Ever had a week that you finish and wonder if you can do it again? I have.
This past week was a rough one. I'd like to not repeat it. The Boss Man is getting crazier by the day. If you would have asked me six months ago if this was possible I would have said an emphatic "NO Way!".
The additional craziness explained... partially... I was walking along with him at one point this week and we were talking about an ongoing project. Every ten or so steps he'd either interrupt me or himself with an under the breath curse accompanied by a full body jerk and a quick wave of the hand. It was like the tantrum of a five year old. But he just kept walking along and didn't say what was wrong. He just kept doing it. I just kept walking and talking like nothing was the matter. Maybe I'm the crazy one. Still debating that one.
Later on his way to lunch he walked into my office and did the same thing. This time it was followed up with him ripping the bluetooth earpiece from his head and tossing it on my desk. "The DAMN thing beeps every time I get an email!" Ah. The light comes on. Now I get it. He reacts to voicemails the same way. A quick curse and throw of the hands in utter exasperation any time he gets a new voice mail. Now with the new laws on hands free driving he wears one of those cursed bluetooth ear pieces any time he's away from his desk.
The wheels were turning. That morning when I showed up to work I had at least twenty emails from him asking for various things. I decided to answer all of them while he was at lunch. I could just see him sitting at the restaurant throwing his tantrums. Yep. I can be a little passive aggressive.
*** By the way the Ghost visited this week. Yes. We have a Ghost. I'll tell you about him soon. He's quite something.
Saturday, February 27, 2010
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Down the Drain
Rules for flushing the toilet are fairly simple.
Wrong!!!
Especially at The Asylum.
The plumbing at The Asylum is loud. Plain and simple. It is loud. Loud enough that when somebody in the upstairs bathroom flushes everyone can hear it. This is how I know what I know. And what I know is that there are two inmates at The Asylum that don't follow the rules. They are outside the box. Way outside.
Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... This is what we hear when either Harriet or the Boss is using the facilities. Not one. Not two, but an average of five. FIVE Flushes. Sometimes it's more and rarely it's less.
Since these are single user bathrooms rule #2 is out. Unless it is a self courtesy flush. Being kind to their own olfactory senses. Could be. But it is still weird. What does one eat that requires multiple flushes.
It has been going on for as long as we've been in The Asylum. It isn't occasionally, it is most everyday. Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... - - - - Flush... Then we start laughing. "We" being the poor souls downstairs that have to suffer through the flushes. The flushing will start and inevitably one of us will say "flush" and then the betting starts on how many there will be. You've got to guess the correct number, we don't allow any overs or unders. There's no prize, just the satisfaction of guessing the correct flush count. What the heck, it helps us pass the time.
Flush...
What is worse, oh yes it gets worse, is that these are two of the non-hand washers. They're doing something so bad to the toilet that it requires at least five flushes and then they don't wash their hands. How can this be? How can you sit there flushing and then think it's okay to not wash your hands. *Gag* I've got to stop. *Glurp* I just threw up a little in my mouth.
- Rule #1: you flush when you're done
- Rule #2: you give a courtesy flush when you're in a public bathroom going #2 and stinking up the place
Wrong!!!
Especially at The Asylum.
The plumbing at The Asylum is loud. Plain and simple. It is loud. Loud enough that when somebody in the upstairs bathroom flushes everyone can hear it. This is how I know what I know. And what I know is that there are two inmates at The Asylum that don't follow the rules. They are outside the box. Way outside.
Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... This is what we hear when either Harriet or the Boss is using the facilities. Not one. Not two, but an average of five. FIVE Flushes. Sometimes it's more and rarely it's less.
Since these are single user bathrooms rule #2 is out. Unless it is a self courtesy flush. Being kind to their own olfactory senses. Could be. But it is still weird. What does one eat that requires multiple flushes.
It has been going on for as long as we've been in The Asylum. It isn't occasionally, it is most everyday. Flush... Flush... Flush... Flush... - - - - Flush... Then we start laughing. "We" being the poor souls downstairs that have to suffer through the flushes. The flushing will start and inevitably one of us will say "flush" and then the betting starts on how many there will be. You've got to guess the correct number, we don't allow any overs or unders. There's no prize, just the satisfaction of guessing the correct flush count. What the heck, it helps us pass the time.
Flush...
What is worse, oh yes it gets worse, is that these are two of the non-hand washers. They're doing something so bad to the toilet that it requires at least five flushes and then they don't wash their hands. How can this be? How can you sit there flushing and then think it's okay to not wash your hands. *Gag* I've got to stop. *Glurp* I just threw up a little in my mouth.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Don't Take Time Off
There is an unofficial punishment for taking time off from The Asylum. You are lashed with emails upon your return. Lashed like a prisoner... like a... crap! Yeah.
See, the Boss keeps an email folder for everyone in the company. This folder contains just about every email he's ever sent to you. Every.Single.One. When you take time off he thinks of you. Then he thinks of the email folder. Then... BAM! He nails you with about 20 for every four hours you take off. Bam. Bam! BAM!!! He fires them off, one after the frick'n other.
"What's going on with this?"
"Is this done? Yet?"
"Status?"
Wait. Don't go. That's not it. The story's not over.
Not only does he punish you when your gone, he punishes you when he's gone. Because he doesn't want you to ever think that he's not working so he does it when he's off. It's easy for him to pop open that folder and shoot off a few "Status?" emails when the wife isn't looking. Or better yet, he'll call. "Princess is in the bathroom so I've just got a sec. Will you please call So-N-So or Whatshisname and check on the gimsogadget for Jackshoff?" "Uh, aren't you on vacation in Mexico?" "Oh, wait... here she comes... sendmeanemailitgottago!"
STATUS?
See, the Boss keeps an email folder for everyone in the company. This folder contains just about every email he's ever sent to you. Every.Single.One. When you take time off he thinks of you. Then he thinks of the email folder. Then... BAM! He nails you with about 20 for every four hours you take off. Bam. Bam! BAM!!! He fires them off, one after the frick'n other.
"What's going on with this?"
"Is this done? Yet?"
"Status?"
Wait. Don't go. That's not it. The story's not over.
Not only does he punish you when your gone, he punishes you when he's gone. Because he doesn't want you to ever think that he's not working so he does it when he's off. It's easy for him to pop open that folder and shoot off a few "Status?" emails when the wife isn't looking. Or better yet, he'll call. "Princess is in the bathroom so I've just got a sec. Will you please call So-N-So or Whatshisname and check on the gimsogadget for Jackshoff?" "Uh, aren't you on vacation in Mexico?" "Oh, wait... here she comes... sendmeanemailitgottago!"
STATUS?
Monday, February 8, 2010
Not Funny. Not.
Have you ever met somebody who is just not funny? Not only are they not funny but they think they're funny but are unable to tell a simple joke? Me too. I work for one.
He wants to be funny. He tries to be funny. He's just not. At all. Funny.
When he tries it comes off as pathetic. Sad really. It's typically a reused joke that someone else has already worn out.
For example, one night a couple of us were hanging out in the office just goofing off. One of the guys had a question about a knot and I showed him how to tie it. This began an informal knot class which led to the ultimate noose knot. After learing how to tie the knot my coworker took the string and knot and strung up this little knick-knack stuffed animal the boss has at his desk. He left it there for the boss to find the next morning hung from the ceiling above his computer.
I don't know why he did it, he just did. Which I guess is what made it funny. It was random. That kinda funny.
Flash to the next morning. I walk into my office to find a small statuette I had on my deskmy strung up in the same knot. This time there was a note attached to it from my boss which read "I got you back sucker!". Oh boy, I was on the floor in hysterics. Not. I didn't find it very funny but he did. He was just waiting for me to come in to watch my face when I saw it. I know this because he was standing right behind me when I turned around. He let me know how funny it was that he got me back.
My coworker who was the one who started it all was nearby trying not to laugh. That's what was funny and my boss had no idea. I just let him think that he got me.
He wants to be funny. He tries to be funny. He's just not. At all. Funny.
When he tries it comes off as pathetic. Sad really. It's typically a reused joke that someone else has already worn out.
For example, one night a couple of us were hanging out in the office just goofing off. One of the guys had a question about a knot and I showed him how to tie it. This began an informal knot class which led to the ultimate noose knot. After learing how to tie the knot my coworker took the string and knot and strung up this little knick-knack stuffed animal the boss has at his desk. He left it there for the boss to find the next morning hung from the ceiling above his computer.
I don't know why he did it, he just did. Which I guess is what made it funny. It was random. That kinda funny.
Flash to the next morning. I walk into my office to find a small statuette I had on my deskmy strung up in the same knot. This time there was a note attached to it from my boss which read "I got you back sucker!". Oh boy, I was on the floor in hysterics. Not. I didn't find it very funny but he did. He was just waiting for me to come in to watch my face when I saw it. I know this because he was standing right behind me when I turned around. He let me know how funny it was that he got me back.
My coworker who was the one who started it all was nearby trying not to laugh. That's what was funny and my boss had no idea. I just let him think that he got me.
Friday, February 5, 2010
Jesus Tongue
Future Boss stopped by my office the other night to check in on me. He's six.
He likes to come to my office because it is kid friendly, meaning I've got candy in my office. I also think he likes to come by and taunt me.
He acts like he owns the place. Not yet my little friend, not yet. He comes in starts picking up things and asking what they are just like a typical six year old. After a bit he becomes bored and comes over and starts watching me work. He just stands there looking over my shoulder. Practice for the future I guess.
Out of the blue he says "your tongue is brown". I explained that I'd been drinking coffee all day and that a brown tongue is one of the side effects. He proceeds to stick his own tongue out asking "what color is my tongue?" I take a peek and tell him that it is mostly red but has a little white and blue on it. He quickly pulled his tongue in and screeched at me with a massively contorted face "Well, I AM a Chrissstiannn!!!" Screeched. Like a little demon child. I was frightened.
After prayed the rosary and regained my composure I said "I'm not sure what Jesus has to do with the color of your tongue, but okay." He stared. I turned back to my work.
I can only imagine that there was an association of red, white and blue with Christianity that he learned somewhere. Home, church, who knows. After all Jesus was an American... right? What I do know is that it freaked me out a little; including the way he said it, his scary face while he said it combined with the idea behind it. Red, white and blue = Christianity. Yikes. Those poor hell-bound foreigners. Yeah, I know other countries have those colors in their flags but it's mostly associated with the good ole USofA.
As for Future Boss, I had to scoot him out of my cell or he would have stayed all night. I didn't want to risk another holy explosion. I told him that there were others he could go proselytize and that I needed to make daddy more money by getting back to work. He quizzically looked at me as I shut my door on him.
He likes to come to my office because it is kid friendly, meaning I've got candy in my office. I also think he likes to come by and taunt me.
He acts like he owns the place. Not yet my little friend, not yet. He comes in starts picking up things and asking what they are just like a typical six year old. After a bit he becomes bored and comes over and starts watching me work. He just stands there looking over my shoulder. Practice for the future I guess.
Out of the blue he says "your tongue is brown". I explained that I'd been drinking coffee all day and that a brown tongue is one of the side effects. He proceeds to stick his own tongue out asking "what color is my tongue?" I take a peek and tell him that it is mostly red but has a little white and blue on it. He quickly pulled his tongue in and screeched at me with a massively contorted face "Well, I AM a Chrissstiannn!!!" Screeched. Like a little demon child. I was frightened.
After prayed the rosary and regained my composure I said "I'm not sure what Jesus has to do with the color of your tongue, but okay." He stared. I turned back to my work.
I can only imagine that there was an association of red, white and blue with Christianity that he learned somewhere. Home, church, who knows. After all Jesus was an American... right? What I do know is that it freaked me out a little; including the way he said it, his scary face while he said it combined with the idea behind it. Red, white and blue = Christianity. Yikes. Those poor hell-bound foreigners. Yeah, I know other countries have those colors in their flags but it's mostly associated with the good ole USofA.
As for Future Boss, I had to scoot him out of my cell or he would have stayed all night. I didn't want to risk another holy explosion. I told him that there were others he could go proselytize and that I needed to make daddy more money by getting back to work. He quizzically looked at me as I shut my door on him.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Don't Touch That
The Asylum is state of the art. Everything is automatic. Everything from the sinks to the garbage cans. Walk into a room and the lights go on, need to throw anything away the garbage lid opens, and when you take a pee the toilet flushes when you step away. You don't have to touch anything. Oh, except the door knobs.
For two months the sinks in the bathrooms on the top floor haven't worked. Put your hands under the faucet and you get nothing. Thankfully I work on the bottom floor and our sinks work. The problem is the kitchen and lunch room are on the top floor.
The folks upstairs don't seem to notice the problem here. They are still using those bathrooms. So where do they wash their hands you ask? THE KITCHEN (if they even wash, some don''t as I've observed). What's the problem with that? Let me tell you. There is a door between the hall with bathrooms and the kitchen. So. To get to the kitchen to wash their hands they have to open the door. A door I never want to touch again.
Call me a germaphobe. Go ahead, call poor schmo a name. The truth is I'm not afraid of the germs I'm afraid of the poo. Feces. Pee. Ew. I just threw up a little in my mouth thinking about it.
If CSI came to the Asylum they'd find a crime scene. They'd pull out the magic glasses and flashlights and find poo on our door knobs. The yellow tape would go up and Grissom would get the last word. That would be it. I'd be put in a room with a one-way window and I'd have to point out the culprits in a line up.
To add to the bad news, the new faucets have been in for over a week and they can't seem to get them installed.
For two months the sinks in the bathrooms on the top floor haven't worked. Put your hands under the faucet and you get nothing. Thankfully I work on the bottom floor and our sinks work. The problem is the kitchen and lunch room are on the top floor.
The folks upstairs don't seem to notice the problem here. They are still using those bathrooms. So where do they wash their hands you ask? THE KITCHEN (if they even wash, some don''t as I've observed). What's the problem with that? Let me tell you. There is a door between the hall with bathrooms and the kitchen. So. To get to the kitchen to wash their hands they have to open the door. A door I never want to touch again.
Call me a germaphobe. Go ahead, call poor schmo a name. The truth is I'm not afraid of the germs I'm afraid of the poo. Feces. Pee. Ew. I just threw up a little in my mouth thinking about it.
If CSI came to the Asylum they'd find a crime scene. They'd pull out the magic glasses and flashlights and find poo on our door knobs. The yellow tape would go up and Grissom would get the last word. That would be it. I'd be put in a room with a one-way window and I'd have to point out the culprits in a line up.
To add to the bad news, the new faucets have been in for over a week and they can't seem to get them installed.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Overheard
Harriet (Director of HR) to Lisa (Bookkeeper): "How many pay periods in a year?"
Lisa: "Uh, 26... Why?"
Harriet: "I need to know for a form I'm filling out."
Lisa: "Ok."
Lisa looks at me in dismay. "She's our Director of HR?" "Yep!" I say. And Lisa then tells me it's the second time she's asked in the past month. Wha?!?!
We just couldn't figure out how somebody with a law degree who has been elevated to the position of Director of HR couldn't figure out how many pay periods are in the year. We are paid every two weeks. Since there are fifty two weeks in a year it isn't that hard to calculate.
Lisa: "Uh, 26... Why?"
Harriet: "I need to know for a form I'm filling out."
Lisa: "Ok."
Lisa looks at me in dismay. "She's our Director of HR?" "Yep!" I say. And Lisa then tells me it's the second time she's asked in the past month. Wha?!?!
We just couldn't figure out how somebody with a law degree who has been elevated to the position of Director of HR couldn't figure out how many pay periods are in the year. We are paid every two weeks. Since there are fifty two weeks in a year it isn't that hard to calculate.
