I suppose the
other question to answer here has to be how many signatures are needed in order
to expedite the process of fridge replacement.
Today, thanks to my smiling persistence the great fridge replacement
saga of Drama land has taken a giant leap forward.
Let me set the scene … When us Drama teachers returned to the Drama nerve centre after our various summer breaks all three of us immediately asked “What is that smell?” (Please note politeness ensured that we had all checked each other had not stepped in something nor had we taken to using curiously smelling after-shaves or perfumes.) No the smell was chemically and nasty and got much worse whenever the aged fridge was opened. Even Drama teachers have a bit of common sense and so I set about reporting to the various school authorities that the fridge was bost.
First on the scene was the school head caretaker who agreed that it smelled terrible and asked the cleaner to do her stuff and clean it out. Result? The office smelt a great deal worse, the fridge door had been left open after all while the cleaning was attempted. Not surprisingly the pong in the office worsened when the fridge was switched on and so was swiftly switched off again. “It is broken,” we drama people exclaimed.
But no. The fridge had to be officially declared as broken. That meant an official from the facilities department had to come back and look at the uncool chiller and declare it officially broken, something they appeared to be able to do over the phone or by email. Several days went by and nothing appeared to be happening. Eventually the facilities people did agree that the machine was dead, without the need for an inspection visit, and so I assumed that all would progress smoothly. I have been in Malaysia a while now and so knew that this would probably not be the case, but the optimist in me still hoped anyway.
More days went by and more nothing happened. Eventually I approached the person who gets things done. Every workplace has people like that. In a world of dithering and silliness these wonderful people simply make things happen, despite the best efforts of other stop them. This particular colleague simply asked for a photo of the fridge so that she could get a replacement model. Phew. Easy. Done?
No.
A week has gone by since I sent that photo to the person who gets things done and things had not got done. The smell peeked in its nastiness this afternoon so I decided to brave the confusion that is the administration department and seek out answers. What exactly was happening?
First I approached the chief of ordering stuff to ask if she had ordered a new fridge. “Ah, Robin, it is not as simple as that. The disposal form is with the accounts department and I am waiting for them to approve disposal,” she said. A moment of rifling through a huge pile of paper on her desk and she found the disposal form and gave me a “those dratted people in accounts” facial grimace. As luck would have those dratted people in accounts are only situated around four metres away from the chief of ordering stuff and so I offered to accompany the chief of ordering stuff on a visit to the accounts department. And what a jolly time was had by all. The disposal form, already with several signatures on, including the school’s principal’s autograph, was studied by the famous accounts department, and an official from the department was dispatched, with me to go on a field trip to look at the offending and stinking fridge. We had polite conversation in the lift on the way down and up and agreed that there was a fridge in the Drama office and it did smell. “Good. Can we get rid of it now I asked?”
No.
The lowly accounts official had to get another signature on the disposal form before the fridge could be got rid of. And that signature was a tricky one indeed. The chief of the accounts department had to sign the disposal form. This was not a signature to be got lightly though. This fine officer had also to be assured that the fridge was not working. Having been satisfied that the paperwork was in order they had to make sure that the fridge could not be repaired. Had I checked with the facilities people? Yes. Was the fridge not working? Yes. Had I done the bleeding obvious? Yes. (I may have only heard that question in my mind.) Before the last autograph could be applied the mighty official had to speak to the facilities chief, a bloke who can never be found anywhere, doesn’t answer emails and certainly can’t be spoken to on the phone, to do the last checks. The accounts person managed to speak to the facilities chief’s sidekick and explained that the fridge did not work (unlike the disposal system which was clearly working extremely well) could they do something about it. The sidekick assured the accounts person that they would look into the matter in due course. Satisfied with this the accounts guru signed the form and beautiful rainbows appeared in the sky and small birds began to sing sweetly. When might the fridge be moved, I enquired? Soon, was the answer.
On the way back to Drama land I saw one of the facilities fellers, a nice guy who I have made tea for in the past. He and I lifted the bloody fridge out of the now stinking office and dumped it in the corridor. He has promised to get rid of it.
We also have an unused sound system and TV to get rid of too, but I haven’t got the stomach for the fight as yet.
Last word goes to the chief of ordering stuff though. I asked this fine person how long it would take for a new fridge to arrive. “These matters can’t happen overnight, Robin,” was her reply.