Last day at the art gallery

When I decided to take a break from adult education I thought it would be a good idea to go and work somewhere that people went to voluntarily to have fun. Teaching students who had been mandated by Job Centre Plus and turning away asylum seekers because they weren’t eligible for classes and representing over worked colleagues in capability appeals had worn me into a a bleak frazzled creature who wanted a quiet life. So an art gallery seemed like the ideal place. Enjoyable stress free workplace a go go.

I got a job with “visitor services” and I was very excited to have actually managed to get a non teaching job. The first sign that all might not be well happened when I tried to negotiate my starting date and my new manager wasn’t making much sense over the phone, we couldn’t agree on what day it was. He rang me back later to explain that he’d been looking at the previous year’s calendar. Knowing what I know now that makes a lot of sense.

There was initially a lot of novelty in the work and many interesting colleagues who were talented and well (over?) qualified. I spent time shadowing someone which meant following her around watching her do almost nothing. Not because she was skiving but because the job of the gallery assistant is very subtle. I’m being polite. I soon got monumentally bored and after that I got angry at the way my managers managed.

Here’s a typical scenario. At the beginning of every shift we reported for duty and were briefed. On this particular occasion we were told that we were only allowed to sit down if we had a doctor’s certificate. I asked who had given this order and the answer was “the powers that be” I asked “who are they?” and got back “the people who tell us what to do”. That was from the nice approachable manager, meanwhile the other one was busy ignoring me and trying to catch me out for being 30 seconds late or talking too much. Yes, they deliberately hired a group of people who enjoyed talking and then told them not to.

Just before my last day I read about a painting being attacked in London by a screwdriver wielding lunatic. My first thought was “I wish that would happen in our gallery”. Then I thought about which painting I’d like them to attack. Good job I’ve gone, I need my mind back.

Oh and in case my ex colleagues ever bother to read this the absolute highlight was getting to know you all and drinking in Wetherspoons after work.

The Town Hall- or what have I done?

Today I had an appointment with the compliance centre, sounds like some kind of sinister brainwashing machine doesn’t it? Though if that were the case I’m sure it would be called something else like “the centre for independent thought and freedom of speech”. This oddly named centre isn’t a centre at all it’s just people in the Town Hall who check DBS certificates. Earlier in the day I had spent about an hour and a half looking for my DBS certificate and came to the conclusion that people with filing systems are definitely on to something. It took a ludicrous amount of time to find anyone to speak to in the Town Hall and when I did and showed him my certificate he told me that it was no good because it came from a voluntary organisation and that meant that it wasn’t valid for paid work. So the council will have to pay for the same checks just so someone somewhere can make money out of the system. No one at the Town Hall was remotely interested in questioning the idiocy of the situation because when you have worked for the council for long enough you give up using the kind of faculties that make you question the status quo and instead you start telling co-workers and members of the public that it’s just the way it is.

So now I have to fill in a million forms and find 4 different types of ID. I can feel my joy at getting a new job ebbing away on a tide of bureaucracy. What have I done?

Resurrecting my so called career.

Today I was inspired by a friend to find my derelict blog and I read my previous posts from long ago. I escaped from that college in the north of England that was being ruined by a power crazed ex TESCO manager and became a carer instead. Being a carer has been really fun, largely because my boss is my friend and we like hanging about together. And I have been working as a gallery assistant. I have learnt that being a gallery assistant is unbearably boring and so I seem to have stumbled back into the world of adult education and that means that I can add to my blog, yippee.

I’ve gone back to work in the same building where I trained as an ESOL teacher in 1993 and my office will be the room where I taught my first class. I live a short walk away from the flat where I celebrated my 21st birthday so going round in circles seems to be a thing. I’ll tell you about the new job soon, but for now I have high hopes but I’m scared of the paper registers.