I Am a Living Instruction Manual

If it weren’t for me, nothing would get done in this place. In fact, they probably wouldn’t even get nothing done; they’d find a way to dip into the negatives and actually create work, if they did anything at all. It’s not that I go totally unappreciated- the boss often says he’d be lost without me, and people seem to respect what I do- but it’s not proportionate. I should probably be running this place officially, instead of just doing it behind the scenes.

It would help if they could actually do the job without having to call me back in the office. No, really. We got a new shipment of aluminium work platforms, and I expected that everyone would read the infographic in the email I sent them. Actually, that’s a lie: I didn’t think they’d actually read it, but I lived in hope and thought they’d work out how to set them up. It wasn’t the same as the old platforms we had, but not rocket science either. But never mind! Ten minutes into the job I get a call: “Kerry, we…uh, forgot the instruction manual. Would you happen to have a copy of it over there?”

So now I’m tech support. Thing is, I didn’t even need the manual, because I glanced once over them and setting up those platforms should be child’s play. In fact, I’d give that to my four-year-old nephew, and provided he had someone to pick up the heavy pieces, he could do it in fifteen minutes. They’re not stupid; they just don’t try, because they’ve got me here. I need to stop acting like I’m their mum, packing their lunches and organising all their activities.

I’m taking leave. Maybe I’ll come back to find everything on fire, everyone’s quit, all our clients have cancelled and precisely zero mobile scaffolding has been set up. But I can’t do this forever. They NEED to learn how to stand on their own…twelve feet.