Lovebitesandeveryfing
Well-Known Member
I don't think The Office was supposed to be funny. And Brent was certainly not supposed to be likeable. We've all met a David Brent.
I watched it with horrified fascination. It made me deeply uncomfortable, because I worked in an office in Becontree (Essex) in the late seventies that was exactly — and I mean exactly — like that. People looking round gloomily at each other in the morning, thinking “This is it. Jesus, this is it! There is nothing else. This is my fucking life!”
I particularly remember one girl, a girl in the secretary pool (yes, it was one of those sorts of places). Pretty girl, quite bright. A bit too aware that she was attractive. About 19 years old, I think. Very difficult girl to work with. If you ever needed a letter typing, or anything, she would do it with studied disdain. As if she was doing you the greatest of favours. Absolutely rigid with anger. To my dying day, I will never forget the look on her face when I told her I'd handed in my notice (I made my escape after two years). She didn't even look at me. Looked down and said, with the deepest melancholy, “Ooh… I wish I could do that.” Even today, I think I should have shaken her by the shoulders and said “You can, Nicola. You must. You're nineteen. Save your life”.
The Office was a very good study in quiet desperation. What was it Pink Floyd sang? Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way…
I watched it with horrified fascination. It made me deeply uncomfortable, because I worked in an office in Becontree (Essex) in the late seventies that was exactly — and I mean exactly — like that. People looking round gloomily at each other in the morning, thinking “This is it. Jesus, this is it! There is nothing else. This is my fucking life!”
I particularly remember one girl, a girl in the secretary pool (yes, it was one of those sorts of places). Pretty girl, quite bright. A bit too aware that she was attractive. About 19 years old, I think. Very difficult girl to work with. If you ever needed a letter typing, or anything, she would do it with studied disdain. As if she was doing you the greatest of favours. Absolutely rigid with anger. To my dying day, I will never forget the look on her face when I told her I'd handed in my notice (I made my escape after two years). She didn't even look at me. Looked down and said, with the deepest melancholy, “Ooh… I wish I could do that.” Even today, I think I should have shaken her by the shoulders and said “You can, Nicola. You must. You're nineteen. Save your life”.
The Office was a very good study in quiet desperation. What was it Pink Floyd sang? Hanging on in quiet desperation is the English way…