work

another day at work

ME: Here are the tote labels for China, I didn’t print V2 because I don’t have a recent build for it, so I guess they’re going to build it this week, so I’ll print the labels once it’s built… Do you want me to just put them on your desk?

CO-WORKER: That’s fine, do you have the V2 labels?

 

 
Get me out of here.

Another Monday

I have not stopped farting at my desk since I got here.  It’s a scary place to find yourself when you’re right by the stairwell door that 75% of the office uses.   I can’t fan it quickly away when I hear people coming up the stairs either, because my boss’ desk stares directly at me and I’m pretty sure he suspects I’m the sort of person that would do such a thing under their desk.  Summer also means no jacket to muffle the winds either, so they spread across the plains as they please.
I’m not lactose intolerant, but my dairy intake is slightly excessive.  It’s the cheese, I love the cheese, and this is the curse of being a cheese lover.

Only Thirty-Seven Hours of the Work Week Left

As much as I dislike Mondays, I’ve never found them to be nearly as difficult as Tuesdays.

a) because Monday morning coffee is the cat’s pajamas

b) because everyone I work with is so tried that they don’t talk to me

c) because any caught-red-handed slacking can be easily justified with a  “sorry, it’s Monday; I don’t know where my brain is”

Tuesdays, however, are just miserable things.  It’s like popping out of auto-pilot and feeling the full weight of everything.  Plus, the ABC’s of Monday are gone.  The coffee is good but not GREAT, people want to talk again and there are no excuses for slacking.  Monday has a certain edge to it that makes everyone else semi-miserable and since I’m usually Gloomy Gertrude, I benefit from their silent agony; I really do, I’m just going to come right out and say it.
I certainly don’t root for anyone’s misery, I’m just completely burned by this Monday-Friday routine.  I like routine things on my own terms, not on payroll terms.  Working in an office, truly is like Office Space.  When I was young, it was hilarious.  As an adult, it is far too realistic.  Peter truly is the blue-collar hero.
I’m ready for my Colorado cabin and occupational typewriter with a bottle of whiskey now.  I’ve had enough of this 40 hour a week crap.

Wednesday at Work

Today is one of those days where I play “There’s a murderer in the warehouse!”.
This is where I run through the storage racks where we store our overstock and pretend I’m hiding from “a murderer in the warehouse”.
Although, I have to say, it’s not quite as fun as “There’s a murderer on the staircase!” which speaks for itself.  I’d like to thank my dad for my strange fascination with running from a killer for allowing me to watch horror movies during crucial years of development.  I’d also like to thank my anti-social tendencies for allowing me to play imaginary games by myself at twenty-seven.

This is where you hide from a murderer.

This is where you hide from a murderer.

my life vs. the awesomeness of yours

As many of you may already know, I’ve allowed my life’s wonderful choices to land me at the mercy of public transportation.  Not to mention lugging a bike around when the distance is too far to walk.  It’s a pretty unglamorous life.  Some days, I handle it like a champ.  Other days, I give myself the sort of ass-kicking that parents take notes to.  This morning was a beautiful blend of both.
I have the choice of two routes on my way to work every morning.  There is only about a 2 minute difference, but the longer route is cushioned by layers of houses between me and the population of people who have the privilege of driving to work.  When I’m grumpy, that is the route I choose.  Yesterday, I was grumpy, so I dragged my ass the “long way” to work.
When I reached about 3/4 of the way to work, I was suddenly blindsided by the most awful smell you could ever imagine.  It was equivalent to the stench of stockyards or a zoo, but as if there were a sewage leak near and the sewage and animal shit fused together and formed a sort of super shit.  I pulled my shirt above my nose but still had to stop riding every twenty feet or so from my gagging.  For a flicker of a moment, I considered there might be dead animals or even dead bodies piled in the ditch near me.  To make it worse, that particular patch of area is flat, so the wind blew the odor right in to my face.

Noted.

This morning, a bit more chipper and happy with my music selection (it makes a big difference when riding down crowded streets), I was glad to avoid the long route, not even daring to test my luck with the stench.  However, as soon as I got to the intersection of the main road, I was greeted by the smell again.  It was actually worse than it had been the day before.  My eyes began to water immediately and I could taste the smell on my tongue and that’s when I saw it; in the corn field right along the road, mounds and mounds and mounds of manure.  There were at least 15-20 little hills of it, all stacked neatly about 12 feet from the sidewalk.  I have never wanted to end my life more than I did at the exact moment.  But don’t worry, my life isn’t that easy and that’s not the worst of if, oh no, at the precise moment I decided to pedal as fast as I could past it all, some higher power decided to bathe in disaster that is my life and give me a flat tire.  Yes, a flat tire.  So not only was I less than twenty feet from piles of animal shit, I had to walk half a mile along it’s path.  HALF A MILE.  DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW TERRIBLE IT SMELLED?
A bag of manure, sure, no problem.
One-hundred bags of manure?  Sure, smells bad but tolerable.
Tons, literally TONS of manure?  I ask again, do you have any idea how terrible it smelled?  It also created a wall for the breeze of traffic zooming by, so not only were my nostrils filled with the aroma, I also enjoyed the ricocheting breeze off of a wall of shit, an actual wall of shit.  And to anyone who’s ever walked a bike, you know that walking it one-handed is more difficult than it should be.  I had to push my head down in to my shirt and walk like a fucking crazy person past a dozen piles of poop right next to a high-traffic road.  It was literally a walk of shame.

The thing is, though, as uncharming and unexciting as my life is, it is full of miserable and embarrassing moments such as these.  I’ve basically become desensitized by it to the extent that my first reaction is to write about it rather than get angry.   And because I’m not adventurous or naturally funny, I feel I should make up for it by being able to openly criticize my plight with satire.  I have mastered self-depreciation right before it beckons sympathy.  I have conquered the art of letting people laugh at my failures without feeling sorry for me and it is wonderful, shameless place to live in.
And just in case you don’t believe me:

 

IMG_8812

And There’s Not Even Cake

It’s moments like this that make me hate my position in life.

yup

You may be dazzled by the Comic Sans font, but I assure you, this is no party – this is a group march straight to hell.  Not only does this happen at least twice a month, but after the standard “Happy Birthday to You”, there is a sliver of awkward silence followed by some god-awful G-rated joke that everyone pretends is comedy gold.
Then, the CEO, in all of his PG edge-pushing glory makes a joke about something on the birthday card (each one a special photoshop of someone’s face in a picture that represents an inside joke maybe three people get but everyone acts as if they’re in on), and everyone’s face turns brown as they laugh at something cataclysmic even to the pulse of something as beige as office-humor.
I’d be lying if I said my happiness couldn’t be bought with cake.  But trust me, there is none to be had.  Plus, with Bob throwing his insulin needles in the garbage, it’s probably best not to take any chances in a place with such fine minds.

Mmm Hmm, Thas’ Right

I have discovered my favorite thing about my desk being in front of my bosses office.
No, it’s not hearing restroom sounds from the single-person restrooms.  Not, it’s not watching people pound on the copier.  It’s the expressions of people’s faces when they see my boss is on the phone or with someone else in his office.  Especially John, whom I speak of frequently.  I think it’s because he feels like his job is the most important one here.  I LOVE seeing him walk up to my boss’ door eager as all hell,  and then watching his face droop in to an annoyed expression.  Sometimes he’ll linger and eavesdrop and even put his two cents in to the conversation (because he’s a social-moron) and then proceed to interrupt.
Bless this Friday he just walked back to find my boss and saw he wasn’t in his office.  His long sigh was followed by a “dang it, every time I try to talk to him, he’s busy or not in his office”.   How badly I wanted to tell him it’s because my boss’ job actually matters.
I bet you’re wondering what he’s done now?  Well, last week he tried to throw me under the bus because he couldn’t even complete one, simple task that his job requires.  I’ve worked here almost a year and he didn’t set me up with an alarm code until last Friday.  I’ve asked him at least 7 times within the time I’ve worked here and instead of installing mine, he gave me his about 4 months ago when I was working late trying to finish orders before a business trip.
Well, I switched my hours from 7:30-4:00 to 7:00-3:30 which means I’m the first to arrive now.  I asked him to set my alarm code last Monday and he said he would.  Weeeeell, by Thursday, I didn’t get an e-mail or anything telling me I was set up, so knowing he didn’t do it, I walked in, punched in the code I asked him to give me and then ate my breakfast in the lunchroom with alarms going off.
I knew this was the only way to go about this because I knew the alarm company would call him and he’d finally do his fucking job and add my code to the system.
By the end of that day, he sent me an e-mail telling me what my new pin would be.  Well, the next morning, I come in and use my code and guess what, it doesn’t work.  So, wtf, right?  Again, I go in the lunchroom and eat my breakfast until Walsh (oh the stories about Walsh) comes in laughing telling me what an idiot John is.
Well, instead of him calling me the day before or the day I set off the alarm to give me his pin (he has my number and used it when I set the alarm off 4 months ago) so the alarms would turn off, he huffs his stupid ass up the stairs and gives me kind of a look like I’m a big, fucking moron.
No “good morning” or any of the feigned cordiality we usually use, he looks at me and says “Yeah, you have to wait 24 hours for the code to go through” and I met his tone with a “Isn’t that something I should have known?  You didn’t tell me that.”
And that was the end of it.  Until this…


I get all of my boss’ e-mails forwarded to me, but John doesn’t know that 🙂
So instead of owning up to the fact that his job performance is to blame, he threw me under the bus.  He knew he’d get his ass chewed and when he told me about the 24 hour thing, he made it sound like it was common knowledge.  That, on top of the fact that he gave me his alarm code 4 months ago but made it sound like he gave it to me until mine was set up.
But, know what?  I love my boss, because my boss saw right through the bullshit.  My boss doesn’t know I get all of his e-mails either.  It was a mistake on my behalf, but I haven’t fixed it yet…
Anyway, after I saw it, I was pissed and I tried to figure out a way to let him know that John was at fault without letting on that I saw the e-mail.  Well, I found a way but my boss was the first to mention the alarm code and he didn’t hide the fact that he thinks John is an incompetent idiot.
It just baffles me that people his [John] age act like such children.  I mean, rather than shift the blame, own up, it’s more respectful and it actually looks better on your behalf.
I’m sorry, I know every other post is about this guy, but seriously, he’s just so much fun to bitch about because he thinks he’s clever and funny and smart and quick-witted and man, is he ever the opposite.
That being said, expect more and more post about him and other co-workers.  And just to put a face with the name:
John Pigeon

 

I’ll eventually get a better picture, but look at that shit-eating-grin.  Disgusting.

 

augh at this office

Seriously, I have never felt as stupid as I do in the presence of these people.  Every time John opens his mouth, I want to curl away in to darkness so I don’t have to hear his tone or his laugh (ah-he-he) or any of his stupid comments ever again.  And then there’s Larry, the guy that’s 50 that rides a scooter.  If he’s not awkward enough, his dead-stare certainly is.  Half of the employees are LDS which makes me feel like everything I say is written down in some notebook they all peek at at the end of the week.
I can’t drink enough Red Bull’s to make myself friendly, so I crouch behind my computer screen when someone walks by.  They all think I need glasses more than I really do at this point.  It’s awful.  I can hear people huffing up the stairs like it’s a mountain side and I’ve learned the who’s-who by the sounds of their walk.
I’m not trying to be cynical, but I just spent my break listening to someone tell me how you have to fit a certain standard to be a member of an LDS church and how there is a sort-of ranking.  I guess my questions and my criticisms most likely made it clear I’m not much in to organized religion or religion at all for that matter.
This whole place is a joke.  The CEO is hardly capable of running a company and constantly makes stupid decisions and not to mention, bad jokes.  The only one that actually laughs is John because his face is smeared with shit from all of his ass-kissing.
But, whatever right?  Decent pay (ha) and benefits paid in full, and my job is EASY.  Still though, the company could be better.

This is sort of like my living hell.

Dear Public Poopers

There is something about hearing the kerplunk of poop hitting the toilet bowl in the stall next to you.  It’s a strange invasion of privacy that you can’t actually stray from or cover-up.  It’s especially awkward when you have to wash your hands next to the person, avoiding eye-contact because you know if you look in to their eyes, there is that little flicker of I-know-what-you-were-doing-in-there.
Shouldn’t they at least have the decency to hide in the stall until the other person exits?  I’m sorry, doing your hair and make-up and the “mirror-dance” when you check all angles in one thing.  These are things girl’s restrooms are accustomed to.  But pooping is a totally different thing.  If you’re going to poop in public, ladies, at least pinch it when someone else is right next to you.