer from certain managers’ lack of the same. As I’ve said, on the Project, we were expected to give everything, and now, when I’m shivering outside Lewisham Town Hall while smoking yet another cigarette, my mind is caught up with memories of what was, not wanting to engage with what’s my present and future.