"I've Got a Posting in Thailand!"

 

A few years ago I was at work on an outdoor street when I saw somebody I recognized, a woman I shall call "Shirley"; I actually can't remember her real name. This is a lady who started work at OxRad in 2006 as an administrator for Carillion when they first arrived, making her one of the "plank-owners" of that very prestigious contract. I never liked Shirley, always finding her rather snooty and smug. She also seemed to return that same feeling to others, at least anybody who was beneath her in the hierarchy. Despite this, she greeted me warmly enough and I wondered if she had left Carillion and therefore all that corporate bitchiness had drained out of her. A minute later I realized that it had not and she had actually not left the company. In fact she boasted lavishly that she had just been offered a posting to Thailand. Carillion were contracted to build a hotel and leisure complex in that country connected to a motor racing circuit. They had a deadline to finish the job in time for the next Thai Grand Prix. "Ever since I joined Carillion I've always wanted to work in Thailand." she gushed. "I'll be over there eighteen months; big salary, all expenses covered." She went on for a few more minutes and as she did I got the distinct impression she was lauding it over me. This was confirmed when she looked down at the shopping bags I was carrying, as part of a job I do for an old lady, and said wistfully: "That could have been you, you know, Ben. You could be where I am right now. I was just a junior admin officer when I started out in the Radcliffe contract, but I worked hard and climbed the ladder. You could have done the same."
    I felt insulted and was tempted to add that along with working hard she had kissed an awful lot of arse. This woman was essentially giving me the internal Facilities equivalent of "popping the question", see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/10/popping-question-responses.html. However I just shrugged and said: "I have no regrets." Soon afterwards our conversation ended. We wished each other goodbye and I never saw her again. I don't how she got on in Thailand, but I imagine it was not the luxury adventure she hoped it would be because a couple of years later Carillion folded amidst an enormous scandal, see: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2018/01/carillion-collapse-update.html. The reason I never achieved the conventional success Shirley did was nothing to do with a lack of abilities or ambition on my part; it was because I know how the management promotion structure of a public sector contractor works and to ascend that stinking stairway you have to be the "right kind of person", meaning somebody who talks like a robot and looks like a waxwork. You have to be able to stomp on your rivals and smile sweetly at your superiors in order to advance to the next stage. Eccentricity and uniqueness are not tolerated, let alone having an independent set of principles and the willingness to act in accordance with them. No, I was a basic grade porter for twenty-three years. Occasionally I acted up as a working senior or even full senior, but only to cover leave. I was never considered for promotion, never got that quiet word in the ear advising that I would do well to apply for this post or that post. It took me a while to realize that I was being paid an enormous compliment.

St Theo's Day 2023 Fliers

The fliers for this year's St Theo's Day are finished. Pretty soon I shall print and distribute them. This year, as with last year, I have produced two different fliers, one for the Oxfordshire hospitals on my doorstep; and another to be distributed to other institutions around the country. I will send the second national flier by post, addressed to the porters in those institutions.

NB: The venue and time have changed for the Oxford event. It is now at the Swan and Castle, Castle Street, Oxford, starting at 5 PM.

St Theo's Flyer 2023 (JR) by Ben Emlyn-Jones on Scribd

St Theo's Flyer 2023 (National) by Ben Emlyn-Jones on Scribd

I Lied to Jack

 

One of the most infamous figures in my long struggle to maintain my Hospital Porters' Pride and Dignity is a man I call "Jack Shaw". I've mentioned Jack several times before, see the background links below. Over the course of my twenty-three year HPing career dozens of people "popped the question", but most of them did it just once and then let the matter go; Jack was different. I don't know why he took such an extreme and obsessive attitude to my little answer of "no", but he really did. This is despite the fact, or maybe because of it, he had himself been a porter for five years before "going up the ladder" to get a nursing diploma and qualifying as an ODP- Operating Department Practitioner. His insistence got worse as the years went by. He said things like: "You're nuts for not doing your training, Ben! Nuts!" Luckily I was only in the same department with him for a few months and so saw little of him on duty. My interactions with him were mostly in the social club and other hospital hangouts. I found his manner very abrasive. These days I would have forced him to back off a lot sooner; but in those days I suffered from a hyper-agreeable disorder (totally self-inflicted though, see: https://hpanwo-tv.blogspot.com/2020/11/nice-guys-reply-to-stefan-molyneux.html). Despite this he eventually pushed me too far. We were in The Britannia Inn talking to one of my brother porters who had just left to become a theatre nursing auxiliary (He was back as a HP within a month!) and I gave him my best wishes. Jack went berserk. He hurled abuse at me in from of my brother porter and everybody in the pub. I retaliated with equally aggressive words and stormed off. As well as being angry I was baffled. How dare he try to tell me what to do with my own life; yet, I wondered if he ever looked in the mirror and asked himself why he suffered from this mania. I only saw Jack a few times after that and he was more subdued. He popped the question one last time in a light-hearted tone to indicate he was only joking. He left Oxford Radcliffe Hospitals Trust a few years before I did. Last time I heard he was at a hospital in Southampton... Until about two months ago when I bumped into him again.
 
I was in a cafe near the area of Oxford where I work when Jack walked in. Despite not having seen him for only about fifteen years he looked about thirty years older than how I remember him, but I still recognized him. I instinctively turned my head away, but it was too late. Our gazes met; he smiled and said. "Ben!"
    I returned his smile, but inwardly I was bracing myself. Since my dismissal I've been imagining how Jack must have reacted to the news. For him this was a vindication and a just punishment for my crime; the crime of being different to him, the crime of refusing to obey the commands that he had passed over my life. I knew he would have been overjoyed and must have longed for the opportunity to meet me so he could gloat. We exchanged greetings. I asked him what he was doing and he told me about his current employment in an orthopaedic theatre suite. He was in the area visiting old friends who were still at OxRad. Then came the moment I had been dreading. I'm not sure if I'm being paranoid, but I saw a very subtle smug smile break out on his face. "So, Ben... I heard you'd been sacked. What are you doing with yourself these days?"
    I hadn't planned what came next. It was instinctive. I lied: "I'm at a private hospital in London, Harley Street actually." I'm still astonished at how automatic and elaborate my deception was.
    Jack flushed slightly. "Hey? How did you get that job? How come they took you on after your discharge from the NHS?"
    "I won my appeal. Despite that, my life there was tainted and I decided to leave."
    Jack paused and frowned dejectedly. This was supposed to have been his moment of glory, but it had all gone terribly wrong. "Which hospital?"
    "The Plastic Surgery Group." Luckily I had spoken recently online to somebody who worked there so knew some of the details of the London private medical scene, enough to bluff Jack anyway.
    "What's your job there?"
    I gave a haughty chuckle. "You know the answer to that question, Jack."
    He paused and looked down. "So you're a porter?"
    "Yup."
    Our conversation ended quickly after that. Jack seemed to be in a hurry to get away from me. He drained his coffee and left.
    I know I'm taking a risk writing this article because if he sees it he will recognize himself and know that I had fooled him. However, I'm pretty confident he doesn't know about the HPWA and certainly does not read it. Also, I've waited two months before publishing this experience. I know some of you will be very critical of me for lying to him. It is disrespectful to tell false tales about one's own life; but then again, how much respect did he ever show me? He tried to dictate to me what I can and cannot do with my own life, as if I were a misguided child instead of a fellow grown man. He grossly violated my boundaries. He put pressure on me persistently and insultingly not to be my own person. He tried desperately to turn me into a Jack Shaw Mark II. I do not owe everybody the truth. I will not give people the truth when all they will do with my honesty is exploit it. My honesty, in this situation, would be nothing more than me handing Jack stick to beat me with. He has not earned the right to the truth. He deserves what he got, to be tricked. I'm not ashamed; in fact I'm glad I did it.
See here for background: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/10/popping-question-responses.html.
And: https://hpanwo-hpwa.blogspot.com/2022/01/ten-years-on.html.