Posts Tagged ‘sucks’

knife-chartI once quit a job over a staff meeting. True story. I’m sure it’s documented here on the blog somewhere, but long story short, they made us on the 6am crew stick around for a 5pm meeting. I asked, “Is it important?” Our managers assured us it was. “You have to be there,” they said.

The meeting started and the first item of business was rolling out birthday cake for our safety director. At 5-fucking-o-clock. It’s not like most of us would be consuming dinner any time soon.

Then, for the icing on the cake, the rest of the hour was consumed by our managers reading memos to us. Line-by-line. Word-by-word. Like we were in kindergarten or something. Memos that had previously been delivered to our inboxes. Memos I had already read on my very own. It was worse than an insult to our intelligence. It was calling us babies.

After the meeting I opted to go back to my desk rather than heading straight home. I sat there and wrote out a memorandum of my own. Perhaps you’ve heard of it. It’s a classic piece of Americana called the letter of resignation. I plopped that puppy on my manager’s desk and then called it day.

Good times.

In another place and another time there was another staff meeting. This one involved the quintessential management tool known as the employee survey.
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aaLast night I thought about the boss and clutched my chest in pain. Other people, I guess, refer to this phenomenon as “the drive home.” To each their own!

Easy come, easy go. Another day another feeling like needles are stabbing your ventricles. It’s all in a day’s work. And required per the Employee Handbook.

Recently someone in a comment here on this very blog revealed that they refer to a coworker as The Manwich. (I’m too lazy to go back and look for the author of this absolutely brilliant comment. Speak up and take a bow.)

Giving pet names to coworkers behind their backs is a time-honored technique for workers dealing with the mind-numbing bullshit of their dreary existence in the pursuit of the almighty dollar.

It’s a practice we honor here now on this Feckless Friday.

Today’s challenge is twofold: Tell us about pet names for cretins in your office and/or tell stories about times when someone stepped in it by using the term within earshot of the victim.

Good times!
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HeTasksMeWrathOfKahn

I give the orders around here.

This post is dedicated to The Boss whoever it* may be. Ed.

It happened on a work day. (Holy fuck. Is that the scariest opening ever or what?)

It was the arrival of a package that prompted the fun. The boss stopped everything he was doing. Ooh, a package had arrived.

Must. Open. Now.

His fleshy, grubby and unwashed digits picked up the box and it rotated in his massive NFL-style steroid-induced mitts. A piece of gooey food substance jiggled in his beard as he moved.

“Oh look,” he said. “I got something for you.”

Inside? You guessed it. New business cards for my department, the department where he always claimed I was in charge and had autonomy.

The cards were emblazoned with his name. Not mine. And underneath, the business title was printed. “Manager.”

Indeed.

Some time later he indicated with an explosion of gas that he had a “task” for me.

All hail the task!
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calvinandhobbes

“Company.”

The dictionary defines the word as “a commercial business.”

Wikipedia, as usual, is a bit more verbose:

“A company is an association or collection of individuals, people or “warm-bodies” or else contrived “legal persons” (or a mixture of both). Company members share a common purpose and unite in order to focus their various talents and organize their collectively available skills or resources to achieve specific, declared goals. Companies take various forms such as [a] … [b]usiness entity with an aim of gaining a profit.”

Source: Wikipedia – Company

“Warm bodies?” Holy shit. Wikipedia nails it. Again!

The business manager stormed into the meeting and saw a lot of empty chairs. “God damn it,” he bellowed. “Get me more warm bodies in here!”

Most of us born and bred in the United States wholly swallow – hook, line and sinker – the premise that a company is an organization comprised of human beings with the shared goal of making money, i.e., acquiring profit.

My purpose here today is debate the other point of view, that this concept we’ve so fully accepted is complete and utter horseshit.
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Some of my Twitter followers go with me on vacation.

All I ever wanted. Request denied.

Sorry. Not writing a post today, I am. Vacation on am I.

I better hurry up, though. I gotta be at work in a few minutes.

Does your employer offer paid vacation? No law requires employers to give their workers paid vacation days, but most companies do pay for some vacation days: More than 90% of all full-time employees in private industry receive paid vacation, according to 2011 figures from the federal Bureau of Labor Statistics.

Source: NOLO.com

Wow. More than 90% of full-time employees have vacation time in this country. And, according to the BLS, that factoid only considers private industry, and they should know! As a government agency I’m sure they’ve got vacations squirting out of their privates. If you factor in governmental employees I’m sure that percentage grows to something about the size of the Death Star.

The beauty of a having a boss that feels vacations are superfluous for full-time employees is that they can never control your mind. I’ll take a mental vacation any goddamned time that I please.

By the way? Are you hiring? Be sure to ask for a copy of my resumé. Yes, you too can harness the power of guru and have it supporting your various nefarious schemes. To guru you listen. Harness power, you can.

Never one to be undaunted, I decided to intrepidly roll up my sleeves and see if I could make the power of maths help me with lack of vacations. You’ll be startled at the results I penciled out.
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how-in-hellI got nothing and I’m not in the mood to write. Yeah! But I’m still gonna do it anyway. Boo! You lose.

Memorandum to the Mole Men in my Head: Retreat! Fall back! We’re not taking this hill, boys. Not today. Retreat and live to fight another day!

In other words, I’m going back to my roots. I’m going to stay within the friendly confines of my wheelhouse. Stick to what I know best. Not venture too far hither and yon from ye olde bailiwick.

Here’s a hint: What blog should you be reading right now? Over there! Over there!

Let’s talk about #boss for a moment.

Boss is war and war is hell. Thus the myriad of odes to military sentiment I’ve mortared in your general direction.

I’ll graciously allow you a moment to find the nearest air sickness bag. This is not a subject for the weak or the flighty of stomach. If you suffer from IBS you should probably move along.
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Some guy named Riff Raff.

Some guy named Riff Raff.

It’s another Feckless Friday so I’ve decided to riff on a theme. Today’s theme: Us and Them – Workplace Style.

“Us” is those who work. Those who do what they are supposed to do as productive members in this society. The we who produce goods and services. Why, without us, there would be a lot less widgets in the world. Imagine a world without so much plastic fake vomit and whoopee cushions and what not? Shudder.

“Them” is those who profit from the labor of others. You might think of them as the 1%. The political elite. The bankers and CEOs. The people who work the least and benefit the most from a system designed to convert the Earth’s resources into profits for a few. Or, on a more personal level, you may choose to put this face on someone must more close and personal like the boss.

I recently had my “Aha! Moment” (sponsored by Mutual of Omaha, a fucking insurance company of all things). I tweeted my great moment of clarity and awareness and the world took no notice. Nary a retweet. Nay, not even a star. As your humble proprietor here in the Abyss, I reserve the right to shove my unloved tweet in your face:

Okay. Enough about that. What else is going on in the world of economics, work, labor, job and bosses? Remember, I did promise to riff. I guess I’d better get on my black velcro-strapped riffin’ shoes. I’m about to boogie down.

Warning: It’s quite possible I don’t really know what “riff” means.
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