Work Job
The “Work Job” is a sexual act of the most scurrilous and despicable nature. It involves finding a partner, known as a boss, turning around, bending over to touch your toes and waiting for it. The rest? It’s so heinous I can’t even think about it, much less describe it, not even to liven up this post for your entertainment. Sorry, I just can’t do it.
I’ve noticed something. When I make predictions and statements that are born out to be 100% correct, the universe covers me in a pile of shit as way of thanks. When someone like Karl Rove makes predictions that are dead wrong, he is given somewhere between $90 to $160 million of other people’s money to throw down a toilet hole.
Something tells me it should be the other way around.
Take the topic of bosses and jobs, for example. I’ve been preaching the way things are for quite some time. Did anyone listen to me? No!
There are a few keys moments I can remember in my life. For a lot of folks they remember where they were when JFK was shot. Well, I’m too young for that. For me, those watershed moments are things like the Challenger space shuttle disaster, the morning of 9/11, and the SCOTUS ruling on DOMA.
It turns out there’s one more for that list. The day that Gallup released data indicating that 70% of American workers hate their jobs. No shit. Really? Now you’re justing repeating things I’ve already said! I made that case a long, long time ago, only more eloquently.
Where’s my piece of the pie?
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Busy Does a Bossy Good
The boss is a very, very busy man. We know this because he takes hours out of his day to tell us all about it.
Tom,
WIDGET-424242 Premium has the wrong color listed.
It should be “Brown”
Please correct both color attributes and the name.
thanks,
Marquis
Note the subtle capitalization and punctuation errors. Like a boss!
I should be used to this by now. But still I sat there, stunned, staring at his email on my screen. He could have sent a shorter email. “Widget 424242 wrong color. Thanks.” But he didn’t.
I thought about hitting “reply” and asking a simple question: “Will there ever come a day when you don’t feel the need to include that extraneous sentence at the end?” I heard it can be beneficial to dream. Well, I have my dreams, too.
He went ahead and listed the correct color, even though I could have figured that out on my own. Maybe we can give him the benefit of the doubt. Maybe he was just trying to be helpful. He saved me the bother of having to look it up in the catalog.
But WTF is up with that next sentence? He just told me the color was “wrong.” I know what that means. It has to be fixed. If I really strained my brain cells enough I might even be able to extrapolate, like an Eistein smartypants, what should happen next. We have to correct the wrong information on the website! Am I right, am I right, Alex Trebec? What do I win?
Luckily, though, the boss is ever vigilant and at the ready to provide more than enough information. Apparently he thinks we’re so damn stupid we won’t know to wipe our own asses unless he’s there to point out the obvious. “And use toilet paper next time!” That might also explain why he walks into occupied bathrooms without the courtesy of knocking first. It’s because he’s so damn smarter than us idiots. No doubt that’s why he hired us.
“You going to send that letter in the mail? You’ll have to put on a postage stamp. The post office won’t deliver it without one.” Are you fucking shitting me? (And, for the record, I’m not making this up. This is an actual verbatim from the boss to me.)
I can’t help but wonder. What if the boss was in charge of other stuff? What would that look like?
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WSJ Asshole Hotline
I love having a brain that is capable of critical thought. Every once in a while a little moment comes along where it kicks in and I’m actually proud of myself. Don’t worry, these moments pass quickly and are soon forgotten.
They say, “Don’t believe everything you read.” Or, “I know it’s true ’cause I saw it on TV.” We all like to act like those truisms don’t apply to us. Only those other lemming idiots. Never us. Yet we fall for it all day long. True moments of “question everything” are few and far between.
I was on my break. In front of me was the day’s Wall Street Journal. Naturally, since he’s a primetime asshole, it’s one of the boss’ favorite publications. You can tell by the level of crumplage and how the pages are strewn about which pages have been read and which ones haven’t. He typically digests the thing in several sittings.
There, on the front of a section he hadn’t gotten to yet I saw the headline, “How To Be A Better Boss in 2013.”
Uh oh. I better check this out, I thought. If it’s really bad I can throw it away and he’ll never know the difference. The last thing I need in my life is the fucking WSJ filling my boss’ already tainted mind with even more evil.
I picked it up and started to read.
“Holy mother of God.”
Going into Labor
Friends, today I read a passage from the Demotivational Dictionary:
labor union: just about the only people on planet Earth who give a flying shit about the plight of the lowly worker.
–Source: not Wikipedia
What is a labor union?
If we think of the employer/employee paradigm as a formula, on one side of the equation we find power, control, the ability to make decisions, have a hand in the company’s fate, profit, dignity, respect, ties to government, legislation, influence, and much, much more.
The labor union is that which stands to protect all that remains on the other side of that equation.
There may be a lot of power-imbalanced relationships in the average person’s life, but the relationship between employer and employee is most likely at the top of that list. Bar none.
Are labor unions perfect? No. Do they have flaws? Yes. After all, they are comprised of flawed human beings just like every other human-based organizational unit on planet Earth. They are, however, just about the last bastion of hope for the average worker who stands opposed in the face of overwhelming injustice and the imbalance of power.
Like my daddy used to say, it’s enough to make me go burlap.
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Christmas Down Your Throat
A well-motivated team player.
Be careful. The War on Christmas is about to flank your rear. Or something like that. It’s classic military stratergy. Don’t fire until you see the whites of their snow.
Today we put my life on hold (such a delicious phrase) and take the occasional look at my wife’s place of employment. Always good times. This is the same place that, in Christmas past, made employees roll dice to get their seating assignments at the company Christmas party. That’s right, the fucking Christmas party. They turned what was supposed to be a festive holiday gathering that recognized contributions of employees into a damnable H.R. exercise. Buffoons!
MEMORANDUM
To: All Employees
From: The Management
Subject: Christmas PolicyChrissy will be coming around today with jingle bells on to distribute decorations. You are required to create a festive Christmas display at your workstation. Refusal would be unwise and will set you apart from the group.
H.R. has assigned several employees who will be allocated more than half the day each to work on this and other vital Christmas-related projects that will ensure the financial success of our company for another year.
Reminder: Office supplies remain secured under lock and key (use requisition form 13-Baker if you need paper) and there are no bonuses this year. Remember, you are lucky you didn’t get laid off.
Our observance of the Christmas season begins at 9pm on Thanksgiving (just like Black Friday). We celebrate the true spirit and meaning of Christmas: Using the holiday to put the maximum milk on sales.
Signed,
Your Team Motivation Team
Leave it to the Christmas season to bring out the best in folks!
Wordless Wednesday – Two Photographs
The brainiacs in charge where my wife works had a problem. The company was spending too damn much money. They discontinued bonuses and froze wages (for non-management employees) but it wasn’t enough. Their next move was a stroke of genius.
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Shouts from the Abyss 
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