Archive for the ‘Work’ category

Today

August 20, 2009

Today…my old manager told me he’s “having some interesting challenges” at his new client. All the while he had a grin on his face. I also noticed he stopped making eye contact. Instead, he was staring over my shoulder at the firm backsides of a few of my female counterparts as they walked away. I couldn’t tell if he thought I wouldn’t notice he had a huge eye boner, if he was thinking about the correlation or if he was genuinely mesmerized by the 20-something year old saddles in his sights. Either way, it got me wondering if I could decode what the hell my bosses really mean when they say certain things. Like, was he unintentionally implying that he’s fucking one of our clients because people usually aren’t aroused when they talk about challenges? I’ve never gotten wood from driving on the highway in a snowstorm. Or are there really work-related challenges associated with his project? Over the past few hours I’ve decoded 5 office messages:

1) “We’ll be basing compensation on our position in this tough economy.” = “Your raise is nowhere near as important as my new mistress’ penthouse. So, your raise is going to be enough to buy an extra gallon of gas each month, and if you don’t like it, so the fuck what! Your severance package will be being permitted to leave the building without a tazer on your nuts.

2) “Let’s table this issue.” = “Bitch! Don’t you ever embarrass me in a meeting by proving me wrong. Guess who jumped to the top of the head count reduction list.”

3)”That’s low-hanging fruit that we can take care of with no problem.” = “This is an easy task that I believe is below me. I’ll delegate it to someone under me I hate more than VD and then micro-manage the fuck out of it.”

4)”He was overqualified for this position. We’d have been doing him a disservice.” = “He’d have had all of our jobs inside of a year.”

5)”We’re going to do the right thing for our people.” = “We’re going to bombard you with one-way communication until you’re satisfied. All the while, the data we’re sending you is ‘massaged [with a happy ending for the top executives]’, and the messaging is sugar-coated double-speak that passes for straight talk.”

Borrower’s Remorse

August 9, 2009

Did you bring your puppy to work?  No?  You don’t even have a puppy?  Then what the fuck, sir, is the deal with this?  I thought I let you borrow a pen earlier.  What you just handed me looks like a used coffee stirrer.  But that can’t be the case because there’s ink in it, and it has what use to be a cap that wasn’t covered in dry spit and tooth marks.  So, I guess my next question should be, “What the fuck, man?!?!”  Is this how you repay people when they do you favors, asshole?  If I let you borrow my car, would you bring it back with dents that you kicked into it yourself and a smashed windshield?  Or how about I let you stay at my place if you lose your job, and you punch holes in my walls and shit on my rugs?  Maybe the next time you ask me to borrow something, I’ll just give you the finger and a quick toodle-loo.

Aye Aye, Cap’n!

July 7, 2009

pirateI don’t know if you noticed, but we’re not on a frigate in the middle of fucking gun battle with Her Majesty’s Royal Navy.  We’re not dressed like pirates, and I’m not wearing a fucking eye patch!  So, it might be in your best interest to stop barking out orders like some sort of power-crazed babysitter on an ego trip.  Otherwise, you might have a mutiny and a concussion headed your way faster than a bullet train.  I mean, where the fuck do you get off?  It’s not like people won’t listen to you if you’re the boss, at least not all the time.  The position doesn’t come with an ‘I’m always right card’.  However, you pretty much just need to ask to get the wheels turning on anything.  Or if you prefer a paper trail, an e-mail with bullet points is always good. 

I mean, be civil or expect to be treated like a verbally abusive pirate ship captain…office style.  I’ll give you an idea of what you could expect since you may be a little slow.  How about a twist on Chinese Water Torture where we drip fresh brewed Starbucks Breakfast Blend on your junk.  We could even make you drink liquid crystals from your monitor till you poop in Technicolor.  Or we could strip you naked, cover our hands in thumbtacks, tie you up, and just slap the shit out of you for like an hour straight.  That’s some real pirate shit!  Yaaaaaar!

Old People & Technolgy

July 1, 2009

Old-People-and-Technology

Only the strong survive.  So, put down the mouse and step the fuck back, or learn how to use that F1 key, punk bitch!  I don’t have all day to send something to you for review, get it back with your “updates” [very un-fucking-helpful changes], and then correct all the fuck ups you contributed to my formatting.  Nice work, tiny Tim, you have now, at the very least, doubled the time it takes to review a document.  How about you stick to writing on paper and leave typing to the pros.  I know we’ve had keyboards for a while now, but you’re worse than a caveman trying to make fire in a hurricane. 

Old-People-Technology-=-Oil-Water

I’d be more sympathetic if you weren’t such a cocky jerk about it, claiming you’ll take care of it.  I’d have better luck putting my laptop in a dishwasher because you’re more illiterate than Helen Keller before the Miracle Worker showed up.  I bet you wouldn’t be such a fucking know-it-all if we were talking about skydiving safety or how to properly masturbate with a flaming glove on.  I bet you’d listen to my instructions like I was telling the secret of how to get into Megan Fox’s panties without being handsome or rich.  If that’s not up your alley, or you’re into penis and can’t think of a substitute of the opposite sex, then you’re beyond hopeless.  And that leaves us where we began…you’re a douche that refuses to adapt.  Take your old ass to the shuffleboard court before I double-click you up and down the nearest  flight of stairs.

Weekday Forced Networking

June 10, 2009

Weekend Forced NetworkingWhat do you get when you cross a person forced to work 60 hour weeks and bosses that have decided they don’t want to go home tonight?  This is not really an open-ended question, given the title and all.  However, if you guessed ‘a free trip to a strip club’, you’re 8% right.  The other 92% of that answer is ‘a 2 to 3 hour shit show where you’re served high calorie appetizers and beer (mixed drinks if you’re lucky).’  Of course, this would be awesome on a weekday if you didn’t have to be to work by 8 AM and you weren’t surrounded by the same people you’ve been around for the last 10 hours.  Another acceptable answer might be ‘a drunken tryst that ends in a nasty divorce and issues with authority at future jobs’.

Basically, your bosses get more respect, to their faces, in the workplace than they do at home.  Think about it.  Would you be the happiest person in the world if you worked 70+ hours a week to afford your family the best of the best only to have your kids tell you they hate you while your spouse schedules all your free time with stuff you don’t want to do?  Easy answer, “FUCK NO!”  Who would?  Not me!  Dare I say that I’d be as near to suicidal as possible?  Dare I also say that instances like this are the roots of chronic alcoholism?

The weeknight social event is where your boss gets their chance to shine.  You should keep in mind that there is a chance your boss will go a little overboard with the drinking and become a douche and a half.  I’ve found that the best way to deal with habitual line crossers is to say nothing at the time.  Instead, you should wait till you’re with your coworkers to sow the seeds of disloyalty.  Eventually, they’ll sense their work family is becoming eerily similar to their real family and get their shit together.  If not, quit for a new job after you finally get that raise.  As an alternative to that, you could grow a pair, threaten your boss with a sexual harassment suit and quit after they give you a raise as compensation for being such a bag.

Take a Note

May 28, 2009

Take a noteBitch!  Of course, I could take a note.  I have two degrees, and the skills of a fucking champion!  You know what that means?  You, most likely, have a similar, though inferior, skill set.  This means you could take a note, at the very damn least.  Ever hear of a tape recorder, chump?  How about that BlackBerry on your big ass hips?  Yet, you ask me to take a 4-word note for you.  If your middle-aged ass can’t remember to send one e-mail, quit the game today, and don’t even think about pushing ‘restart’, punk bitch!  Just because you make more money than me, doesn’t mean I’m here to take fucking notes because your wrist is sore from beating it to UFC.  So, stuff your sorrys in a sack and go fuck yourself.  When you get back, take your own note.  Then, promptly choke on it!  Or I could write that shit on your shirt with a Sharpie.  MAKE A CHOICE!

Where’s the Common Courtesy

May 21, 2009

When was the last time your buddy asked you to describe your underwear? Unless you’re a moron and think I’m referring to a cuddle buddy, friend with benefits, or booty call, the answer should easily be, “NEVER!!!” If the answer was anything other than never, it should have been answered with a firm slap to the cheek of your choice. You know why your buddy’s never ask you that question? It’s because they don’t fucking care and never will or should! So, I implore you. Bathroom EtiquetteWhy is it every time I go into the bathroom with my guard down some jackass in $200 slacks is pissing with his belt around his ankles?

Is that really necessary? Apparently not, because your johnson isn’t coiled around one of your legs. So, I ask again, what is the reason for dropping your pants all the way to the floor while standing up to pee? Was it an accident? Did you eat chips at lunch, and your pants just slipped between your fingers? Are you airing out a wretched fart that got caught in the fabric of your pants? All of these reasons would be acceptable if you walked your lazy ass the extra three steps to a stall and promptly shut the door. Next time a toe kick to the asshole might immediately follow my outrage. Fuckin ri-donk-ulous!