• Page update – 30/10/12

    Joe Citizens - new story, regarding Motability scooters. My favourite!

  • The Un-Civil Servant

  • BB

    BB is Bureaucratic Bullsh*t.
    It can also stand for Big Brother.
    In the civil service, they are one and the same.

  • What’s it all about?

    Bureaucracy is an umbrella term for official incompetence; that is, incompetence which has officially been sanctioned as being good practice. No-where in the world is that more apparent than in the British public sector. Misadministration of public services is the backbone of every government led department.
    Trust me, I’m a civil servant.

  • It’s a disease

    Bureaucracy runs rife through the corridors of power like a child riddled with ADHD, high on fizzy pop, crisps and jelly-beans.

  • Blog Stats

    • 684 hits
  • Bullsh*t Alert

DWP – Dead Walking People (two)

This image was selected as a picture of the we...

“What the hell’s going on?” It was Sara, sitting at the desk next to me.

“I’m not sure, but I think we’d better find out,” I said, looking around for a supervisor and wouldn’t you know it – the lazy bastards aren’t any where to be seen.  There’s a lot of talking now and very little work going on.  Someone shouts up from the other end of the room that the phones are dead – there are no calls coming through.  This is verified by other agents as they take off their headsets and stand up.  Well, I always wanted to get out of this crap job, but was I OK with it taking a nuclear war to do it?  I think I was.

I walk over to a window and look up at a sky that has darkened to an ash grey.  One of the windows is open slightly and I smell brick-dust and burning.   The air is warm and seems to fizzle in my nostrils.  Bloody hell, is this really happening?  Sarah comes over and sees my wide eyes glaze over.

“What is it Carl?”

“Third world war, I do believe,” I say, with a smile on my face.

I must have looked a bit strange because Sarah backs off sightly, then turns to walk out into the corridor.  I look towards the door and through the two long slatted windows, I see someone run by.  Followed a few seconds later by someone else who seemed to be limping.

“Sarah,” I say.  “I’d be careful if I was you.   We don’t know what state this place is in.”

Sarah turns at the door, looks at me with a far away expression and goes into the corridor.  Just as she gets through the doors, someone smashes into her from the side and she’s gone from my view.  I look around our room.  Everyone seems bewildered, some scared, others happy to be off the phones, probably thinking this is just a minor problem which is giving them a welcome break.  Still no supervisors about.

I head towards the doors and try to peer sideways through the glass slats.  Nothing.  No-one.  No, wait.  There’s a dirty red smear on the wall opposite.  I begin to push ever so slowly on the door, easing it open just a fraction, then stumble back in panic as a man shoots past, blood spurting from stumps that used to be fingers.

. . . to be continued . . .

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