Office drama

Today I want to discuss office drama.
Drama, politics, ridiculous situations – the lot.

When you consider watching someone replacing an ink cartridge with the wrong one and everyone piping up as ‘edge of your seat viewing’ you are ultimately trapped within a scene of amateur office dramatics, even though you may not be aware of it.

Now, similar to the phrase ‘office attractive’ (describing someone as sexy when if you took them out of the office with no distractions you would realise they actually resemble a crumpet) office drama is in fact, not dramatic at all and removed from the situation seems ridiculous, excessive and unnecessary.

This becomes very apparent when you are asked by your partner “how was your day?” when getting home from a long 8 hours sitting in the same position, pretending to work.

Today was a perfect depiction of office drama. Allow me to set the scene.

It’s overcast on a Thursday morning and somewhere on a business park in Milton Keynes, a man enters an office.
It’s a different delivery man that is delivering the bulk teabag order for the office.
*Cue automatic assumptions and Chinese whispers throughout the office.*

My colleague turns to me with genuine fear and concern all over her face.

“Where the hell is Chris?”


“Yeah teabag Chris. PG Chris.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“ man Chris.”

“Oh right. … *turns to man-delivery-person who clearly isn’t Chris although has similar markings and scent* Yeah…you’re not Chris!”

“No .. I’m Phil. Chris is off.”

Phil calmly unloads three boxes of one-cup tea bags next to the photocopier and after an unsteady three point turn with the sac truck he is on his way again, leaving behind a trail of chaos and devastation.

Paper is flying through the air, smoke is pouring out of the air vents. There are people frozen with shock, incomprehension and emotion running high.

Ripples of gossip spread throughout the office, bouncing off the printer and the boxes stacked by the fire exit (questionable health and safety). I overhear the lies, the questions and the doubt mutating and spreading throughout the desk pods.

“Chris is on long term sick for severe depression.”

“Chris got sacked for stealing Phil’s lover.”

“Chris is going through a messy divorce.”

“Chris is protesting because he doesn’t believe in the quality of life tea pickers in China have so he isn’t delivering anymore.”

“Chris is dead.”

And that is literally all that was spoken about for the next two hours.

So back home, whilst the frozen pizzas are thawing and starting to crisp in the oven (I’m a lousy chef), I answer my partners question of how my day was.

“Well it all kicked off! Chris our usual tea delivery man didn’t show, it was some guy called Phil and no one knew what went on. He just delivered the bags and left!”

A blank face stares back at me.

Then it dawns on me. I’m a player in this farce. I’m the narrator to this performance. I am trapped in an office worker ensemble cast.
Lured to return daily for the promise of gold every four weeks.
I may be here forever. Walking the same carpet tiles, being tea bagged by Chris (you know what I mean) until the end of time……….

*curtain falls*


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