I'm Not A Fan

Most of the time when I post about my Place of Employment Not Enjoyment, I am fulsome in my contempt of the whiny populace, who seem content to wallow in vast seas of entitlement and ignorance, topped off by the frothy foam of verbal abuse hurled at those paid inadequately to serve them.

And that hasn't changed. Why, just last week, I opened a claim for some stunned bitch who feels that the City owes her the replacement of her tires because she ignored the decline of the entrance to the alleyway and drove over the curb. She instead drove into the hole where the City was doing work on the sidewalk. Her reasoning for why we should replace the tires? "I just had them replaced a few months ago." Right. Because you drive like a fucking asshole, bitch. DENIED.

Or I've had to log various incident reports from the rec centres, where young men (what is it with MEN, all-fuckin-ready? Y'all need to GROW UP as a gender, for realz) sneak into the facility without paying and then, when confronted by the staff, call the employees "faggot" and throw basketballs at their head with force enough to injure.

So, yeah, the crippling stupidity/ignorance/general dipshittery of the public continues unabated.

What has dismayed me profoundly over the last month or so is the same behaviour exhibited by one of the adjusters in my office. I call her The Oscillating Fan, because she is prone to standing around and yapping inexorably about nothing of any substance. It's really just air. 

This woman is so fucking annoying that I have had to rescue other adjusters from her endless monologues. I am famous on the floor for inventing reasons for going into the offices of these hapless victims in order to get her to move onto someone else's office (because she rarely goes back to her own). I will even go back to my desk and phone the adjusters, posing as a claimant, just so they have an excuse to get rid of her. (I will say, however, that these other adjusters need to grab a pair and start telling OF in no uncertain terms to fuck right off. Mind you, there have been a few that tried and she just talks over them, so there's that, too.)

Part of the problem with OF is that she is about as thick as two planks nailed together. She simply doesn't (won't?) pick up on social cues. People can be avoiding eye contact, looking at their screen and answering in monosyllables, and she just carries on blabbing. She has come into my cubicle at noon hour (more than once) and seen me sitting there with headphones on and YouTube on my screen and food in my face. Does she pick up on the signal that I am ON A BREAK? NO. She still asks me to look shit up for her or whatever. And when I tell her, "Can this wait until 1:00 when my lunch is finished?", she gets this look on her face like a break is a novel concept. Clearly, I am there to serve, lunch hours be damned.

Unfortunately, my cubicle is directly across the hallway from her office, so I am able to hear exactly how much she shags the canine. And, believe me, if OF is gifted in anyway, it is her ability to avoid work. It is truly staggering how much time this woman devotes to personal concerns during work hours. Because at least if she she was talking to these other adjusters about work-related issues, it would be an easier pill to swallow. But, OF comes in (late--she's already been disciplined for leaving early), and immediately goes into Marianne Faithful's office to talk about the weekend, or her daughter (not surprisingly, OF is a helicopter parent), or her sister living with dementia, or dogshit.

I cannot begin to surmise how many hours (no, literally, HOURS) OF has spend on the phone with another City department, talking about how one particular patron of the off-leash dog park she goes to doesn't pick up their dog's doodoo. I don't know how or why this issue requires hours of her attention, but it does, and when it is quiet in her office, she is usually texting her family on her cellphone. 

Also, she is a passive-aggressive twat. A couple of weeks ago, she was on the phone doing some actual work on a file when Reception called to say that OF had unexpected clients who wanted to see her. Rather than interrupt her while OF was doing rare and genuine work, my colleague left a note on her desk, explaining the situation. OF stayed on the phone for another twenty minutes, and when she emerged from her office, she said, "Well, someone could have taken (a document) up to these people for me."

Fuck you. Do it your damned self. Are we supposed to read your tiny mind? I'm glad I can't, because I don't think I could handle that profound a void.

Of course, we complain. OF's lack of a work ethic is well-noted with her supervisors. And when her immediate supervisor (who absolutely rocks, she is lucky to work for so splendid a person) has chats with her about her behaviours, you can hear her screaming at him beyond the closed office door. It is truly appalling. Let me tell you, people, unless it is someone like the streetside preacher I've mentioned previously, I don't talk to anyone like that (without serious provocation). I seriously don't know how that bitch keeps her job.

But it is completely demoralizing to work so hard and do the best we can, putting up with the steady levels of ignorance and shit from the public, and have to watch OF fuck the dog egregiously with no consequences. She makes the good bucks, she has a nice office with windows and a door (which she should use more often), and many other benefits as well. Meanwhile, I make considerably less, have an indoor cubicle with no door and work my whole entire ass off with civility and true dedication to supporting all of the adjusters (even the ones that need a good solid kick in the box with a frozen mukluk). And this bitch can't even respect the ONE HOUR I take for myself for lunch without interruption.

I am reassured by my supervisor that there is a department meeting coming next month during which these concerns will be addressed, but I am not sanguine. OF is one of these people who thinks "I wonder who they're talking about" when allegations of fucking around are raised. And as we've seen, she has absolutely no respect for her boss. (This guy is so rockin' he deserves his own praise-worthy blog post. Serious.)

It's like I said to a couple of the adjusters last week. In a department like ours, support and mutual respect goes so far in getting the work done and maintaining a harmonious workplace. Seriously, we're all just trying to help each other get home. But people like OF? They want to get there first, not to open the windows and get some food going for the rest of us. They just want to nab the best spot in front of the fireplace.  

Wreck Centre (or The Poo In the Pool)

Part of my job is reading and archiving incident reports submitted by employees at the various recreation centres and pools and arenas owned and maintained by the Municipality. First, let me say that the personnel employed at these facilities don't make enough money for the level of douchebaggery they endure. Every. Single. Day. They are all my personal heroes.

Secondly, I don't go to to the rec centres anymore as a private citizen. I simply know too much about what happens there. Some of the rec centres are worse than others (local peeps can ask me privately which ones). 

As far as I'm concerned, though, the hot tubs are really just giant petrie dishes. 

Theft is common. Douchebags bring bolt cutters into the change rooms so they can bypass padlocks and jack your shit. And we can't put cameras in the change rooms, so we really have no way of catching them. 

If I read one incident report about abusive patrons, I read a dozen. Weekly. Most of the time, it's men who violate a rule, like over-extending their stay on the exercise equipment when other people are waiting to use it. Or letting their family of five use all of three of the badminton courts. All y'all really need to get your shit together when it comes to pubic behaviour. Why do you have to be such huge buttnuggets on such a consistent basis? So much hostility! When confronted with his self-indulgence, one of these dicksmacks insisted that he is a "Canadian citizen" and that he "paid to be here and has the right to do whatever he fucking wants." People say shit like this and I wonder if they can actually hear themselves. I mean, that statement offers us insight into the working of that guy's mind that reveals a disturbingly high level of douchebaggery.

And he is hardly an isolated incident.

People shoot up in the change rooms.

They canoodle in the family room.

Guys masturbate in the saunas. 

And, of course, there is the famous Poo In the Pool.

If there is a "fecal incident", it's usually the product of a child. And yanno what happens when there is a dump in the deep end? 

Well, let me inform you first that the pool is NOT drained. Patrons are required to leave the facility, the poo is removed and the pool is closed for about 48 hours, while skin-blistering levels of chlorine and other chemicals are cycled through the system in order to destroy any pathogens or contaminates. After extensive and repeated testing, the pool is reopened to the public. But the water in the pool following a fecal incident is never actually replaced or removed.

I'm sure it's perfectly safe, since our Municipality had exactly ZERO deaths from cholera last year, but I'm afraid I am completely off the idea of public facilities. It's a matter of knowing too much. People gathered in any significant number only means heightened potential for douchebaggery. Some asshole is going to pull something.

And let me just say also that one really ought to pay attention to the signs in the rec centres which inform you that you enter at your own risk and that the City is not responsible for your lost or stolen belongings.  Because we're not kidding. We really are not responsible. Do not, as one twonk did, wear your prescription glasses into the sauna (????) and then submit a claim to me later, saying you want us to pay for their replacement after they slipped off your face and broke. That claim isn't just "No", it's "HELL NO". 

Because we're not responsible for your (stupid) personal choices. 

Speaking of people not taking responsibility for their own douchebaggery, here is my first installment of a new feature I'll call

CLAIM OF THE WEEK

Oh, my children, this is delicious. It was looking like a pretty average week until this one appeared on my desk. Due to confidentiality, I can't disclose names or locations, and will paraphrase what appeared in the statement, but this is GOLD.

Buddy has submitted a claim to the City seeking compensation for injuries and damages sustained in an altercation with the City Police. It seems Buddy was jaywalking. In his claim, he states that he does it all the time at this location, but "I had no idea that the cops were cracking down at this time, or I would have been happy to use the crosswalk." He further goes on to say that he was intoxicated and on his way to the local blues club (which, I will add here just as a matter of interest, is run by the local chapter of the Hell's Angels). He describes how, when the officers ordered him to stop, he took off, but "there was nowhere for me to go, so they tackled me to the ground." During the scuffle, he sustained (superficial) injuries to his face and elbow, although he is claiming concussion. Buddy feels this could have been handled in a "less confrontational manner" because "cops should know better than to confront intoxicated people."

Oh, and he submitted the claim on his company letterhead. 

I don't even know where to start with this. From beginning to end, this claim is just a torrent of DOUCHE. First, this weaselheaded fucknugget incriminates himself by admitting to the infraction of a jaywalking bylaw on a more or less habitual basis. He then confesses to public intoxication and admits that he attempted to elude the officers in the lawful execution of their duty.

But it's their fault because he was drunk.

So yanno what happens to this frivolous claim? I hand it to my supervisor, who assigns it to an adjuster who specializes in bodily injury claims. A claim will be opened and Buddy sent an acknowledgement letter that essentially says, "We got your complaint, you whiny bitch". The City Police are put on notice by our office. An investigation will follow, inquiries sent for police reports and medical reports, and Buddy will be required to fill out a variety of forms. All of this requires time and resources and it will, I assure you, inevitably end in denying him money because this is a frivolous claim. 

And who pays for this? YOU DO. These are your City tax dollars at work, people. It's a very sad thing that we can't just send this dick a letter that says, "Plzdiekthx!" No, this cumsplat has the same rights as you and I to waste my time and your money, even though the only reason this stupid fuck is still alive is because breathing is an involuntary response. He's butthurt because he made an unwise life decision to outrun the cops. And you are going to pay for his butthurt.

Aint it great?