lottery of worms
An impromptu lottery syndicate arose in the office, inspired by the prospect of big wins in the Euromillions lottery. Our initial attempt netted us £4.90, then in the absence of the organiser, the management of the next phase fell to (or fell on) me. It was a highly complex affair. Should the winnings go on further tickets? If so, another eleven pence would need to be paid by everyone in order to enable us to buy three whole tickets. However, if even one person refused to pay their eleven pence, the sum required would necessarily change. And then there was the question of further tickets - did people still want to go on? It was, as they frequently say where I work, 'a can of worms'. And I hadn't even opened it.
As the e-mails were fired back and forth it became apparent that a whole new syndicate would have to be created, and another form signed. 'Have you done any work today?', I was asked. 'This is the hardest thing I've ever done', I replied sincerely.
And then I had to buy the tickets, a whole new experience for me. It was hardly reassuring that the person in front of me, a teenager, was being verbally abused by the woman behind the counter for trying to buy lottery tickets without ID. 'He said he came from Toni And Guy', this formidable Asian lady informed me once the poor child had been sent packing: 'What is that supposed to mean?'
Rather than attempting to explain that it was a well-known chain of hairdressers, I judged this to be a rhetorical question.
Having got the tickets I resisted the impulse to check them until the following day. I kidded myself that I had no expectation of winning, but as I walked to work that morning, I caught myself looking at everything in a lingering way, as though it would be the last time I would see it through the eyes of a non-millionaire. We won £2.60, and it went straight in the tea fund.
Later in the week I was thrilled to be able to proof-read the Donor Magazine, a copy of which is sent to every blood donor in the country - albeit now in e-mail form. There was an article on the NCC or National Contact Centre, our call centre based in Bangor, Northern Ireland. It boasted that all the staff 'are trained for nearly a month before they can even pick up a phone.' This was meant to demonstrate their professionalism, but gave rather the opposite impression, I felt. It turned out that this line wasn't going to be used prominently in the article anyway, but on second thoughts, that seemed a shame, since it does give an insight into how the NHS works - through endless training.
Imagine being on that course. First you are gradually introduced to the concept of a telephone, then you are encouraged to marvel at pictures of different phones - eventually you are permitted to stroke one very lightly (anybody daring to make a fully-fledged grab for one is brutally ejected from the course).
Finally, it turns out that, since you will be using headsets, you won't actually need to pick up a phone at all.
As the e-mails were fired back and forth it became apparent that a whole new syndicate would have to be created, and another form signed. 'Have you done any work today?', I was asked. 'This is the hardest thing I've ever done', I replied sincerely.
And then I had to buy the tickets, a whole new experience for me. It was hardly reassuring that the person in front of me, a teenager, was being verbally abused by the woman behind the counter for trying to buy lottery tickets without ID. 'He said he came from Toni And Guy', this formidable Asian lady informed me once the poor child had been sent packing: 'What is that supposed to mean?'
Rather than attempting to explain that it was a well-known chain of hairdressers, I judged this to be a rhetorical question.
Having got the tickets I resisted the impulse to check them until the following day. I kidded myself that I had no expectation of winning, but as I walked to work that morning, I caught myself looking at everything in a lingering way, as though it would be the last time I would see it through the eyes of a non-millionaire. We won £2.60, and it went straight in the tea fund.
Later in the week I was thrilled to be able to proof-read the Donor Magazine, a copy of which is sent to every blood donor in the country - albeit now in e-mail form. There was an article on the NCC or National Contact Centre, our call centre based in Bangor, Northern Ireland. It boasted that all the staff 'are trained for nearly a month before they can even pick up a phone.' This was meant to demonstrate their professionalism, but gave rather the opposite impression, I felt. It turned out that this line wasn't going to be used prominently in the article anyway, but on second thoughts, that seemed a shame, since it does give an insight into how the NHS works - through endless training.
Imagine being on that course. First you are gradually introduced to the concept of a telephone, then you are encouraged to marvel at pictures of different phones - eventually you are permitted to stroke one very lightly (anybody daring to make a fully-fledged grab for one is brutally ejected from the course).
Finally, it turns out that, since you will be using headsets, you won't actually need to pick up a phone at all.
posted by martin at 11:47 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home