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Working at the Ministry
Dec. 8th, 2008 04:16 pmHas been a lot quieter than I expected. Most of the employees are heading home for the day when I arrive in the changing rooms to put on my coveralls. It's almost like swimming upstream just to walk in the door, but once I find my locker to stow my robes, it's almost eerily silent. I start my cleaning rounds in the loos, probably my least favourite part of the day, although I do enjoy the sound of my voice echoing off the walls when I start humming. Once the toliets are sparkling clean, it's onto the offices I go.
I wonder if there is some sort of desktop psychology handbook out there. It's amazing to notice the differences between the workspaces of various Ministry officials on Level 3. Some extra-tidy, some just downright slovenly, and everything in between. You can't even come up with any conclusions about the type of person drawn to work in one department or another: Muggle Domestication, Purity Control, Muggleborn Labour, etc.
The offices are mostly deserted and dark by the time I arrive, but not always. I've run into two of the workers so far: Mr Warrington and Mr Weasley. Even though their desks look much alike (piled high with files and rubbish), they're like night and day in temperament.
My first encounter with Mr Warrington frightened me rather badly: he threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse on me when he couldn't locate his records of last week's new placements, saying that I had misplaced them. I had just started cleaning his office a moment before and had gone no where near his desk. Fortunately he found what he was looking for after about two minutes of rifling through the mess on his desk, and snarled at me to keep my filthy halfblood hands away from his stuff.
I was fortunate that it was Mr Wesley's papers I managed to splash when I took a flop over my wash bucket. He must have heard me swearing rather loudly, as he came running down the hall to make sure that I was okay. I was no more bruised than usual, but I felt terrible over his drenched file folders. We talked for a bit, and I found him to be very friendly. He even offered for me to come and say hello on nights when he's working late, which seems to be more often than not. I'll take a friendly face over snarls any night.
The end of my work day comes when it's time to do the corridors on my way out the door. There mustn't be a speck of dirt or grim left on the floors or the walls, and all refuse must be vanished. By this time of the night, I'm completely knackered and glad to be done.
I wonder if there is some sort of desktop psychology handbook out there. It's amazing to notice the differences between the workspaces of various Ministry officials on Level 3. Some extra-tidy, some just downright slovenly, and everything in between. You can't even come up with any conclusions about the type of person drawn to work in one department or another: Muggle Domestication, Purity Control, Muggleborn Labour, etc.
The offices are mostly deserted and dark by the time I arrive, but not always. I've run into two of the workers so far: Mr Warrington and Mr Weasley. Even though their desks look much alike (piled high with files and rubbish), they're like night and day in temperament.
My first encounter with Mr Warrington frightened me rather badly: he threatened to use the Cruciatus Curse on me when he couldn't locate his records of last week's new placements, saying that I had misplaced them. I had just started cleaning his office a moment before and had gone no where near his desk. Fortunately he found what he was looking for after about two minutes of rifling through the mess on his desk, and snarled at me to keep my filthy halfblood hands away from his stuff.
I was fortunate that it was Mr Wesley's papers I managed to splash when I took a flop over my wash bucket. He must have heard me swearing rather loudly, as he came running down the hall to make sure that I was okay. I was no more bruised than usual, but I felt terrible over his drenched file folders. We talked for a bit, and I found him to be very friendly. He even offered for me to come and say hello on nights when he's working late, which seems to be more often than not. I'll take a friendly face over snarls any night.
The end of my work day comes when it's time to do the corridors on my way out the door. There mustn't be a speck of dirt or grim left on the floors or the walls, and all refuse must be vanished. By this time of the night, I'm completely knackered and glad to be done.
