Hark, listen, who swears?

Our building can be a challenge. Stuff often goes wrong—it's an older office effort that recently underwent an internal re-fit—and when it does you log a job to get it fixed.

Speaking of logs ... the disabled toilet—which I still use as it has a grab rail I can lower or raise myself with—failed to flush when I tried to flush it. I thought it might be a temporary thing so I left it and decided to come back and try again. Only I forgot. By the afternoon I saw a 'Not Working' sign up. Which means A--- the cleaner found what I left. And I am the only known disabled in the place. I should have reported it as broken straight away but I didn't want to Chicken Little on it just in case—since had I remembered and it had flushed then I would have saved the organisation money for a prevented call out. Except of course I failed to remember about it, failed to note it was a genuine problem, then failed to put the sign up myself. It's probably because I didn't want to report it since I in fact "dealt it".

Later I was made aware there were problems in the lady department. Or more specifically the area of the building where ladies do their business. A tap wasn't working and the stall lock was broken. So I submitted a report. I got a panicked call on the tap part from the landlord's agent as they were worried there was hot water gushing forth and soaking things. All because I said 'the hot tap may come off when used'. The tap has a single spout so clearly I meant the tap turning part given I delineated it was the hot tap was coming off. But I guess they didn't know that.

Because I reported the problem on behalf of the 50 per cent of our team that is packing lady business, and I being a dude, I then got two separate emails asking if I'd been hanging around the ladies' toilet. Ha, ha. Just because in real life I fully look like the sort of heavyset unshaven thick lenses glasses man that would hang around public areas in nothing but a mackintosh... 

theWife has a now much-wrecked '60s fireman coat as passed on by her dad, an ex '60s fireman. Maybe I will wear that into work whilst wearing a shirt and shorts beneath? Nah ... I can barely bring the lapels together let alone actually button it shut. And Mikey don't wear shorts. It's just too sad for the world to see. 

Now to the swearing part. Hark, listen who swears? Probably the person that recently toppled down the stairs. The very stairs I reported nearly a year ago as a potential death trap, following the report up no less than three times, only to then be indirectly (via my boss) told to shut the fuck up about it and to report any future building fails through said boss because the person ultimately responsible for following it up thought I was badgering or menacing them.

I felt bad for the person who fell, and who fell as a likely result of the identified trip hazards. But part of me was smug for being proven right for the fact exactly what I said would happen happened. 

Our guardian man, a first aid officer who also happens to be muscularly ripped, emailed a warning to people be careful about the stairs and he also noted the stair had caused injuries in the past.

I couldn't but help email him offering my full array of correspondence in relation to reporting the initial hazard and correspondence where I followed it up several times. So far I've yet to hear back. But well these things generate investigations and if anyone turns up to ask about it then I am certainly going to volunteer my wedge'o'corro to them. 

Anyway ... 'It got me into Irkusk'-style Mikey's Tales of Occupational Health and Safety is now hereby ended. (waves censer) Dominus smugus provus rightus, amen.