The nasties that lurk in the newsroom

Every workplace seems to have their Mr or Mrs (maybe Miss or even Ms) Nasty.

Instead of a chatty “Lesley-Anne speaking, how can I help?”, you get gruffness and a total lack of interest in your problem.

I have to say that the Chronicle is all sweetness and light compared with other places I have worked. The worst I have suffered here is being likened to a grumpy colleague’s ancient pet dog.

But the public excoriation used to be a staple in newsrooms. It was like being back at school as the editor bawled at you that your work was rubbish.

The first term I learned in journalism was not so much “hold the front page” (actually I’ve never heard anyone say that) as “don’t write rubbish” or words to that effect.

Today’s reporters don’t know how lucky they are to use computers, as the editor can hardly throw one of those in the bin . . . although I used to know a man who would have a good try.

I once worked with a gentleman whose reaction to any minor mishap was to slam his keyboard against the desk. If he received a call which he wanted put through to his office, he would invariably pick up the phone before it rang.

Thus the call would be lost and his reaction was always to slam down the phone as hard as possible and then to scream abuse at the person he had asked to transfer the call.

Any suggestion he might have been at fault was met with further abuse, instructions that he dare not be defied, and suggestions that this was gross misconduct and a sackable offence.

A lot of this anger appeared to stem from having had a story screwed up and thrown in the bin in the late 1960s.

The person who committed that dreadful crime still had links with the company and I was ordered to ban him from the editorial floor.

However, Mr Nasty did make us laugh one day. Although he clearly had no idea how to hold a hammer he spent a morning putting up some awards we had won, even though they were of dubious quality.

As time went on, a number of people reported that their computers had crashed. Nothing strange in that, it was an ancient system maintained by the chief photographer.

Then the truth dawned. Mr Nasty had put a nail through a cable. The system was ruined but, as the boss, he was able to laugh it off.