ARCHIVE PAGE
issue 2 - Feb 2000
The Seaview Corporation is an information broker with offices across the globe. Within each of these offices, a committed and eager workforce, somewhat like talking ants in suits, cooperate and liaise to ensure that any information received is brokered properly, and at minimum cost. But behind these teeming scenes, is a dedicated bedrock of staff, charged with the task of making sure that office life runs smoothly, and that any spillages are dealt with before health and safety regulations are contravened: the Administration Team.
Seaview's London HQ is overseen by 29 year old Tom Wright, the Office Manager. A short man, Wright relaxes in his seat at the end of another hectic day of paperclip wrangling and petty theft prevention. "I see my role as the backbone of the office, its my job to make sure that all our facilities run properly, me and Craig here." He gestures toward Craig, the Office Assistant, a long-haired 24 year old, staring dead-eyed at his PC, absent-mindedly rubbing his elbows.
Wright takes me on a tour of the office, starting with the kitchen. "As you can see, we've got all bases covered here as far as hit drinks go, tea.. coffee...". He stops in mid-sentence. One of the teaspoons has been left, covered in semi-dissolved Nescafe, on the draining board. This is the kind of hazard that Wright faces each and every day. The bonhomie gives way to a fixed, intense professionalism. Swiftly, he calls Craig in to clean the spoon and place it in its correct position, pausing only to dust the spoon for prints. "I recognize this one... he's a serial offender... Better run it through the computer to make absolutely sure."
I am lead into a small cupboard at the back of the office, in which is placed a large computer, noticeably Higher-spec than the others I've seen around the office. Wright runs the photo of the spoon through the system. "I knew it!" he cries. "Paul Cousins, Credit Control!". A file containing a vast array of information is called up, birth date, blood type, stool sample analysis, DNA pattern, and one marked 'pain threshold'. "See, years ago," Wright explains briefly flashing a very attractive sovereign ring, "before computers and that, Craig would have had to go around tea office beating the information out of people with a chair leg. Now I just push a few buttons and all Craig has to do is beat up one person." I ask Wright if maybe this isn't a little severe, he returns with a look of misapprehension. "How else can you do it? These people are on company property, in company time. If I came round to your flat, and pulled down my knickers, and did a massive wee on your sofa, dressed in a sexy outfit, licking my lips, what would you do? You'd try it on, BUT I'D CUFF YA!... I think the same applies here.." Meanwhile, Craig, contacted automatically by the computer through a two-way radio in his back tooth ("Part of the corporate dentistry scheme", I am later informed), has dragged the offender in. I see no facial signs of maltreatment, although he is short of breath perhaps indicating a dig in the ribs with a chair leg. I look into the corner of the room and notice a pile of teeth caked in dried blood and decide to let Wright administer a disciplinary without my prying eyes.
Later, Wright and I share a pint in the nearby bar. I ask him how he sees his standing in the company. "I must admit," he leans back, stroking his mobile phone,"We do have a few run-ins with the other departments." I draw to his attention the graffiti in the gents' lavatory, especially the caricature implying that he has no privates and likes watching mice die. His mood switches again, this time defensive. " I am not employed by Seaview to be popular. Far from it. I am there to oversee the running of the office. My first responsibility is to the company. " He breaks down and begins weeping, grabbing my arm, muttering about"the snakes" and how they "robbed him so cruelly". I make my excuses and leave
