Big Boss Graph
May your boss rest well down in Hell tonight…
Here’s hoping you don’t have to sit six feet away from the boss for 40 hours a week. Hell, that’s more quality time than I even get to spend with my own wife. The wife and I say goodbye to five mornings a week during an exercise known at The Commuting. We normally don’t speak of this during the weekend, but it’s the time of the day when you go from the place you love the most in the whole world (your castle) to the place you hate the most, the shithole. That’s one hell of a jarring transformation. And we’re expected to be productive after that? Yeah, right. At least I was productive enough to make this graph.
Pray for me.
Lane Brain
I’ve never been into fast cars. As far as I’m concerned, the male analogy stops right there. While the other guys were talking about engine blocks and rattling off weird nonsensical numbers and making lamps out of blocks of wood in shop class, I was taking “home economics” with 29 girls and learning how to sew my own apron and make chocolate chip cookies.
Fools.
Yet, when it came to driving itself, suddenly I was interested. I just didn’t care what went on inside that thing. On my birthday and the day it became legal I obtained my learner’s permit. Exactly one year later I aced my driving test.
My dad taught me to drive. We practiced together in his car (an automatic) and my car (stick shift) which I had already bought with my own money. The car cost me $300, money which I had earned working part-time at a variety of local fast food establishments. It was a 1969 Pontiac LeMans hardtop. The driver’s door never opened, you had to slide across the one-piece seat from the passenger side, and the manual transmission was so wonky and loose that I eventually became the only human who could drive that baby. You had to perform little maneuvers while shifting, like lifting, twisting and pushing down to get it to go into gear. But that baby was mine.
I moved to the big city to live with my dad but I wanted to finish my senior year of high school in my little home town. So I became a commuter at the age of 18. My daily commute was a 30-mile drive (one-way) to school.
I enjoy driving. I’ve done a lot of it. It’s the one area of my life where I am the one percent unlike the 99% of other idiots on the road. My instincts and cat-like reflexes have kept me alive when most other idiots would have perished in a fantastic ball of fire.
And I’ve never forgotten one of the most basic principles my dad taught me about being a good driver on day one with my learner’s permit in hand: Drive so that you don’t impact other drivers on the road.
This is a story about a typical idiot who never received and/or heeded such critical training.
Continue reading →
Me so dummy
I searched for "stupid email" and this image was a result. Search over. It's kismet!
Another day, another post about work… (Are you listening, Klout? Poop and work. That’s me.)
Andy Rooney died recently. So CBS is running a lot promos for “The Best of Andy Rooney” on DVD lately. It may very well be the one commercial in the history of television that may actually influence my behavior. In the commercial they play a clip of Andy saying something like, “Why is it that bosses make such bad decisions?” (That’s paraphrased from memory. I didn’t memorize the damn thing.)
Andy also once famously said, “We need people who can actually do things. We have too many bosses and too few workers.”
Dammit, Andy! You’re preaching to the choir. Testify! I love you! Hallelujah!!! That’s a modern day miracle. We must begin work to make Andy a saint. Now. Fuck the customary five-year waiting period.
I’m going to reveal something very major about myself. Call it a risky disclosure if you want. Yeah, I’m sure you’re all sitting around thinking to yourself, “I wish I knew more about Tom.” Too bad. I’m going to tell you anyway.
Continue reading →
Workin’ It
Did I already do a Work Post this week? I’m too lazy to look. Fuck it. It’s go time.
A Tale of Two Shitties
Chapter One: You Want It When?
Tom’s Law #42
Fast shipping to customers is fraught with danger.
A customer visits your ecommerce website and places an order. That’s the dream, isn’t it? Whoo hoo! It’s time to celebrate by rolling around like a pig in shit.
It’s not just any order, either. One with an $800 item and a $20 accessory. Score!
Demotivational Dictionary: customer
An idiot stupid enough to want the meaningless shit you sell. And want it yesterday.
The customer wants fast shipping. Uh oh.
Continue reading →
Yellow line fever
Image source: mymotorcycletravels.com
This weekend my wife and I drove out into the country with our aunt and her friend for lunch. For some strange reason we ended up taking two cars. I think the reason for that was a plan to go separate ways at some point, but they stayed glued to us and that never happened. I’m actually thankful for that since my aunt’s driving scares the bejeezus out of me.
It was a nice day. I took some photographs, we went to a bakery that was rustic and smelled great, even if the actual product didn’t live up to what my nose was telling my brain. We pulled over a got some fresh produce from a self-serve roadside stand. And we had a nice lunch at a grill out in the country.
The roads to get there were rural and in some parts were pretty curvy.
So there we were in our little two-car caravan. My wife was driving so I was relaxing and enjoying the scenery. Out of the blue I heard my wife swear under her breath which immediately got my attention.
We were on a curve with a double-yellow line. That means “no passing.” Not because it’s illegal. It means no passing because attempting to do so on a blind curve will get yourself and probably others killed.
That didn’t stop this guy, though. He was driving like a maniac. I looked just in time to see him fly by on the double-yellow line. “What an asshole,” I said. My wife informed me he had just done the same to our aunt’s car that was directly behind us.
As often happens in cases like these, a little bit of mini-karma was dispensed. In other words the asshole car was now behind the truck that we were previously following. The roads were still curvy and Mr. Asshole was tailgating that truck like no tomorrow. Suddenly he saw a little opening, still on the double-yellow, and made his move. Yikes, a car was coming right at him! He managed to get out of the way and back behind the truck just in time.
That seemed to mellow him out some. He remained behind that truck all the way to his destination, which turned out to be the same parking lot as our restaurant. The asshole’s crazy move had saved him a grand total of fifteen seconds.
My wife, who is a skosh more assertive than me, wanted to go confront the guy. I settled for standing there and glaring at him. He backed into a parking spot in front of the country store and got out of his car. He looked pretty much like you’d expect – a total scuzball.
“What was so friggin’ important?” my wife and I both wondered.
We watched the dude pop his trunk and proceed to unload lots of bags full of cans and bottles. The big hurry was that the dude was about to get his $2.00 in friggin’ bottle money!
Now that I think about it there just might be a chapter about driving in the book I’m writing entitled Society of Assholes. (Deliberate understatement alert.) If I knew the dude’s name I’d dedicate the chapter to him.
What an asshole!
Please enjoy the musical pairing that has been selected by our chef for this post:
Shouts from the Abyss 
Recent Comments