Never Go Swashbuckling Without A Handkerchief
First published in New Escapologist Issue Seven
As long-serving readers of New Escapologist might know, our editor, Robert Wringham, is obsessed with handkerchiefs. That’s right: old-fashioned cotton handkerchiefs into which you blow your nose and then return to your pocket. I seriously expect to see him one day, standing on a crate in Speakers’ Corner, evangelizing over the benefits of handkerchiefs and the evils of Kleenex.
His argument is that a handkerchief is a “permanent solution to a permanent problem” and is therefore more cost-effective and better for the environment than a disposable one. I think he sees it as a parable: a robust understanding of personal finance and investing, for example, will prevent you from treading water as an employee.
If, like me, you’re a cool hipster-dipster, you will not have used a cotton handkerchief in a very long time, if ever. It strikes you as old-mannish and faintly unhygienic. But when Wringham bought me some hankies as a Christmas present last year (big spender), I was forced to reassess my opinion of them.
Hankies are fucking brilliant! They are infinitely better than disposable tissues. And if I’m honest, I never even bothered with those. My pockets would usually be stuffed with lengths of bog roll and napkins from sandwich shops. That can’t be right can it?
The main objection to handkerchiefs is that they essentially require you to put a bundle of snot in your pocket. “Wallet, keys, mucous, yup, got everything,” says Jerry Seinfeld.
But this is no different to what we do with disposable tissues. Who throws away a tissue after just one blow? Even if you don’t intend to use it again, you’ll still have to pocket that snot until you find a convenient bin.
And when you consider the multiple advantages of the cotton handkerchief over the disposable tissue, the handkerchief wins hands-down:
– They feel nicer on the nose;
– They can be washed and reused, which is better for the environment;
– You’ll never have to pay for tissues again;
– They don’t clog the washing machine with confetti if you accidentally leave one in a trouser pocket.
Here are some of the things already I’ve used my new handkerchiefs for, which I don’t think tissues would be capable of:
– I used it as a makeshift tourniquet when I injured my foot;
– Several times, I’ve used it to floss a gob of irritating food from between my teeth;
– I’ve used it to mop up non-snot-based spills;
– I’ve used it to swab sweat from my brow when pretending to work hard;
– I’ve used it as a mask to prevent fume and dust inhalation;
– A handkerchief makes a nice soft pad with which to clean an iPhone screen or the lenses of your glasses;
– I’ve used it as an insulator to wrap around a too-hot cup of take-out coffee.
Apparently, I’m supposed to make this article applicable to the “on the lam” theme of Issue Seven. Well, you could tie a handkerchief – ideally a red and white spotted one – to a stick and it’ll hold all of your worldly goods as if you were an old-fashioned hobo.
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Jon Ransom works as a postman by day and writes secret poetry by night.
In Absentia
First published in New Escapologist Issue Three
My work attendance record has more holes in it than a hunk of cartoon cheese. I may regret this when I’m asked to account for near-criminal levels of absentia at a future job interview, but, for now, a stolen day here and there is all that makes my shitty Temp job bearable. When Wringham asked me to write something for my career-afflicted brethren, I knew exactly what to do. Here are my foolproof ways to get time off:
Sickness
Mastering a Ferris Bueller-style ‘sick voice’ is something we’re all familiar with. In the past, I’ve coughed myself hoarse before dialling my boss’s digits. Recently, I’ve rethought the practice. Instead of trying to convince your boss that you’re sick, let them know that you’re faking it. Who cares what the boss thinks? Phone the boss and cheerfully announce that you’re sick as a dog and you can’t possibly come to work. Wahey! This will infuriate your boss, but it would be impolite to second-guess your malady. It’s the office equivalent of mooning a tiger while its safely behind the bars of a cage. Great fun.
If you’re not up to this, the best thing to do is speak in a slightly subdued tone and explain that you have flu-like symptoms and a headache and that you’ll make a doctors appointment if things don’t improve. It’s also a good idea to take your fake sick days mid-week: most people fake illnesses to extend their weekends, so it will be more believable if you’re absent on Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday instead. Showing up on Friday is terrific fun: you’ll be fresh as a daisy while your colleagues are knackered.
Don’t take single sick days. Take three days or even a week. A human being will only fall sick a believable number of times, so you might as well string out each imaginary virus for as long as possible. There’s actually a technique used by Human Resource managers to measure absenteeism called the Bradford Formula. It works on the theory that short, frequent absences are more disruptive than longer, less frequent ones. By putting your feet up for a week instead of a day, you can cheat the system: more time off can actually mean a cleaner absentee record.
Leak in the kitchen
A brilliant way of getting a day off is to report a mechanical problem at home. ‘There’s a leak in my kitchen!’ is the classic. What you don’t have to report, however, is that it’s a actually a leek. That is, of the leafy, green variety and that you’ll be eating it in soup-form later, while you watch Richard & Judy.
The best way to report this news is in an urgent tone. Say that you’ll come to work as soon as you’ve “got this mess cleaned up” and as soon as the plumber arrives to take over. Make another call after lunch to say that it’s a more involved problem than you thought or that the plumber is yet to show up. It looks as if you’re going to be here all day, dammit.
The quick pop-out
These are brilliant because you don’t even have to explain them. Extract yourself from your desk and go for a pint in a nearby pub (preferably one your boss is unlikely to frequent). Do so without asking or telling anyone where you’re going. If anyone questions you upon your return, you can blame it on a dental appointment, a doctors appointment or a meeting at another office or organisation.
Job Interview
Your employer is not legally obliged to give you time off for a job interview. The shock of your announcement, however, will knock your boss for six. To play it cool, he’ll probably grant you the day (or a half-day) off. It will also be a signal to your boss that you’re hot property: another organisation is interested enough to commit the time and money to interview you.
If you’re asked for what company you’re being interviewed for, say it’s via an agency and the identity of the company has not been revealed to you. On the other hand, you’re even less likely to arouse suspicion if you can arrange to attend a real job interview: make sure it’s as far afield as possible so that you can enjoy an expenses-paid trip to another city.
Family Emergency
If you need a day off at the drop of a hat, even mid-shift, you can always play the ‘family emergency’ card. To begin with, you simply declare a ‘family emergency,’ preferably with your coat and keys in hand to signify urgency. Usually, your boss will respect your privacy enough not to probe too deeply, but, in the event that he does, you can sacrifice a fictional aunt or uncle. In Curb Your Enthusiasm, Larry David escapes a commitment by reporting the death of a ‘step-uncle,’ because he thinks the specificity of ‘step-‘ is more believable. I’d advise against this in favour of the simplicity of ‘uncle’. I would also avoid using fictional grandmas, mothers or fathers: unlike aunts, uncles, and cousins, those relatives are limited by nature.
Depression/Long-Term Sick
Perhaps the ultimate in ill-gotten time off is to complain to your doctor about stress, anxiety, insomnia or depression. Refer intermittently to a stressful workload. If you happen have physical ailments that could be attributed to stress, such as eczema or hives, be sure to use them to good effect. Your doctor can write you a note for weeks or months away from work. If it’s a work-related stress problem, you will have the rare pleasure of presenting the doctor’s note to your boss and saying “I’m sick and it’s your fault.”
Feeling Guilty?
It’s imperative that you feel no guilt about taking time off. If you’re feeling guilty, you won’t be able to concentrate on watching Trisha or building a tower of beermats or however it is you choose to spend your bonus day. Absenteeism is better for everyone than presenteeism: there’s no point being at work if you’re just going to stare out of the window or at Facebook for seven and a half hours. Also, by taking a high number of sick days, you may even reward your office with the honour of ‘sick building syndrome’ and your bosses may have to reassess the quality of their working environment. Everyone’s a winner.
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Jon Ransom has had many, many temp jobs. He really just wants to work in the fresh air and be left alone.
