Ja Wohl Mein Fuhrer

A marvellous start to the day today – I had to give a member of staff a dressing down for inappropriate behaviour. Nothing too outlandish – he’s hardly been standing on the tables encouraging the girls to rub lard into his nougat hard nips – but he has been, how shall we say, “over friendly” towards female members of staff. Hugs. Kisses. That kind of thing. Not the kind of thing you expect or indeed want from a cleaning contractor. Especially one with a slight BO problem. And by “slight” I mean “Chernobyl sized”.

Anyway, it would be unfair of me to go into the details here so I won’t (no, no I won’t, no matter how much you bribe, flatter or petition me) but the experience from my side of things was weird. It was unpleasant having to ruin someone’s day even though I know that (a) it had to be done and (b) it was absolutely the right thing to do. This person isn’t a pervert by any stretch of the imagination. Just “of an older generation” and out of tune with how society has moved.

I hope I made my position clear without making him feel like he was the victim or the target of a witch hunt. At the same time the complaints of other members of staff have also got to be acted upon – though I’m at pains to point out that nobody was calling for castration or to have his name etched indelibly onto the sex offenders register.

Despite my many rants on this blog I don’t as a rule do “kick-ass Sgt Major” leadership. I don’t like to rollock people to within an inch of their dignity. It just ain’t my bag (man). But this was an important issue that needed to be nipped in the bud before it got out of hand or moved onto more potentially damaging consequences.

Did I enjoy the experience?

Well... better to be the one dishing it out than being on the receiving end I suppose. But no. I didn’t feel a warm erotic surge of pleasure as I felt myself become the channel for all encompassing local authority power. I felt a big responsibility not to overstep the mark. Not to go for overkill. Not to stamp the wrong-doer’s face into the dust and grind it into squished brain puree.

I guess I’d make a crap dictator.

I’d never be the Darth Vadar figure.

I’d always be the one at the back saying “Well, maybe we ought to give these rebel scum a chance... just hear them out a bit... and maybe calling them scum isn’t really that appropriate... I mean, they just have a different political bias to us... at the end of the day they’re people too...”

O Captain, my Captain?

I can’t see anyone climbing onto their desk for me.