Nu Shooz

More tales of frustration and incredulidity from my place of employment:

Yvette is a breast cancer survivor. That doesn't keep her from smoking, but she has been at least three years without a reoccurance. Except that her docotr recently found a handful of tny masses in her lung. They are too small to biopsy, so they are monitoring the masses until June to see if they have grown.

So, you'd think that Yvette would see herself as someone with a vested interest in the health care system in this province. The subject is a perennial one: the system is constantly under attack from a lack of funding and a governement who is convinced that privatizing the system (a la the US) is the way to go.

And last night, we had a provincial election. Voting is important (I daresay, imperative) whenever one has the opportunity. It is especially so when issues as basic as education and environment and health care are being discussed in ways that could significantly impact one's services.

So imagine my shock and dismay when I said to Yvette this morning, "Did you vote last night?" and her response was, "No, I never vote. I never know what the issues are and I never know who to vote for." Then she showed me her foot. "I got new shoes, though."

New shoes. This stupid bitch's priority was not shorter waiting times, or better drug coverage or improved services: no, she wanted new shoes.

I had to leave the fucking room, or I was going to say some unpleasant things.What is the excuse for such a level of passivity??? I DO NOT UNDERSTAND!!!

But I don't want to hear one single word out of her about how the health care system is letting her down, if and when it turns out to be cancer. Cuz then I will say it all.

I have more tales of stupidity, but I"m struggling with a chest cold, so they will hve to wait until I feel like sitting up for longer.

Lazy Fucking Bitch

It's been a while since I've written, I know. That's what happens when Real Life intervenes. Ironically, my "Real Life" adventures have been of the unreal variety, in the sense that I have started going to the SCA for fencing practice on Sundays and Wednesdays and archery on Tuesdays. I have bitched long and loud about the SCA before, so this may surprise some of you; and to be sure, the marginal personalities still thrive in abundance. However, not everyone is like that, it's an opportunity to get some much -needed, cheap exercise, and as a friend of a friend once said: "The SCA is like AOL: you know it sucks, but all your friends are there."

I have no doubt whatsoever that the SCA will furnish me with material aplenty (in fact, it already has), but this post is dedicated to the on-going bullshit at my place of employment. It may startle many of you that my issue is not with Teeth this time. Even more startling is the revelation that, since we had a little chat, Teeth has been relatively pleasant to work with. A couple of months ago, she called me into an empty office and said that Head Office Boss Lady had shared some of my concerns with her, and suggested that we talk about the way her behaviour has affected. I gave her kudos, frankly, for having the balls to chat with me in the first place.

And what became astonishingly apparent as the conversation progressed, is that Teeth has never received the kind of feedback I was giving her. Because her behaviour had gone unchecked, and because our industry is not typically prone to "corporate culture", she had no clue really that other people view her as a bully and a ditch pig. So, we came to the agreement that I would lower my standards somewhat if she raised hers. And so far, it's working quite well.

What ISN'T working is the woman I formerly referred to as The Biller I Like. One of the things I like best about where I am is that our supervisors don't pay any particular attention to when we show up five or ten minutes late, and they aren't at all strict about days off for medical appointments, sick days, etc. It is understood that we are on the honour system, and it is hoped that the system is not abused.

But of course, it only takes one fucking twat-waffle to fuck it for everyone else. Enter The Volunteer. That's what I call her now, because she obviously views her job as some kind of volunteer position with the added bonus of a paycheque. She acts as if she is doing us all a huge favour by showing up. This woman routinely wanders in half an hour late, leaves early or doesn't come in at all. Her absenteeism is so prevalent that she hasn't done a full week's work in eight consecutive weeks.

Her excuses range from, "I have a migraine" (even though she is able to text messages to her co-workers throughout the work day and was seen driving around her small town just after work hours had ended), "My daughter's schoolbus went into the ditch" (we later found out that her daughter drives to school), to "My grand-daughter is sick" (whoopee). Oh, and let's not forget the mother-daughter pap she had scheduled that took all day (prompting many of us to speculate if perhaps the gyno hadn't fallen in). (And who the fuck schedules mother-daughter pap tests anyway? Isn't that an indication of being overbonded to your child? Gross.)

And because she thinks we're friends, she tells me quite frankly about all the times that she has lied in order to score extra days off. For example, the husband was coming home on a Monday after working out of town. She told Head Office Boss Lady that there was a banquet she had to attend for her daughter's participation in the Winter Games: she admitted to me before the weekend started that there was no banquet. She just wanted to do the nasty.

Not only does she abuse a really wonderful system, thus endangering it for the rest of us, but The Volunteer has also displayed flagrant insubordination. A few weeks ago, Teeth was away in another city for a training seminar (possibly in how to flirt on the phone with the East Coast drivers so as to score a replacement for her current partner, who is a dick). In Teeth's absence, the emminently capable Hitler is in charge.

On the Thursday afternoon, The Volunteer left at 2:30  in the afternoon for some kind of appointment. Then on Friday at lunchtime, she announced to me that she was going to Jasper (a mountain resort town about four hours away, for those of you who are not local) to meet up with her husband, who has been working there for the last couple of months. She said she was leaving at 3:00, because she wanted to be on the road while it was still light. But she hadn't told Hitler yet.

So about 2:00, The Volunteer sent an email to Hitler, asking if she could go at 3:00 for the reasons stated above (and let's not forget: The Volunteer had left early the day before). Hitler said no, indicating quite reasonably that there was still work in The Volunteer's work queue that needed to be done, and the other employee trained in that work had booked the afternoon off for a physio appointment. The answer was clearly "no".

At six minutes after 3:00, The Volunteer gathered up her things and walked out of the office.

I was floored. Obviously she feels that she is entitled to this time off (she's not, especially given that she's never there anyway), and that she is not constrained by the same rules as the rest of us. To ignore a direct order from her supervisor is, as far as I'm concerned, grounds for immediate dismissal. Hitler was taken aback, but didn't feel that it was worth her while to confront The Volunteer about it, and if she told Teeth about it on Teeth's return, nothing was said to The Volunteer.

It is extremely damaging to morale to sit at one's desk busting one's hump to meet a deadline or resolve an issue or get a report out and know that someone else is getting paid exactly the same (or more!) despite not being there, because they are staying home to fuck. Part of the problem is that we don't have a supervisor on site with any real authority, which is actually a good thing, if we're talking about Teeth, who I doubt has the emotional maturity to not abuse any power she's given. It has been EIGHT WEEKS--two entire months--since The Volunteer has put in a full 37.5 hours. In the meantime, Hitler and several others (myself included) have occasionally stayed late to get stuff done.

So we (Princess Anne and I) complained to one of the managers who asked us to compile all the data we could, which he would then share with Head Office Boss Lady. We took him our eight weeks worth of evidence, but he told us to keep going. Well, fuck, how much longer is this going to take? How much more do you need?

I have applied for another position in the company that will take me out of Billing and into a whole other department, one that pays better and has more challenges to it. But it's been over a month since I applied and there has been no indication of an interview, so my hopes are rather dashed.

It Puts the Lotion...In Its Mouth?

Proof positive that Princess Anne is not the sharpest tool in the shed arrived in my inbox this afternoon.

She wrote in an email: "I brought some hand lotion in from home because my legs are peeling like a snake. And this stuff smells SO GOOD. It's Milk and Honey, so no wonder it's making me hungry."

I wrote back, "I'll come sniff it in a few minutes."

Before I could leave my desk, however, another message arrived: "It doesn't taste as good as it smells."

I'll just leave that with you.

Except I have to tell you about Princess Anne's wedding plans. Her Doughy Boyfriend finally proposed to her over Christmas, and now she's going bananas plannng the tackiest country and western affair of the year. Except that she doesnt KNOW how tacky it is.

For example, to commemorate the big day, she wants to order this print of two horses standing next to a fence. And on the fence, one has the option of getting one's initials "carved". She showed it to me on her phone and asked, "Isn't that cute?"

Well, no, actually, it makes me throw up in my mouth a little, but it's your big day, Lurleen, go for it.

She already has the pink cowboy boots that she'll be wearing under her dress picked out, and has told the Doughy Boyfriend/Fiance that the best man and groomsmen will be expected to wear black cowboy hats, royal blue western shirts and black jeans.

Of course, she will be riding up to her ceremony on horseback (cuz nothing says romance is in the air quite like horse shit). This announcement prompted me to ask, "Do you have a sidesaddle?"

To which she replied, "No, I'm too redneck to own a sidesaddle. I'll just throw my knee over the horn of my western saddle."

Well, if that doesn't put all the ass back in class, I don't know what does. And of course, once the ceremony is concluded, then she and the Doughy Groom will ride away together.

So unable to bear it any longer, I started to take the piss, to which she remained blissfully ignorant. I asked her, "Well, have you picked out the song that you'll be riding up to? Maybe 'Ghost Riders In the Sky'? Or 'She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy'? Or how about 'Boot Scootin' Boogie'? Thats a good one!"

"No, I was thinking more like blahblahblah" and she named some country and western song that I have never heard of by some western performer equally unknown to me. Later on in the day, she sent me the lyrics, and although they didn't feature spectral cattle or farm equipment or tequila, I'm pretty sure the performer whines his way very earnestly through the whole song amid slide guitars and maybe even a fiddle.

"Jesus Christ," I said to the Little Hunneydoo when I got home from work that day, "I gotta get another job before Wanda Sue invites me to that fucking wedding."

I dont know what the reception will be like, but I doubt there will be much in the way of vegetarian options.

Unless you count the hand lotion. 

A Punch In the Teeth

This afternoon, I was cordially invited into the office of Head Office Boss Lady, who is in town to go over our billing procedures and productivity issues for year's end. I began our interview by announcing that I am actively seeking other employment. Not surprizingly, she had already learned of this through the grapevine. She asked me if I felt comfortable discussing my reasons why and I availed myself of this opportunity to describe in harrowing detail every single one of Teeth's transgessions over the past few weeks. I began with "Caucasian" and ended with the "retard" email and especially highlighted her need to make Princess Anne her scapegoat just prior to New Years.

I explained that the incessant and vapid giggling that emanates from the staff room at during breaks, the outrageous flirting with drivers over the phone and the double standard around work (she can goof off on the phone, but when the rest of us do, we are quickly reminded that there's filing that needs doing) do not exactly inspire confidence in me regarding Teeth's supervisory abilities, and that I am anxious to get the hell out before the real fireworks start.

Head Office Boss Lady wrote everything down. She took copious notes and occasionally made a face as if I had just kicked her in the box. When I had finished my litany of complaints, she said that, while Teeth describes herself as a "gutter girl", this is not the kind of attitude that can be taken seriously in a supervisor and she's going to need Teeth to "step it up a notch."

My diplomatic response was that, to my mind, Teeth lacks "an innate or instinctual understanding of the qualities a supervisory position demands." SUBTEXT: don't hold your breath, honey. If she needs this shit explained to her, she's not gonna get it.

So then HOBL asked me if I minded should she wish to share my observations with Teeth and I heartily encouraged her to do so, indicating that Teeth "could probably benefit from the feedback." Then she asked if I would mind meeting with Teeth and having a discussion, just the two of us, and I said I didn't mind at all (although secretly, I will hve to constantly remind myself to say things like, "I don't feel that I can perform optimally under your particular management style," instead of "Why don't you lick my pussy bald, you fucking slitch").

And I'm not the only one coming forward with complaints. So if Teeth thought that stepping into Springsteen's shoes was going to be a cakewalk (sorry for mixing my idioms), I have no doubt that her interview with HOBL tomorrow afternoon will leave her humbled. HOBL is hoping that once Teeth and I sit down for a chat, hopefully I will be less inclined to walk away.

But seriously, I'd be idiotic. Teeth's behaviour IS Teeth: she's not going to change, and hanging around hoping she does is akin to a victim of domestic abuse thinking, "He promised he wouldn't do it again." I should stay in what is essentially an abusive relationship for the sake of a paycheque?

Oh, I don't think so.

So stay tuned, kids, cuz there just might be some kind of showdown tomorrow.

And THEN...!

As if any of you need further proof of Teeth's utter lack of professionalism (but here goes anyway...)

On Friday, while I was at my highly successful job interview, Yvette was talking to Jacques, who had stopped by her cubicle. During their brief conversation, Teeth came up behind Jacques and grabbed his ass with both hands.

Srsly.

And so I explained to Yvette that sexual harrassment is in the eye of the beholder; if she was offended by Teeth's behaviour, she can complain about it and earn Teeth (yet another) very strict talking-to about her inappropriateness. It doesn't have to be *her* ass that was grabbed. Yvette was unaware of the way in which sexual harrassment policies work, but she might be talking to Head Office Boss Lady when she visits ths week.

Or she might not. That office functions the way it does due to ignorance and apathy.

The temp agency actually called me today for my first assignment, but it was only for a single day, so I declined it. Still, I hope this is a sign of things to come.   

Salaam, Mohammed!

Wow: the year 2012 is looking up already. Not only did I have an excellent job interview with a temp agency on Friday and can expect to leave Teeth and the Women of WalMart far behind within the month (without giving two weeks notice, since I am owed vacation time): but as I sit at the dining room table and gaze out onto the front street, I can watch Mohammed moving out. That's awesome. Fuck off, buddy, and take your spitting and your garbage and your urine-bedewed vehicles with you. ALL of them.

Oh, and by the way, for those of you who have been following this particular thread: Mohammed is his actual name. Just before Christmas, I noticed a piece of paper taped to his front door. Hoping it was an eviction notice, I walked over to read what it said. It was just a notice from the landlord upstairs, giving Mohammed 48 hours notice that he intended to enter the premises, and Mohammed's name was clearly written there.

I feel pretty smug.

So does anyone have any experience writing letters of resignation? I've never had to compose one before. How much information is it customary to include? I have no intention of sending it to Teeth (that would actually acknowledge her authority, which I do not), just to Teeth's supervisor. Do I include my reasons for leaving (i.e. Teeth) in the letter? After all, I do not anticipate having the luxury of an exit interview, since the lady in charge of HR at our branch actually works in Calgary. I mean, I realize I don't owe them any explanations, and if they've made the blunder of promoting that stupid slitch despite every conceivable indication that she is wholly unsuited to the job, my very humble opinion is scarcely going to cause them to reconsider. And perhaps I have a tendency to overshare.

But it somehow seems inadequate to write:

"Dear Head Office Boss Lady,

Please be advised that effective (date two weeks hence), I tender my resignation and will be taking the holidays to which I am entitled until that time.

Hugs and kisses,

Me".

Yet perhaps writing more simply indicates that I give a shit. And although I like and respect Head Office Boss Lady, I don't give a damn about anything that happens in or to that office. My strong suspicion is that they gave the job to that odious Stink Mitten because she would do it for less money than they would expect to pay someone who was, say, competent. Someone who, when booking hotel rooms for drivers coming in from out of town, wouldn't offer to "swing by the hotel for a good time". Someone who doesn't drop by your cubicle to discuss her hemorrhoids or send emails celebrating the wholly fictional "Retard Day". Someone who doesn't snigger audibly in the presence of a gay employee when someone else mentions that the staff room smells "fruity," because another employee heated up a poptart.

But I think I am justified in believing that Head Office Boss Lady, in trying to save the company a few dollars in wages, will shortly discover that she will pay for it in other ways.

UPDATE: Mohammed apparently had trouble getting his truck to work. So he put three litres of oil into the engine and left the bottles in the street right in front of my house. He even drove over them, before he pulled a u-turn in the middle of the street, driving onto someone else's lawn to do it. So I went out, collected the bottles and their caps and dumped them on his front step. If he wants to have words, he'll find me ready for them, the fucking asshole.

The Tooth, the Whole Tooth and Nuthin' But the Tooth

Below is the text of an email sent to me by Teeth this morning:

"Not every flower can say love, but a rose can. Not every plant survives thirst, but a cactus can. Not every retard can read, but look at u having a go! Today is International Retard Day. Please send an encouraging message to a fucked up friend, just as I've done. I dont care if u lick windows, interfere with farm animals or occasionally shit urself. U hang in there cup cake, you're fucking special to me, you're my friend!:) look at u smiling at ur phone!"

Yes, gentle readers, this precious gem showed up in my inbox this morning, sent by my immediate supervisor, the woman who my company feels best exemplifies the values of professionalism and managerial competence!

I can't, for the life of me, figure out if this is a passive-aggressive slap at me, or genuinely clueless attempt to be my buddy. Either way, SOMEONE HASN'T BEEN PAYING ATTENTION.

Wow. Just wow.