I slipped out of my home and blended into the urban landscape. Nothing to notice here. Just another lost soul looking miserable and drifting along with the tides of refuse dotted across the city. For good measure I even added a limp which wasn’t that much of a stretch since my ankle was still smarting from being smashed on a rock during our last whitewater rafting trip. (A story that has yet to be told.)
No fedora, tattoos, Nike footwear, North Face jacket or 1890’s neckbeards for me. I was projecting identity that screamed, “Leave me the fuck alone.” It helps a lot to be ugly and look as grim as possible.
And so it was I moved silently through the city. Which is rather odd for me since I seldom leave the house. We’re the quintessential Portland family. We have less automobiles than residents in our home. My wife was gone so that meant I had to make other arrangements.
Arriving at the bus stop I leaned against the sign. I must have just missed it since it took many spawns to arrive. I climbed aboard and asked the driver, “Is it okay if I don’t have exact change?” He said it was so I stuck in three one dollar bills for the $2.50 fare. My transfer printed and I couldn’t help but notice no change was offered. So that’s how that shit works. I paused for a reflective moment of gratitude that I hadn’t tried a one hundred dollar bill.
Grease. Dirt. Grime. Wheels. Axles. Gears. Lugs. Nuts. Bolts. Paper clips. Other mechanical thingies.
When the real men gathered around to talk about engines and those other mechanical thingies that make vehicles go, I was never around. I made myself scarce.
Those have never been things that were of interest to me. “You have a 360 block with a 44 magnum under the hood? Wowwie with headers, pipes and mufflers? How about leg warmers, does it have those, too? Is all that shit considered good or did you just describe the equivalent of the Ford Pinto?” Now that is a car I’m familiar with! It explodes when it backs that ass up!
So how is it when I get up and dust myself off that I find myself surrounded by all things mechanical? It’s because when I look up, I only see bus.
You might say it is where I have been thrown. You know what else gets thrown? Garbage! But anywho, I guess that finally explains the tire marks on my face.
Whine alert! The well-written prose above should be more than enough to clue you in that I’m about to whine about my job. Now is your chance to get the hell out of Dodge.
Still here? Sucka!
Where I work I’m the sacrificial lamb. I’m the official speed bump for buses. That’s my job.
Oh, management will spew all sorts of bullshit and meaningless platitudes about how we’re a “team.” That’s just a playful way of saying that shit flows downhill and you live under my butt. We’re more than willing to do all of the fake things that have no meaning whatsoever when it comes to making you think we care. But never forget, we’ll throw you under that boss without a moment’s hesitation. Hahaha!
This time it involved a subtle version of Co-Worker Playing Dumb Deflection Techniques routine. “Yes, I’ve been trained how to save JPG files in email. But not GIF files, oh my. Only my team member Abyss knows how to handle those! I’ll be happy to get him for you.” Of course that’s a bunch of bullshit, but it always goes down that way.
For some on the so-called “team” (ha!) the office culture has evolved into a very convenient paradigm. TIF = Alfredo in the back. Bad Manager will grudgingly handle JPG. But anything else under the sun? That belongs to Abyss. Automatically. Without thought or hesitation. Without the need to ask questions to learn more. Without any sort of goddamn attempt at all to show initiaitve or be a “team” player or think outside the box. If it isn’t the one and only magical JPG then flush it into the mouth of Abyss posthaste. Period. Bar none. End of story. Now get your face under that motherfucking tire now, scum!
It is so delightful to be part of such a “team.”
Of course it goes without saying that the reverse is never true. Oh no, not by a long shot. I’ve trained myself on all sorts of things so I’m sort of viewed as a miracle worker around here. In fact, almost everything I know, including my frickin’ job, I learned on my own initiative. I taught my fucking self.
Even so, I don’t know everything about everyone’s jobs. There are some things I never do or don’t do often enough to be able to do on my own when the chips are down, even though I’m the closest thing ever seen to a real team player in this shithole.
So earlier today I was tossed under the bus because the manager wanted human salad. I was left to run the operation with live customers on things I know nothing about. Not too surprisingly I reached a knowledge impasse and had to go ask her for help. Yes, this is the same “her” that plays the proactive “oh I certainly don’t know how to do that” game at every opportunity.
No surprise what happened next:
The fucking fangs of evil were deployed and aimed at my neck. Alpha dog alert – alpha dog alert – this is not a drill!
“Oh,” she said with a look that could easily put daggers through the titanium hull of the U.S.S. Enterprise. She continued, and I’m paraphrasing here, “What do you want me to do about it? Come up there and wipe your ass for you?”
I just shrugged. It’s only a customer who’s waiting. Which, of course, means that I couldn’t possibly fucking care less. When the company makes money I sure as hell don’t. So with this team player properly chastised by the one who preaches team playing all the time went back to hose down the customer with the tasty water of uselessness. Customer left unsatisfied. Game over. Win-win, baby!
If the company makes X amount my bonus is a $50 gift card to Wal-Mart. If the company makes 10X my bonus is a $50 gift card to Wal-Mart. That’s called the team rewards system.
And that’s all the fuck I have to say about that fuck.
I know this post is written badly but I don’t care. Let someone else on the motherfucking team worry about it.
Also, be sure to stop by the lobby for my new line of “When I Look Up I See Bus” t-shirts. Backstabbing asshole employees not included.
Addendum: While writing this post I received the following in email. “A message to all members of NaBloPoMo. Hey, bloggers! The theme for May blogging is LOOK UP.” Mwuhahahahaha! Looks like I’m off to a good start. 🙂
Don’t forget to address her as “Governor,” though.
Also, please remember that even though she’s on a bus tour she reserves the right to fly a private jet to get to her next stop and then back on that bus.
If I tried to sell stuff like this in a movie script no doubt I’d be laughed out of Hollywood for the story lacking believability! 🙂
By the way, check out the rad threads. She obviously knows a thing or two about fashion.