The skiver disappeared from our office six months ago under mysterious circumstances. It followed numerous clashes with the boss who has since refused to be drawn on the subject.

These two egos provided some uncomfortable but highly amusing encounters with both bellowing bragging rights like a couple of old tuskers.

His known misdemeanors included being found sleeping in the storeroom of an afternoon, taking numerous days off work with various bogus ailments and an inability to take orders from a female superior.

Surprise, surprise, he rings out of the blue this week and shed some belated light on the ‘Bermuda Triangle’ of office disappearances.

He ‘accidently’ accessed the boss’s email account and found that his immediate manager had been sending regular messages reporting on his behaviour.

He then read through six months of her emails, ran off hard copies and, next time they argued, pulled them out and presented them as evidence of his victimization to the very person whose email account he’d illegally accessed.

Not surprisingly she hits the roof. As a result, he first threatens an industrial tribunal and then demands three months pay to leave without a fuss. They basically say ‘bollocks, you’re sacked’ and give him one month’s pay in lieu of  being put outside with the cat and empty milk bottles.

He, of course, seems to think he is innocent of any wrongdoing as he always did (see ‘office life’ category for his long and illustrious fall from grace).  Classic.

 

It looks like we’ve seen the last of the office skiver. The boss curtly informed us he probably wouldn’t be returning from his latest six week sojourn although his demise remains shrouded in secrecy.

He certainly was a dosser par excellence but insisted on keeping up the illusion – or is that delusion? – that all would turn to dust without his magic touch.

Suffice to say we have manfully struggled on without our little Napoleon.

 

The skiver now enters his fourth week away from the office with no official reason from She Who Must Be Obeyed about his whereabouts.

It’s like having some mad uncle in the attic room that everyone knows about but refuse to acknowledge. Office life. A manila padded folder of madness.

 

I admit to the slow cannibalisation of the office skiver’s belongings since he left us a few weeks ago for another of his extended recreational breaks.

It started innocently enough munching a bag of half eaten walnuts on his desk to pilfering some coppers, paperclips and post-it notes.

Boxes of papers, files, stationary and general flotsam and jetsam are now accumulating on it as is written in the Law of the Holidaying Desk.

So it has been, so it shall always be. Amen and may the Lord have mercy on his soul.

 

The skiver enters his third week away from the office. We’ve since found out that he is subject to an internal investigation after the mother of all ding-dongs with the boss ended with him calling her a liar.

I’m sure it will add a few more inches of permafrost to their already chilly relationship.

I’ve no doubt he’ll spin out his current sojourn a while longer then limp back to work for a while before the whole sorry cycle starts again.

Well, he’s getting paid through all this malarkey so I guess he’s laughing at the end of the day. I’m waiting for him to ring up saying he can’t come in because of stress.

God give us strength (and him a redundancy letter).

 

Has the office skiver finally reached his nadir?

Tempers flared in the boss’s office and he stomped off red-faced and full of self-righteous indignation.

We’ve since been told he’s working from home – don’t make me laugh – and the boss remains tight lipped about the whole affair.

There’s no love lost between the pair who regularly clash like a pair of  bellowing walruses fighting for towel space.

We’ve since worked out that he has taken a day off every week for the past nine months. Unbelievable. May the maggots of sloth dine on his indolent flesh.

 

The office loafer has taken a leaf out of a colleague’s book and rung in today to say he is ‘working at home.’ Yes, of course he is.

Is it really too much to expect him to work just one full week this year? Sorry. I just realised how stupid it was to even ask that question.

 

If there is one thing that stokes my fires of righteous indignation it is someone playing the ‘I’m working at home today’ card.

The skiver, sorry, work colleague called in this morning in an earnest voice simpering about how much work they had to do and that the office was too much of a distraction.

Sorry, run that by me again, you bullshitter?

You are working from home  or just getting up late, loafing around on the sofa and going shopping because you can’t be bothered to come in?

May the boils of Job be visited upon their leperous hide.

 

Office skiver just can’t help himself even when it’s obvious he isn’t sick.

 Surprise, surprise, he rings up today (Friday) and says he’s ill.

He sounds fine on the phone even a little impatient as if calling in is a tiresome chore to be got out of the way before his extended weekend begins.

 

The annual in-house work training programme had been emailed to us signalling a potential diary clogging feast of short work days.

There is a choice selection this year for the discerning skiver including Manual Handling (objects), Manual Handling (people), Fire Safety Awareness and Dignity at Work.

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