So, earlier this week, I was having an issue with a settlement that wouldn't compute. And since this was a driver pay-cut off (read time-sensitive) and since Two Clowns's sole responsibility in the office is to fix rates and shit, I had the distinct misfortune of having to work with her on this.
And I'm okay with that, since these guys work as hard as I do for a living and deserve to get paid. And the company pays me a certain amount of money to bust my hump a couple of times a month to fix these problems and meet these deadlines.
What I don't appreciate, however, is having Two Clowns approach my desk and greet me with the words, "Okay, Shorty."
On the other hand, it's the most truthful thing she's said all week, so I shouldn't complain.
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"You own everything that happened to you. Share your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better." --Anne Lamott
3 comments:
WTF?
Sounds like its time for everyone's favorite game show " Shampoo my taint". Get to work Two Clowns and no rubergloves.
Seeing the nickname Two Clowns reminds me of a guy I used to work with at the city. He was a foreman with the nickname Two Dogs. Because (wait for it), what's lazier than one dog fucking?
Since we all know how creepy clowns are, I'm a little worried about you in that office.
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