Health & Safety Nazis and chairs (longish)

The Older Gentleman wrote:

It's amazing the things you block from your memory. You've just brought
back memories of my induction process for a company
which-shall-be-nameless. Anyway, yes, we got a 5 minute talk on how to
sit. It was a struggle to keep a straight face.

 

A few of you might remember a recent posting on the subject of our
company H&S lady, may the good Lord bless and keep her.

Well, a couple of weeks ago I broke my office chair. My favourite
posture when proof-reading is leaning back, feet on desk, mug of tea
next to the Mac G4 and thus conveniently close to paw, and copy, resting
on a hard surface like a book or something, on my belly.

Anyway, there was a crack and the fancy adjustable back of the chair
broke, and I found myself on the floor. As our H&S lady is in charge of
office equipment (did I mention that when a colleague left last
November, he was asked to account for and sign, on an inventory, all
stationery supplied to him? And that he couldn't account for the pencil
sharpener? I didn't? Well, I make up for that omission now), she had to
source me another chair.

She asked for a Meeting. At this Meeting she told me that I'd broken
three office chairs, and every breakage had been to the back of the
chair.

I suggested there was a pattern here.

Fixing me with a gimlet gaze, like a hungry ostrich sighting a
particularly juicy worm, she agreed. And announced that she was ordering
me a special, expensive, unbreakable office chair, of which there was
only one other example extant in our entire company.

Impressed, I was.

Last week it arrived, and I had a three-minute briefing in How To Sit In
A Chair. Followed by a Reading Of The Manual, and a primer on how to
Swivel, Adjust Rake, and Select Height. And then she swept out, with a
sort of Boadicea-triumphal air. That, you could see her thinking, has
sorted that.

I examined the beast. Magnus Magnusson would have coveted it. It had a
lovely base, with five plastic legs curving gently to points, like a
sort of dainty starfish.

Today, having cleared the paper and being full of bonhomie, I sort of
waltzed back to my desk, and as nimble as Nijinsky, executed a neat
pirouette and entrechat as I hopped into my spiffo bomb-proof chair.
There was a sound like a piston shot and a leg shot out from underneath
me and ricocheted off the wagger-pagger. Bereft of one of its five legs,
the chair listed smartly to port, and I wound up on the floor again.

How to tell her? How could I break the news to her? Well, I dialled her
number, and got the MD's secretary, who shares the office with her, as
she'd just popped out, presumably to see if she could find some
fireproof paper or something.

"Are these chairs under guarantee?" I asked cautiously. Just sort of
feeling out the land, so to speak.

"You've broken it, haven't you?" she replied. You can see why she's an
MD's secretary: nothing escapes her.

"I certainly haven't," I replied, severely, "It broke. There's a
difference."

Five seconds went by, and I heard a stifled snigger down the line.
"Well, she's just gone out, but I'll tell her, and... mfff.. mmmfff...,
well, she'll... hee-hee.... mmmfff... be in touch..."

I heard the start of a humungous chortle as she hung up.

When she came into the office, everyone, and I mean *everyone* had sort
of drifted within earshot, like a sort of break-up of the Antarctic
continental ice shelf seen in reverse. Nobody wanted to miss the fun.

I handed her the broken leg and, dead-pan, asked if the thing was still
under warranty. She looked at the leg and the stricken chair in utter
disbelief.

"How did you do it?" she whispered. A vein on her forehead pulsed as if
it was sending a Morse code message.

"Must be a faulty plastic moulding," I said, airily. "I'd claim under
guarantee if I were you."

Suspicion is not strong enough a word for it. She glanced around the
office, her gaze like a laser, and all of a sudden the spectators found
things they had to be busy with. The vein was transmitting the
Encyclopaedia Britannica in double-time.

She turned the laser back on me, and I was still looking poker-faced.

She capitulated. She took the broken leg and chair and pushed it
sorrowfully towards the door, in the same way as you'd push an elderly
and dying relative back to he hospice ward. As she reached the door, she
turned and gave me her parting shot.

"There's only one other of these chairs in the company, and I'm not
letting you have it."

And she was gone, like the last thunderstorm of autumn.

"Wow!" said someone. "You thought you could wind her up with the petrol
can, and you've managed it purely by accident."

Oh yeah: she hasn't found the petrol can yet......

 

In uk.rec.motorcycles, The Older Gentleman amazed us all with this pearl
of wisdom:

Brilliant.

 

<snip tales of substandard office gear>

VBG - made I chortle

Can't wait for this one. Really.

 

LOL, could be good.

 

The Older Gentleman wrote:

Who am I meant to be winding up this time?

 

The Older Gentleman wrote

You are a very naughty man.

I don't think you are going to need any help. I suspect she may keep us
amused for years to come by her own efforts.

 

Well, TOG was on about petrol can under his desk, and at that point I
don't like the imagery.

 

Using the patented Mavis Beacon "Hunt&Peck" Technique, Ginge

Fair play though, that's *got* to be a H&S issue.

--
Wicked Uncle Nigel - Manufacturer of the "Champion-105" range of rearsets
and Ducati Race Engineer.

WS* GHPOTHUF#24 APOSTLE#14 DLC#1 COFF#20 BOTAFOT#150 HYPO#0(KoTL) IbW#41
ZZR1100, Enfield 500 Curry House Racer "The Basmati Rice Burner",
Honda GL1000K2 (On its hols) Kawasaki ZN1300 Voyager "Oh, Oh, It's so big"

 

You fucking bastard!

YOU FUCKING SICK BASTARD!

<goes to erase memory>

**** **** ****

AAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

 

*F**R**O*

 

You fucking vandal.
And

 

I am betting, either she has a nervous breakdown or she murders you.

Best where your back-protector during the day at work and hope it's
knife proof.

 

^^^^

You clueless **** blakeley

 

It's not a nice thought for me either, I'll have you know.

Unless you take your false teeth out, of course.

 

*Terror*

 

message

Tell her to stop fucking whining and get you one of these:

http://www.hmeurope.com/ProductPage_New.asp?pagerequested=PPAE

About £700-£800, but the cantilevered tilt mechanism is awesome. It feels
like you're lying down if you lean all the way back.

Oh, and it's got a 10 year guarantee

 

We had someone at Galileo that swore by them. Then she went mental and
killed her kids and herself.

Just goes to show you - liking these chairs is the first sign of
terminal psycosis..

Phil

 

<snip>

I'm sitting on a £12.00 adjustable office chair from IKEA right now.

Thing is, it feels like a £6.00 adjustable office chair. Shite, it is.

 

Explains my father then, he had one of them, no idea if it's still
about.