Friday, September 9

Office Scene

I commented on the fact that in my previous posting the modern office is so much different because of what’s been invented in the past 40 years.

Personal computers, personal phones, the Internet, voice and e mail, and fax facilities are now taken for granted but they didn’t exist in that form 40 years ago. Communication was largely by letter via the “typing pool” or a personal secretary who took “shorthand”. Hand written notes were much more common and most systems were either manual or partly mechanized using accounting machines to record all of the transactions onto hard copy ledger records.

Other aspects of office life then that have since disappeared include the beloved Tea Ladies, formal morning and afternoon tea breaks, sing on and sign off books, lunchtime interoffice sporting competitions, lunchtime card playing and the Friday afternoon office lunches.

My poem attempts to take you back in time to an office scene of yesteryear. When I was working then I was also studying of an evening, and having left home resided in a not so flash boarding house. It was "tough" going and I often arrived "late" for work in a crumpled mess as the poem attests.

Ode to an old office scene

An office window reflects my bleak and dreary day
Cold and frosty morning comes to visit and to stay
Faint scenes of office staff appear in the distant haze
Ghostly apparitions all take the centre stage

I am thinking of my past as feelings are not dead
As waves of pure nostalgia help to clear a fuzzy head
Enter roars of endless voices, faces from a working past
Fades to just a whisper, time to start I hear at last

The working day begins as if by starter’s gun
You start on time and end on time bit still a time for fun
Mr Smith is our captain, a step as strong as steel
Attendance Book his companion, pen upon his ear

His gaze is dignified, no compassion will he share
For anyone who signs on late or those who are not there
The time of reckoning is near, his pen is in the air
No room to sign for latecomers, they’ll face his dreaded stare

There’s a murmur in the office of a fact that’s not been missed
Poor Lindsay’s train is late again; he’s lost the sign on race
He stagers in, his face is grim, no fashion statement yet
Land ladies forget to iron his trousers and his shirts a crumpled mess

He settles into a work , to check the ledger cards
The system is manual, a checkers life 's not hard
Tea break is upon him, tea lady says gidday
Not afraid to let you know, secrets of the day

Lunchtime is a signal for people great or small
Assemble at the front desk to represent us all
Teams are chosen wisely, football teams a must
Lads return victorious to cheers, slaps and hugs

Card players are a serious lot, there is no idle chatter
Game is called 500 and the rules are all that matter

For wobehold the new recruit who joins the old brigade
Who leads back trumps to lose his partner's game
He hangs his head in sorrow, will it ever be the same
Learn by your experience and hang your head in shame

The afternoon drags slowly on; the outpu's just a trickle
Soon aal ther work is done when we hear the knock off whistle
We stand in line in time to sign, our work is truly ended
Goodbye my friend, nostalgia time, that time is now all ended

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

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christian americans are dumb.

buddhism is plain and simple.

americans r retarted.

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