Wednesday, October 26, 2011

The on-drudge continues

Well there was no more delaying it. Back to the file pile I went, filing over 16 file parts today alone. Indeed so many I actually ran out of parts, with near 20 parts-worth to file in content remaining.

For the morbidly curious, in the public service, here's the skinny on filing.

No bulldog or paper clips, everything needs to be securely fastened, no greater than 3 cm in thickness. Documents are secured in a manila file folder via a split pin. You push the pin through the spine fold of the folder, then slot the drilled-through file contents onto the pin. When you reach the maximum thickness you then place FILE CLOSED notice (saying this part cannot have more stuff and please to be seeing the next part). Finally you top it all off with a 'DO NOT REMOVE FROM TOP OF THE FOLDER' tag (1). Then you fold the ends of the split pin over that tag. Why the tag? It's so you can use the tag to lever up the pin ends and thus not prick under your finger tips if you have to use nails should you ever need to take stuff off the file.


It was, of course, bound to happen. The paper-cut finger. Not sure how I did it but I looked down and there was a neat slice and a blood smear. Not sure where the blood that came out pre-smear went. Oh well. It was off to the First Aid Cabinet for the first time since I moved to the building several months ago. This proved somewhat embarrassing as, up until recently, I was the First Aid Officer for my floor (2) and by rights I should have done a stock-take when I got the job.

Naturally the cut happened to ole righty index—my most used finger (3). And I two-finger type so each key-strike causes a little discomfort as a result.

By all rights I should fill out a safety report. Seriously, I should. I bled from a workplace injury. Even if it was a paper cut.

Anyway, so the end is in sight. All is good. I contact a point of contact in Archives and ask them how I get all these boxes to them. I explained what we'd filed—all the related documentation from the burdensome administration process foisted on me by the ___ and ___ (with a Bicycle seat) Backy McStab.

'Oh,' says the Archive Pee Oh Cee (4). 'We don't normally archive that stuff. Anyway, it's destroyed after seven years.'

Right ... so there's a good chance I have blown about a week's worth of work on something not needed. That was supposed to live on a shelf until expired and then chucked. Though she did say 'box files' so she might not know it's a proper one with a file number (5).

Well, I suppose it was needed. It was jammed loose into file boxes. This way at least it's officially—well, nearly all done—locked into registered files, so I can't get in trouble. But the whole point of doing this was so we could fuck it off into a warehouse where it would never see the light of day again. Only ... archives don't seem to be taking that shit.

So that's what you get for letter-perfect governance. A waste of time and effort and people cock-blocking you at the very end.

Double sigh.

(1) It's a small 2.5 cm by 4 cm manila coloured cardboard square (about 200 GSM?). I ran out of them. I actually sent one of my hilarious building-wide email calls for more ... and got no replies. Well no useful replies. Thanks to including a Star Wars reference in the plea—the subject line was 'Help me (residents of building) ... you're my only hope then had the first line apologising for their having to mentally marry my head to Leila's body—T from upstairs pinged me a Star Wars cartoon joke site that was actually work friendly (as in not blocked as being a no no website). That later led him to making a D&D3.5 reference to which I responded 'I rolled a mod 16 on a DC 18 Spot check' to indicate failure in seeing something. Hilarious stuff. Nice to meet another player. I do find it delish I work next to someone that also plays—L, who is a member of an all-girl gaming group that meets regularly and many knit as they play. I love it!
(2) My Senior First Aid certificate expires in November and I won't be in a position to get retrained. My work actually pays the First Aid Officer a nominal extra amount each pay—five bucks or so—but apparently it's so you can stock the cabinet. Not sure. At any rate when the Howard government got in they banned Aspirin in the kits. Too many people were flogging it. Only if someone has a suspected heart attack—the conscious and chest pain kind, not the unconscious and in cardiac arrest—an Aspirin can thin the blood and help reduce the chance of actual death. Nice one Howard government. Another fuck you to the public service. Like when they took insurance cover away from going to and from work. Only it kind of backfired when a Costello staffer got taken out by a car coming back from a meal. Oh well. Oh, another thing. Apparently we're not allowed to give an Epipen shot ourselves. The user has to. So if they're in purple-faced no air mode you're supposed to Patrick Swayze them from behind like in the Ghost pottery scene and manuever their hand and pen into place then assist them to plunge it in. It's bureaucratic nampy, pampy uber risk-run-away-from-even-if-it-could-kill-someone that shits me about government at times.

(3) Er ... should that be 'the finger I use the most?' Most used might imply it's of a greater vintage than the others.
(4) Like what I did there? That's the sounded-out POC for Point of Contact. Stay classy, ... me.
(5) In pre-PDF and many-scanner days, we now simply PDF stuff and chuck the original once scanned, when I worked in a mail room we would take two copies of each piece of outwards correspondence. One went on the subject file. One went in a box file. Literally a box—a big document box with a spring clasp you sproinged down to hold papers in place. It was then stored on a shelf for outwards correspondence for the calendar year. I presume then once seven years had passed contents were then destroyed. It seemed to me a lot like the pointless work Marge does when she works at the power plant, sticks a memo in the vacuum tube, and it fucks off into a nearby river and the capsule is then tail-patted into a beaver dam wall. That's governance!


  1. Make them take the boxes. Make them!!

  2. My boss wanted to do a 5 am drop off at the loading dock ...


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