Thursday, May 29, 2014

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Poo Redux

"Gee thanks for not photographing your dump. I still haven't recovered after the last time you did that." 

Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Putting the ASS in ASSault Weaponry

Behold, my primary ASSault weapon in my workplace ARSEnal!!! BEHOLD!!!!

Yes. I keep this can of air freshener front and center on my desk, because my sense of smell is assaulted on such a regular basis, it is all I can do to prevent myself from ZOMG RAGEPUMMELING the assholes who insist on either CROP DUSTING as they pass my cubicle, or insist on eating uber-stenchy fish soup in a small, confined workplace. 

Today saw fit for a bonus round of workplace pants crapping by my cube's next door neighbor who sits a scant 18 inches from me, who is preparing for a capsule endoscopy tomorrow a.m., who has been obviously on laxatives and clear liquids since roughly noon today, who has been involuntarily farting (and saying "Excuse me" to herself the entire time, WTF). And by "farting" I mean it truly sounds like she's been stomping the life out of the AFLAC duck.

Dear Universe: Please, for the love of all that is holy, please just make this stop and get me the fuck out of this workplace.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Shithouse Edition

Note to self: 

No. Others who use the workplace shithouse were NOT raised by wolves. If they were, in fact, raised by wolves, they would not shit or piss directly on the toilet seat, but "toilet adjacent."

Those Who Hope, Die Farting

How my day's evolving:
7:45 Woke up despairing
9:30 Arrive at work.
9:35 Poop.
10:07 Sudden onset hopefulness(*1).
10:30 Cheese and crackers.
11:40 Back to Despair(*2).
T-Minus 9 minutes until forced, faux-friendliness w/doorman.

*1: Received an email from an interested party in re: my resume. Started email back and forth, wherein I put my top three terms of what I am looking for in a job, clearly stated.

*2: Realization that if I took the job, it would require a $10 per hour CUT in salary. 

Mavenism of the Moment: Friend... or "FAUX?"

Yes. "Faux." Not to be confused with foe. In this context, "faux" would be those people you appear "friendly enough" to skirt the issue that you find them tedious as fucking a mud puddle, but you have to maintain some measure of professional courtesy because they are the first person you see when entering your workplace (for example).  

So it's uncharacteristically disingenuous as fuck for me to "faux-friend" this person, but it'd be more cruel for me to be even more blunt and tell him why. Smile, nod, keep things short, and get the fuck out of Dodge first chance I can get. 

I don't mind long philosophical conversations or even long conversations about slice of life or absurdity--but this drain? I get enough of it from my own mother, I don't need to outsource crazy, abusive, narcissism... and well? TIME WASTER.

For example: 

I've been working here since St. Patrick's Day (roughly two and a half months). One of our doormen is Haitian. While normally I love a French accent and find it continental and sexy and sometimes sophisticated, I've now downgraded this wuss to "faux." 

He is a 40 year old man who whines endlessly about how his mother abuses him and his kindness. While, yes, I *have* informed him,  "NUT UP MAN, YOU ARE IN YOUR FORTIES! NIP THAT SHIT IN THE BUD!" he continues with the whining. Nothing worse than a grown assed man acting like a powerless, neutered little boy. A whining, powerless little boy who pronounces friend as "FWEND."  And this is inescapable, as he starts every interaction with, "My fwend..."

Bottom line is, he's become a drain on me, my patience, my attention span, and has become a time waster.

I have now taken to staggering my lunch hour by a scant five minutes, so when I approach the lobby, people are already engaging him in conversation, and by the time I am done with my soup and ready to head back up to my office at 2:05, he's already progressed onto his next work station elsewhere for the remainder for the day.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Friend or Foe, Motherfucker... Friend or Foe?

I hate "people."
"People" stop being "people" when they become friends. 
Friends stop being friends when they become assholes. 
So to refine my hatred, I also hate assholes.

Friday, May 2, 2014

Scenes From the Salt Mine

A fine counterpoint for those who pooh-pooh or worry about my occasional use of pocket likker for medicinal purposes in the workplace. Yes. This actually has replaced the communal jug of Absolut. 

.oO? Oookay....

Sharing this picture which embodies sufficient WTF to warrant sharing on this blog. 

Yes. a box of books. Roughly 50 books in a 5 gallon Roughneck, which SHOULD have been an easy "hit and run" type of errand, dropping off at Good Will. Only, what's that? Yeah. No. I couldn't drop off the bushel of books because my mother, apparently, was in the habit of dumping her used hypodermics in with her books. Why? I haven't a clue, as she had both, a garbage pail AND a sharps container within easy reach of her recliner. My upper lip snarls up in disgust thinking of it.

Thursday, May 1, 2014

Caveat Bloggum: Blog Reader Beware!

Just a head's up, that if you continue to scroll through my archives, it is quite possible you will come face to face (or face-to-toilet, rather) with a photo my co-irker had sent to my WORK PLACE EMAIL address without a subject line, and without a file name that would belie what, exactly, was in the photo attachment. 

I shall pepper this warning amongst other blog posts, as a warning. I believe I will plant the photo, back dated perhaps as the maiden post of this blog because it demands being documented.

You have been warned.