true and correct

Monday, 5 November 2018 02:41 pm
freckles_and_doubt: (Default)
I'm a Commissioner of Oaths in my employment capacity, as a result of the fact that my Cherished Institution requires CoO certification for anyone above a certain payclass. Generally I don't have to do much with my Madly Official Stamps, since, while the institutional Powers That Be do generate a list of available commissioners, they only seem to advertise it in a locked filing cabinet in a basement somewhere behind a sign saying "beware of the leopard", with the net result that few tragically uncertified students actually work out I'm available. However, there's been a slightly odd rush of certification requests in the last few days. Either they've fired the leopard, or something about the approaching end of year brings people out in documentary hives.

The certifications of copy are dead routine, and, as I just said to the nice young man whose certificates I stamped, probably among the easiest things that students could possibly ask me to do. What is more difficult is the commissioning of a document, which is the whole sworn oath thing where I'm attesting that the signature on the document is that of the person in my office who is also the person appearing in the identity document they've given me as proof. Which is a madly ritualistic bit of legal wossname where I actually have to administer an oath, and always makes me feel as though I should be wearing a gown and wig and breaking out the more cumbersome sort of legalistic jargon. (Even though I always, without fail, default to the "truly affirm" version rather than the "so help me God" one, on the grounds that someone else's relationship with God is none of my business, and also that the invocation of a deity doesn't assist the integrity of my participation in the slightest being as how I don't believe in him).

I don't have to commission documents too often, and at least two of the occasions where people have arrived in my office with a commissioning request, I've had to gently decline. Both were fellow staff members, who wanted me to commission a document on behalf of an absent family member, and both of whom, while they didn't say anything explicit, managed to convey by generally huffy body language their annoyed incredulity at the fact that I wouldn't just stamp the damned things already, good grief, despite the inarguable absence not just of the vital personage concerned, but of every sort of verifiable element to which I'm supposed to be attesting.

Lawful Good doesn't work like that. I have a stamp which says I've verified things to my own satisfaction, and a quite clearly written and unequivocal guideline document which lays out exactly what I'm supposed to be verifying, and I'm quite frankly buggered if I'm going to make a mockery of the system by using my powers for anything other than their intended purpose. What the hell, even. How dare you expect it of me.

Dear attempted-falsifying colleagues, in that momentary drawing of lines you tried to implement, where you and I were comrades standing against the giant mechanisms of meaningless bureaucracy, you have badly misunderstood my position in the whole thing. I'm not on your side of the line. I frankly resent that you think I might be, particularly given that both of you are higher ranking in institutional terms than I am, and the whole momentary-comradeship thing elides a power balance that might conceivably be read as pressurising a junior staff member. I get that you are not attempting massive fraud, and this is convenience, and your family member almost certainly is who you say they are, and probably even signed this. But no. It might not matter in the greater scheme of things, but the integrity of my word damned well matters to me. We live in a world where, globally, systems are being systematically screwed by this sort of personal-convenience thinking. This is a tiny meaningless microcosm, but I will have no truck with it. You want my signature, you take the system on board.

rocking the Lawful Good

Thursday, 7 March 2013 11:14 am
freckles_and_doubt: (South Park Self)
Not entirely the highlight of yesterday's day off work doing errands: the doctor at the radiologists telling me, "In the nicest possible way, you have terrible breasts". In his defence, in context it was funny rather than insulting, and he's perfectly right: I have terrible breasts, in the sense that they are infested with cysts and fibroadenomas to an extent which requires a rigorous annual mammogram and attendant ultrasound. (Score! this year they didn't have to biopsy, as apparently nothing much has changed from the last time). Mapping the gazillions of little dark spots makes the sweet radiologist lady mutter to herself and become ferociously intent, and also leads to her telling me, in tones of cheerful surprise, "well, at least there are some areas of this breast which are perfectly normal!" Actually, all the little lumps are apparently entirely benign and may, given that they're sometimes referred to as "breast mice", actually be considered cute.

I should hasten to add that in purely aesthetic terms I am perfectly satisfied with my breasts, thank you, doctor's comments and lack of actual cleavage notwithstanding, and this whole mammogram process is reassuring rather than traumatic, however hard they squidge me (I'm a bit bruised today). My Lawful Good apparently gains contentment and calm from feeling that I am monitoring the Terrible Breasts for potential Evil with the full weight of Science. Science is cool. I love watching those grainy ultrasound images and marvelling at the radiologist lady's skill.

Yesterday was apparently thematically dedicated to Detect Potential Evil in more ways than one, as I had to haul Golux off to the vet for a slightly paranoid check-up of the current scratch on her nose (probably courtesy of Hobbit), which is not healing and which may thus be the first step on the thin edge of the skin-cancer wedge. The vet had to scrutinise with a particularly intense scrute to spot the pre-cancerous crater, but he concurs that it's better safe than sorry, and Golux goes in for the first in three weekly histofreezes tomorrow. Poor kitty. I'd feel more sympathetic if I didn't know perfectly well that the trauma is infinitely less than that of a nosectomy down the line, and she's going to take her suffering out of my hide in meeping and guilt.

All in all, a slightly satisfying day in which we achieved a score of Vigilance 2, Cancer 0. I also booked a driver's licence exam. In a couple of month's time, which is the earliest I can get at the moment, but by gum I booked it. Take that, neurotic procrastination. (Therapist to me, suggestively: "What makes a driving test so painful that you have to avoid it?" Me: "Nothing. Well, I suppose it's undermining my grown-up competence on a fairly fundamental level. Oh, and I can't replace my Zimbabwean one because Zimbabwe is a disaster, which is all about loss. Wait, I'm in tears. Definitely Zimbabwe.") I make yesterday's overall score at Chaos 0, Lawful Good 3, so go me.
freckles_and_doubt: (South Park Self)
There's that annoying little intersection near our home, where there's a stop street to the access road before the main yield to the major road. I always stop at the stop street, because cars tend to peel off madly from the main road and dive diagonally into the access road in front of me without warning. So yesterday I paused in my usual restrained and law-abiding sort of fashion according to my Lawful Good, and the complete idiot in a souped-up Corolla with a black paint job and mag wheels came roaring up behind me and overtook me at the stop street as I was pulling off. I slammed on anchors enough to miss him, probably with centimetres to spare, and engaged in a few seconds of extremely unladylike behaviour during which hooting, shouted imprecations and the employment of the middle finger may have featured. (I am a little tense at the moment, because work, but also because I am not driving legally and a collision would ramify into serious nastiness).

There is a point to this anecdote other than bloody bad drivers - bloody bad drivers are a fact of life and hardly worthy of comment. The point is that I drove behind this idiot for the next five or ten minutes in traffic, addressing to him an angry monologue which cast aspersions wholesalely on his ancestry, personal hygiene, mental processes, life choices, taste and moral standing, with added hand gestures and a considerable degree of non-Wiccan-approved ill-wishing which with any luck will cause all four of his fancy tyres to explode just in time for his car to be stolen while his wife leaves him for a rally driver and the police ticket him for dangerous driving. The fun thing is that he was doing exactly the same thing to me. I could see his hands waving, and he kept glaring at me in his rear-view mirror as I lurked behind him mouthing abuse. We were having this sort of virtual, abstracted shouting match which was actually weirdly satisfying despite being completely intangible and disconnected. As road rage responses go, it was relatively non-destructive, although beautifully illustrative of that strange power-trip driver thing where it's automatically the other person's fault. (It was totally his fault. I mean, really. What was he angry about? that I stopped at a stop street? good grief.)

Work is hell, I am utterly exhausted and still somewhat husky, and I am responding to the dear gazelles by mutating into a grumpy grizzly bear. Life is full of seething hordes of people who don't read my notices, something I take personally. Even the advisors are doing it. There is frustration. But after this week things settle down and I may once again be human. [ profile] librsa just gently pointed out that I'm hardly blogging and not seeing anyone, which I fear is to be expected at this time of year. I will send up flags when humanity is restored.

waiting for the man

Saturday, 27 October 2012 06:19 pm
freckles_and_doubt: (Default)
I have discovered Chrome! It pains me to abandon Firefox, which has served me well for many years and whose cute logo and continued ability to not be IE I shall miss, but it was rapidly succumbing to the more noxious kind of bloat. Chrome is a new, fresh country in which clicking on a browser icon causes this useful contraption to load instantly instead of several minutes later in lead boots. I am, however, known proclivities notwithstanding, deeply suspicious of this "cloud" thing. It ain't natural.

Today I have done two loads of washing, written LARPs for two hours in the company of Jo (we have a mutual reinforcement pact in a desperate effort to actually finish something), diligently filed away the giant wodge of official-looking paper which has resided in the in-tray on my desk at home for upwards of a year, and submitted two tax returns. The dual tax return was necessary because, upon logging into the online filing site (which is madly efficient for a government bureaucracy and has my vote) I discovered that I never actually filed a return for 2011. Mature reflection suggests that this could be legitimately attributable to an ill-fated Australia trip, a life-threatening hospitalisation and several months of serious fatigue, but I don't know if that will hold any water with the jackbooted minions of SARS. I have no idea what actually happens to the evil defaulters who blithely file a tax return a year late: the Lawful Good part of me is subconsciously braced for the SWAT team to burst through the ceiling, waving paperwork. If I'm never heard of again, that's what happened.

The mad productivity and general organisation levels of the day would be terribly worthy, except that I have a dark suspicion I actually only did all of the above as a skilled avoidance of the marking pile. Essays marked today: 0. We're out at Overture for lunch tomorrow, so I suspect its score will be similar. Darn.

In only vaguely related news, apparently the result of spending two weeks reading Avengers slash is that I suddenly have a mad desire to ship Tony Stark with Kaylee Fry. The logic is both terrible and beautiful.
freckles_and_doubt: (Default)
I have a new skill. It entails running a critical eye over the agenda of any committee meeting I'm expected to attend, and working out where in the agenda items stop being (a) relevant to me, (b) useful, or (c) interesting. Then I invent an entirely specious and apocryphal second meeting which I have to attend starting at that point in the agenda, and solemnly inform the servicing officer of my need to leave early at same. This skilled avoidant behaviour is, for some reason, absolutely failing to trigger my Lawful Good. Clearly committees are evil and it's ok for my paladin soul to dodge them when necessary. It's also necessary for my mental health, given that my pile of committee folders is currently just under a foot high.

Today I enlivened the final in a series of three meetings in quick succession by delicately suggesting that the contribution of a particular department to a particular project may not be entirely necessary in the greater scheme of things. That department has hitherto been staunchly behind the idea of eliminating unnecessary participation and elements have been falling like flies, right up until the principle was applied to them, at which point they became upset and defensive and couldn't see the logic. Fortunately I don't particularly care about this particular outcome and my entirely apocryphal meeting fell due shortly after the arguments started, enabling me to waft out of the room in a haze of smiling calm, leaving wrangling and dissatisfaction in my wake. I also spectacularly fail to feel bad about this, which was absolutely a chaotic action in all possible senses of the word. I may need to re-watch Captain America, my Lawful Good is slipping.

The re-working of my job description is involving increasing numbers of high-level committees in which hideous power is mine, but I still hate committees. Benevolent dictatorship remains my political system of choice, possibly because, somewhere deep in my psyche, I am horribly aware that people cannot be trusted in their own best interests.

In other, entirely unrelated news, the question is whether bunnies, corgis or babies make the most adorable Doctor. The answer, of course, is "owls".

April 2019



RSS Atom


Page generated Monday, 22 April 2019 06:16 pm
Powered by Dreamwidth Studios

Style Credit