Life Lessons I've Learned from Tony Soprano, #5

"Everyday's a gift, but does it HAVE to be a pair of socks?"

So Sayeth the Soprano,
Amen.

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Drivlings From the Salt Mine

The thing I love about loud talkers (who talk on their cell phone like it's a coffee can attached to another coffee can with string) is, that I can talk about how rude they are, while I am standing RIGHT NEXT TO THEM, and they can't hear me. Swear to FSM, there's this guy who's like an effing bumble bee, pollinating otherwise quiet areas in the building with his obnoxiously loud cell phone conversations. 

Hey motherfucker! Yes you! How'zabout you take your ChattyKathy Ass to your OWN office and shut the door?!

Fuckyouverymuch!

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: STFU, GFOADIAF "REPLY ALL" MOTHERFUCKER

Original email sent to every single employee in our agency (as if we all care or even KNOW this dillhole personally--syntax, punctuation and formatting all AS IS/AS WAS): 

            I will be breaking out the Champagne on January 2nd, 2014 to celebrate the start of my life as a relaxed rambunctious retiree.

For those of my colleagues and friends in the [redacted] who may have missed the celebration in Syracuse honoring my 35 years of service with the [redacted] , I would like to offer a few pearls of wisdom.

            From my days in the [redacted] Bureau,  I learned that if you are unable to read a map…you are probably holding it upside down.

I also learned that “chains and links” is not a description of a dysfunctional marital situation.

           From my days in the [redacted #2]  I learned that an insurance adjuster will never admit that the damaged State guardrail probably prevented his/her company from making a larger pay out for the accident.

           I also learned that wrestling with a greased pig at a county fair or litigating with evasive student loan debtors can be pretty much the same experience.

            Finally, from my days in the [redacted #3] Bureau I learned that it is impossible to explain a hospital bill to a patient or his/her family members in under 1,000 words.

               I learned too that my friends and colleagues in the [redacted] are the best. I wish all of you success in your careers and endeavors.

               As they said in Rome….”Laborate et vosmet rebus servate secundum diebus prosperibus”…work hard and save yourselves for happier days…such as retirement!

 Response #1, ALSO, OBVIOUSLY, “REPLY ALL”:

How about litigating with a greased pig ? Thanks for the wisdom, good luck to you! 

Response #2 REPLY ALL:

Hear! Hear! We are going to miss your infamous poems and ponderings …

 [Subtext no doubt: you’re full of shit and prattle endlessly.]

[PLEASE JUST MAKE IT STOP!!!!]

Response #3, ALSO, REPLY ALL:

Witty words of wisdom indeed, and as always; however, now I am picturing you wresting that greased pig!

[WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE? AND WHY THE HELL ARE THEY REPLYING ALL WITH THIS INANE BULLCRAP?]

Response #4, REPLY ALL:

 As someone who is currently working in the [REDACTED]  Bureau, thanks for the tip on the maps---that explains a lot. Have a happy retirement!

Workplace What-the-Fuckery: Douchebaggery En Masse

[Co-worker's mom died yesterday a.m. As per Jewish tradition, she's being buried today. Aforementioned co-worker sits a mere eight (8) feet from me.]

Today's stunning example of Douchebaggery En Masse is, realizing upon arrival this a.m., that EVERY SINGLE PERSON in my office is attending the funeral and burial AS A GROUP. 

Obviously, this was discussed yesterday amongst themselves, yet at no point in time did they think to include me. 

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.

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.

You Might Be An Asshole If...

You might be an asshole if... you are the White Plains Parking Authority drone in question:

(Said to a Parking Code Enforcement Drone): "Hey, are you going to tell her to move? She's in front of a hydrant!"
(Drone): "Uh, she's not blocking you in. You can back up."
Me: "That's a ticketable offense, and you're telling ME to move?"
(Drone): .oO *crickets*
Me:  "Thanks for being so helpful."
Total # of mini-K turns it took to extricate myself from my spot: 3