Tunnel Vision

Acronyms: DPR (Staff Development And Performance Review)

'Well, I know it's all relative but doesn't time fly? If I were the slightest bit nostalgic, I think I might cry.'

'You what?'

'I said,' she said tersely, ' if I were sentimental I may just shed a tear. It's come around again so fast; it's already that time of year. Seems only last week I received that ridiculous letter: 'you've done alright, but you could've done better'.'

'Oh, I get it. I'm with you. You're talking DPR . . .'

'Indeed I am. DPR: the idiot mechanism by which management purports to identify who's the real star.'

'So, I gather you weren't the recipient of a thousand-pound bonus last year? Our salaries are performance-related; the DPR's important. You do realise that don't you, oh dear, my dear?'

'Indeed I do and I wasn't, you know. I wasn't, though it seems to me somewhat queer. Of course, I took issue with the decision. I contacted the Dean. I quoted Lyndon Johnson. I fear I vented my spleen.'

'I'm sorry but you'll have to cite the reference; I don't believe I know the quote. Tell me what you told the Dean, then I may know what it is you mean. You know, for a fact, you always already have my vote.'

'Lyndon Johnson, former President of the USA: I wrote the Dean what he'd been quoted to say: 'if one morning I walked on top of the water across the Potomac River, the headline that afternoon would read "President Can't Swim".' I pointed out that to claim I'd only 'met expectations' made him - the Dean, not Johnson - look a bit dim. On a fractional post, I'd achieved far more than my remit. Working over-time, evenings and weekends, I'd say I saved the department from going arse-over-tit.'

'So, what happened next? What did he do?'

'He readily accepted that I'd 'exceeded expectations' and he re-worded the letter. He made it officially clear that I'd actually done better; done better than what is stated in my job description, my remit. But it didn't change a single thing: not one little bit. Apparently the faculty had already spent its budget. Nominal congratulations were possible but, basically, they had to fudge it.  I'd exceeded expectations but that meant nothing, honey. The result was I still got no extra money.'

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From The Press And Marketing Department, Again: Fond Memories.

'Ha ha,' she was suddenly feeling Machiavellian.

Why?

They'd all been emailed by the Press and Marketing Department again.

'Have you seen the latest? It must be the basest? Tell me (honestly, please) if this isn't close to desperate.'

'What now?' he said. His ankles were still swollen, bruised and red. He resented being at work; would rather be reclining in bed. Like Proust he would prefer to be in a permanent state of recuperation. He was loathe to engage with something that sounded like desperation.

'Fond memories.'

'You what?'

'Fond memories; that's what they're now after.'

'You'll have to explain.  My feet are so sore, though you don't hear me complain.'

She gave him one of her looks and, then, proceeded to paraphrase what was worded. 'They want to know if you have fond memories of working at the Uniservity. It's something to do with celebrating the institution's twentieth birthday.'

'Go on.'

'It appears it also involves alumni. But that, surely, is by-the-by. Our commercial success fails to mention us on his CV. Apparently, we have no part in his provenance: his pedigree.'

'You're such a cynic. Are they doing no good at that clinic you attend so regularly?'

'I'm sure the clinic's doing fine actually but, for a change, it not about you lot. It's all about me.'

'So, what's the pay off. Do you still want my child. She's become a teenager, you know. She's getting quite wild.'

'Afraid not, there are no vouchers involved here. But, try to be kind to her; I'm sure she's a dear. Back to the original subject; this is what you have to do. Recount your fondest memory of institutional life on video and provide a still photograph, too. It'll help promote the Uniservity, you see: all good publicity.'

Daylight dimmed and silence fell. All was quiet, but it wasn't well. Try as they might, they failed to think of the things that had felt right. Work was a bore; remained a chore. It was only in free-time that one found respite.