Bye Bye Bitches
From time to time here in the Abyss we receive unsolicited manuscripts. I want to assure the loyal reader that Mrs. Abyss was not coached in any way, shape or form by yours truly and came up with the following missive completely on her own. She did steal my cow orker bit, though. -Ed.
This is a true account of one girl’s departure from the fiery pit of Hell known as… work. She had the courage to claw her way out but not before facing four long years of pain, suffering, under-appreciation, long hours, criticisms, crawling from under the bus, anger, hatred, hysterical laughter and gut-wrenching tears.
But alas she escaped, bloodied and with broken fingernails, scars across her back, evil images burned in her mind, clothes dirty and torn… but with a smile on her face. A smile of freedom.
I gave a three-week notice. I’m a sicko.
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Nom-Nom Nom-de-Plume Nomenclature
Last 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.
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When I look up I see the bus
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. 🙂