Much Memo Mirth
I do often wonder how we used to manage.
Before the electronic age I mean.
How did we ever know what direction the Force was taking that week? I think we just assumed it was the same as the previous century and we were supposed to be fighting crime. These days it’s not entirely clear, but at least we can be pointed at the right missive to put us straight.
In fact, I’m inundated with missives, none from the Supreme Being I hasten to add; I don’t think Jacqui has my email address. Everybody else knows it though and they are all itching to send me a quickie letting me know my shortcoming of that hour/day/week. Being at the bottom end of the totem pole means I have many, many imperfections and a profusion of people helping me come to terms with them.
I have to admit that I do try and inject some mirth into the lives of the defect highlighters wherever possible. It can’t be easy having to agonise over whether or not to send a message to a hard-pressed frontline officer who has made a simple error or omission. I’m almost certain they need to have counselling after every occasion.
There was the time I got sent a simple request to put a cross referencing number on a report that wasn’t initially required. I found an independent adjudicator to work a stopwatch that proved it took eleven seconds longer to send the email than it did to find the number. I pointed this out on my carefully worded reply to the good sergeant. I must say that the response I got to that was somewhat frosty. Maybe I shouldn’t have tried to help? I mean eleven seconds at top sergeant rate must surely be very expensive?
Then there was Mary. Mary very eloquently let me know that ‘The flavour of the month report requires that you provide this information’. Now, I’m not one to pick a fight with a mouthpiece, she was only doing what the report had ordered her to do. So, I asked that she point out to her master that the information was recorded on a different form more appropriate to the circumstances. I also asked her to let the boss know that if this wasn’t good enough then perhaps it could meet me behind the bikesheds after work where we could sort it out man to err…report. All I got was silence, not even an invitation to an Anger Management course.
I can’t leave this subject without mentioning Detective Sergeant X. You see, DS X sent me an email with a glaring error that made the whole message funny. Unfortunately, DS X worked for the really serious department who only speak to us when we’ve (allegedly) been naughty. Much of DS X’s handful of years in the Service must have been spent studying to reach those dizzy heights, probably bunking off the lessons where a sense of humour was taught.
My jocular retort wasn’t taken in the spirit that it was meant and I’m now well aware that DS X takes his job and position very seriously and I should keep that in mind. If only he had said that in the first place.
Well, that’s for the foreseeable future.
Maybe next week he’ll get the message instructing him to have a sense of humour.
I live in hope.