Confessions of a payroll manager – In an emergency, hyperventilate!
A nother episode in a series of reports revealing the arcane, weird and sometimes torturous world of payroll frequented by payroll professionals. I’m writing this from my sick bed, safe and sure in the knowledge that my team are equipped and ready to cope without me for a bit. How can I be so sure? Well, we had the mother of all dress rehearsals for staff absence just a few days ago. In payroll, as in most office environments, you get into a routine. You have a plan in your head of what needs to be done each day: your team comes in, you exchange greetings and opinions on the latest Strictly come dancing scores (before Stevie flounces off in a huff because no-one else agrees with him that it was a definite ten) and then you set to work. But that didn’t happen last Monday as I got three sad, sniffly phone calls from Evie, Jace and Harry all letting me know they were too poorly to come in. After doing my motherly thing and suggesting copious amounts of hot squash, warm blankets and viewing Homes under the hammer, panic set in. I was three members of staff down on payroll cut-off day and there was a mountain of processing to do that suddenly looked like some kind of paper-based demon ready to eat me whole! When I’d finished hyperventilating – and Tom had set me up with a mug of hot chocolate and a big hug – I thankfully remembered that after a similar situation happened a few years ago when Mr Crumbitt had ‘treated’ us all to a water- sport extravaganza team away day resulting occasional yet insightful / inciteful, anonymous and whimsical
in three cases of flu, one broken arm and six weeks of therapy, I had written a contingency plan. I found the aforementioned plan in a creased plastic folder in my bottom desk drawer nestled between half a packet of soggy Ryvitas (from the team’s ill-advised ‘slimathon’ three years ago) and several unopened packets of Mr Crumbitt’s most extravagant experiments (including one that appeared to be glowing green and emitting tiny squeaking sounds). Despite the plan being several years old the first number I’d noted for ‘emergency payroll staffing’ still worked and I was put through immediately to a sympathetic, nasal-voiced lady called Sandra who called me ‘duckie’ repeatedly and assured me “Margaret and Ben” were their star performers and would “sort you all out in a jiffy…duckie”. However, after the initial sense of relief doubts began creeping in. How good would they be? How could I show them what needed to be done while simultaneously cracking on with my own work? What if they’d never seen anything like Sidney (our system) before? What if they didn’t like biscuits or me? By the time I’d finished another bout of hyperventilating and been treated to yet another hot chocolate and hug combo (I really do love Tom), Margaret and Ben had arrived and like some 21st century knights on pushbikes they set to work rescuing me from the processing demon. Turned out they’d both used the system before and actually showed me some nifty shortcuts that I’ll definitely be passing on to the rest of the team at the next huddle. Within an hour of them arriving a pleasing quiet descended, marred only by the sound of nimble, confident fingers hitting keys, the
occasional slurp of a coffee being drunk and the all-too-familiar sound of a dunked biscuit losing it’s fight for integrity and splashing into a mug of tea. Ben proved himself to be fantastic cover for Evie and took over phone enquiry duties with real flair. He even handled Gerald’s annual complaint about his overtime not being enough with confidence and imagination, setting Gerald’s mind at rest while also distracting him with an entertaining conversation about peas and the merits of mushing them. Finally, just an hour later than I’d initially planned, the work was complete, the demon slayed and with barely a murmur, Margaret and Ben departed leaving myself and Tom dazed at our desks wondering if that day had actually happened. The following day the team came back to work without a sniffle remaining. We regaled them with tales of the legendary Margaret and Ben and also made a team decision to update the contingency plan at the next away day. By Tuesday afternoon it was if they’d never been away, but the sound of Evie sneezing made sure that I didn’t get complacent too fast. That sneeze was the beginning of my cold. So I find myself here – hot squash, blankets and daytime TV activated – and confident that my team will be fine without me. And if not – there’s always Margaret and Ben! Stay warm folks (and may all your squash be hot). ❏ The Editor: Any resemblance to any payroll manager or professional alive or dead, or any payroll department or organisation whether apparently or actually portrayed in this article is simply fortuitous.
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| Professional in Payroll, Pensions and Reward |
Issue 27 | February 2017
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