Wednesday, November 20, 2013

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Your Tax Dollars At Work

1. You're 2 security assistants who have a problem with your manager and decide rather than NUT UP and be a man and tell your manager you have a problem with him, you scamper off to his boss to lodge a complaint.
2. You're that boss and decide to punish the manager in #1 by relocating the workers to different positions, thereby reducing the department of the aforementioned manager in #1 to one person, that being the manager himself. (Yes, you read correct: a department of ONE PERSON.)
3. You're a former-security assistant who is the go-to person for issues that arise when the manager in #1 is out of the office, and despite you and everyone else knowing this, you put others in the middle by refusing to do what you're supposed to do if/when that manager is out of the office, when folks go directly to you, yanno, since we're all, allegedly, on the same team, which then leaves those of us caught in the middle to project, albeit second hand, your assholeishness to the bossman to get him to deal with the situation at hand, which hilariously enough, involves HIM asking you to do the very thing you were just asked to do in the first place.

Your tax dollars at work, motherfuckers! 

Total time it took to get someone to remedy this situation: 20 minutes.
Total time it should have taken to remedy this situation, minus the assholery:  1< scant minute should have been sufficient to remedy the situation.

Thursday, November 14, 2013

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Horsey McBigtooth Edition

You might be an asshole if you treat me like the mother-fucking-hired-help and decide to do a power play with me over something that'd take less than 2 minutes to remedy:

No, dipshit. *I* am the one being the asshole for insisting you re-do your certified mail and put the return receipt on the back of the envelope LIKE THE REST OF HUMANITY DOES, because very clearly, I do NOT have anything better to do with my time than to fuck with your outgoing mail item. CLEARLY, I am the one being the asshole here. (NOT!)

(hour later...)

Touche dipshit. Insisting on leaving the return receipt required tag on the front of your envelope? Bravo on asserting yourself. I shall stamp the envelope and YOU can go to the overcrowded post office during YOUR lunch hour and see how this experiment goes.

I thoroughly anticipated She-of-the-Big-Toothedness to return to the office VICTORIOUS, a la Smuggy McSmuggerson (on the very off chance that she could mail the item with the green tag on the front of the mail article). But no! GLORY DAY, GLORY DAY, MOTHERFUCKERS! She slinked back to her office and nary a peep was heard from for the rest of the day. I can only deduce that "she got told" by a USPS clerk to do up a new tag.  

I am counting down the days until our office relocates (estimated time from now: 94 days, unless they change the date AGAIN), at which point in time Karma will reach around and bite her in her ass (in the form of her becoming part of the herd and no longer a "some body special" with an actual office with a door). Comeuppance Day is a-comin', bitch! Yeee hawwww!

End Note: FML. She didn't say shit to me yesterday because I went into stealth mode. Apparently you CAN stick that green tag on the front of your envelope (if there's room). So of course, moving forward, that's how she's going to do that from now on just to be a twat. 

PS: She shall be dubbed Horsey McBigtooth. While looking like Jack McBrayer of 30 Rock is okay for Jack McBrayer, it's not a good look for a female. Yeah, picture Jack McBrayer with a pixie haircut and a barrette, with entitlement issues. That's what I'm dealing with. She could very easily eat an apple thru a picket fence, if you know what I mean.