Summoned to see Pinkie and The Brain. Oh dear, what have I done now I wonder...

Nothing, as it happens. The 'dress code' needs re-affirming as people are not complying with it, allegedly. 

My immediate responses to this:

1. This is my problem because.... ??

2. Who is not complying? I haven't noticed anything.

Mumbling follows. Something about HR Management (which seems to be becoming more and more my responsibility) and something about not naming names.

I head down to my office and hit google. I find the least patronising dress-code document I can, and fire it up to the Directors to confirm that it meets their need. "Can you pop up again?" is the response I get.

I trudge back up the stairs to be met with awkward and frustrated faces. I suggest that they stop pussy-footing around whatever their issue is, and just spit it out.

One specific administrator is wearing particularly short skirts. This administrator is more than a little overweight and not particularly poised, leading to many people seeing way too much thigh and the occassional gusset.

I draw their attention to my suit - the skirt is a little shorter than knee length. I ask if this is appropriate. "Yes!" they emphatically declare. You always look professional and smart. I ask if this skirt would be acceptable if worn by the administrator. "Good God no!" is the retort.

I try to guide them to the realisation that their issue is the administrator, and not her choice of attire. I fail. Finally I blurt out "There is NO dress code that specifies one set of rules for thin people and one set for everyone else. That would be the shortest route to a tribunal that you've ever set foot on. ONE rule for everyone."

Pinkies response: "So you're OK with the blokes turning up in skirts then? HAHAHA that'd be funny!"

The Brains response: "Can you send out the document you sent us? Maybe she'll take the hint".

Beam me up, Scottie

I can't claim that this one is down to my gender or my industry. But it is a classic Pinkie and The Brain moment.

Our IT Manager has needed some time off recently and it's set to continue into the new year. As a consequence the task was passed to me to find a selection of consultants who could cover the job if required. This falls to me because other than the IT Manager I'm the only employee who knows a PC or Mac from the back end of a horse.

Diligently I find 3 quite different IT specialists for the Directors to choose from. We re-interview them all and I dutifully listen to the same sales patter I heard the first time around, from the nervous geek, the uber professional, and the slightly deranged yes-man.

After they all leave I answer the inevitable questions about what things mean. What is a back-up? What is the difference between local and virtual storage? What is the difference between a spam-guard and a virus-guard? 

They ask for my recommendation. I give my opion in order of preference.

1. The geek, 2. The pro, 3. The fruit-loop

I leave this with them. They opt for my least favourite choice - the fruit-loop. He was £50 a day cheaper and more available. I quietly suggest that this may be due to having no other clients and zero references but it fell on deaf ears.

I firmly declare that this decions is on them. I don't have time or inclination to get involved beyond this point - it's down to Pinkie and The Brain to manage the decision they've made. "Of course! Of course! We know how busy you are!" Is the response I get.

24 hours later - "We can't make head nor tail of the contract for services he's sent. Can you have a look?"

And there it starts.

Horror of horrors - no mobile phone charger. But it's OK because EVERYONE has an iPhone right? You'd think.

Up the stairs I go. To the Commercial office where they all love their gadgets more than life itself. Poach a ridiculously long charger of the managers desk and leave a post-it to let him know who as stolen his charger.

Back downstairs, plug it in, it makes the right noises. Ten minutes later my mobile phone starts making the pathetic 'I'm dying' blips at me again. The phone has stopped charging.

Back upstairs... to desperately plead with the surveyors. "Sure" the new boy says. You can borrow mine. He passes it across the desk.

"Oh but wait, probably just don't touch that end if you can help it. It's been on my bedroom floor for ages". I look at the end of the charger... It's covered in what looks like congealed barbecue sauce. 

Second surveyor pipes up: "Yeah I wouldn't put that in your mouth if I were you". 

"I, um, probably wasn't going to put it in my mouth actually" I responded - a little confused.

"Yeah," the second surveyor continues "You might get pregnant if you do".

Both surveyors dissolve into fits of giggles as I walk away shaking my head. I suspect I may have the subtle nuance that made it funny...