The Tyranny of Teeth

A couple of weeks ago, Teeth informed Princess Anne that she, Princess Anne, was expected to be in the filing room every day between 4:00 and 4:30 in order to catch up on the backlog of filing. Princess Anne, who, though an idiot, is not a slacker, replied that this was simply not possible except on Thursdays and Fridays, due to her own workload. After all, when the Cub quit in August, no-one bothered to hire a replacement temp, and there are no plans to replace Sylvester, either. We have already been told that.

Yet, despite Princess Anne's objections, Teeth told her that she was neverthless expected to be in that filing room.

Today, we learned that Teeth is not letting us go early tomorrow afternoon, as is customary, because Princess Anne has not caught up on her filing.

And I am incensed. Furious. Pissed right off.

It's not because we don't get to go home early (although that would have been nice; I have a party to prepare for the following evening). After all, I'm not entitled to that time off. I'm cross-eyed pissed off because Teeth has chosen to begin her reign of tyranny by laying the blame for all this on Princess Anne.

And Teeth has both today and tomorrow off work, the fucking buck-toothed slunt.

But if she thinks that the rest of us blame Princess Anne, she is seriously mistaken. We know this has nothing to do with filing and everything to do with Teeth power-tripping.

And if she thinks that I am just going to sit around and wait for her to come gnawing on me, then she's got another think coming, because I will take two retail jobs before I have to deal with her bullshit.

I declined to take an afternoon break today so that most of my work could be done in anticipation of being released early tomorrow. That was before I heard the news, of course. Now I don't give a rat's ass if my bills are caught up or not.

So whattaya think? Should I "sleep in" tomorrow and wander into the office around 11:00?

Dental Damn

It's official: effective January 1, 2012, Teeth is my new boss.

I confess, I am all astonishment. I have a number of questions that I would like to ask Head Office Lady, questions like,

1. "Are you serious?"

2. "Are you desperate?"

3. "Is this really the best you could do?"

4. "Have you actually met Teeth?"

So now the job hunt is on in earnest.

Occupy My Garage!!!

So, the Little Hunneydoo left the house this morning for work, only to discover that some piece of shit crackhead had broken into her vehicle overnight and stolen the dollar that we keep there for the shopping cart at the gocery store. He/She also took the garage door remote that was on her sun visor.

If the POS CH let him/herself into the garage, they neither touched my car nor made off with anything else. Nor did POS CH wreck the Little Hunneydoo's lock or smash her windows. So mostly, we are inconvenienced in that we have to reprogram the garage door opener so that the stolen one won't work. And that means borrowing a ladder that we don't have, yadda yadda. Whatever. It could have been much worse. I'm not actually complaining. Much.

But after describing the event to my co-workers (who, it seems, never pass up a chance to prove how profoundly ignorant they are), Princess Anne said, "It was probably one of those Occupy Our Town jerks."

...

Yeah, because people who are peacefully protesting the appalling corporate greed that is rampant in our consumer-based society are all about stealing, you fucking moron.

Whether you agree with the Occupy movement or not, that comment makes absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Last week I applied at the local humane society for the position of Administrative Assistant/Receptionist. It pays three dollars less than I am currently making with these brain dead shitheels.

And I don't care.

That's What *He* Said!

Two Clowns is universally disliked in the office, even by the other managers, a group she has deluded herself into believing she belongs. Proof of this was amply proffered this afternoon, when Jacques (who is French Canadian) approached Princess Anne at the reception desk and indicated Two Clowns's south-facing office with a jerk of his head.

"'Ow does she stand it in dere wit' da 'eater on?" he asked, sotto voce. "It's gotta be so 'ot!"

And it's true. Perhaps because she is really a reptile cleverly disguised as a person, Two Clowns's office is always Saharan in temperature, even in August. It's a lot like gorillas in the mist, really.

Princess Anne shrugged, and Jacques shook his head in bewilderment.

"God," he said. "It's a good t'ing she doesn't wear leather pants. She'd smell like a burning clutch!"

Laughed. My. Ass. Right. Off.

Sufferin' Succotash!

One of the things that can be marginally considered a bonus where I work is that one has to work jolly hard to get fired. Possibly because no-one has received a raise in at least five years (except for the 2% cost of living increase, which is a pittance) and the fact that we get paid shittily, my employer is pretty tolerant when it comes to time off for doctor's appointments, illness or just needing to leave early and come in late. The Queen of Excuses for Goofing Off is Yvette, who will leave work because she thinks she *might* be coming down with something. And when she is there, she spends a good portion of her day on the phone. Or surfing the net looking at wedding dresses.

But when it comes down to being actually dismissed, it hardly ever happens. I mean, someone once told one of the other billers that she was a "fucking cunt" to her face in front of witnesses and didn't lose their job over it. In fact, the last people to be fired from my particular branch actually embezzled from the company. Their niece still works in dispatch.

So imagine my surprize when I discovered that Sylvester lost her job yesterday afternoon. I missed it (thankfully, I'm no fan of drama and there's been plenty of that lately) due to a doctor's appointment, but the official reason given was that her performance had deteriorated. That excuse stank of dead fish to me, and Princess Anne finally said that it had something to do with some other stuff that wouldn't look good on Sylverster's record. Remember when I told you all about how she made a play for one of the male dispatchers? Well, it seems that she would go back to his desk and massage his shoulders and pat his head (?) and just generally made him uncomfortable, to the point where he complained to Jacques.

And I guess Jacques took care of it.

Sylvester should have been more discreet, and it is good to know that my employer does have some standards. But I will also say that they are double standards. There is certainly no room in the office for sexual harrassment, but there is also the ongoing spectacle of Jacques himself bowing and saying "Ah-so" virtually every time he sees me. And Mulan sits on the other side of the wall from me, so seeing or hearing him is only a matter of time. And I have received emails from Springsteen's husband that are frankly racist and would be very embarrassing should they ever be found by Mulan or some of our Islamic drivers.

But these people are in a position of authority and responsibility, and firing them--or even disciplining them, I imagine--is beyond the pale, even if people felt they could complain and be heard.

So while Sylvester really has only herself to blame, I venture to say that she shouldn't be the only one looking for a new job.

And that really sucks.

What's Up, Doc?

I was off work for most of this week with muscles aches and a general, overwhelming sense of ennui. Nevertheless, the office politics managed to reach me at home, making for a rather pissy convalesence. What an incredible shit-show that place is. In fact, as I have mentioned to friends, it feels more and more like I am trapped in a sitcom that is a cross between Green Acres and The Facts of Life.

None of it is even really blogworthy, therefore not worth retelling here. Just trust me when I say I clearly work with a group of rural thundercunts who haven't grasped the fact that high schoo lis years past.

None of the politics are Teeth's fault, surprisingly. In fact, this week would have ordinarily been a good one, as she is on holidays. She has gone to join her husband hunting in the bush, which cannot fail to make me think of these two:

That's all, folks!

Talk Caucasian To Me, Bitch!

Last week, work was a complete and utter shit show. I came so close to just walking out of the building that I even expressed that sentiment to Jacques, who is in charge of hiring drivers for our branch. And he responded with alacrity, calling Head Office Lady and getting her to talk me down.

The other person who actually stepped up was (get this) Teeth. You see, Mulan was scheduled to go on holidays, and, since Springsteen has already moved into her new position, Head Office Lady had to find someone to learn Mulan's tasks so that her bills would get processed in her absence. She asked me to do it and I accepted because I really didn't want to go back to the other stuff I was doing.

The difficulty was that they only gave Mulan and me one week in which to learn her stuff. And although Mulan is a very nice lady, her communication skills are hampered by a pronounced Hong Kong accent. To make things even more difficult, she wouldn't let me take notes on procedures. And when I unfortunately but inevitably made mistakes, she would say, "But I already told you that! I write it down for you!" But that doesn't help at all when I am trying to learn the billing procedure for seven or eight different clients. Eventually, my frustration reached a level at which I thought if she said, "I told you already," I was going to rip her fucking larynx out and tie in a bow around her goddamned neck.

Teeth, who was able to overhear the rising tension, stepped in to help, since she is actively promoting herself as Springsteen's inheritor. We had a long talk private talk, just the two of us, about how my brain was shutting down and at this point, it was like that scene in The Matrix where Neo is staring at all the streaming numbers; I was no longer able to take in anymore information. Teeth was supportive, attentive and sympathetic and I was starting to think that maybe I had been hasty in my dismissal of her.

And then she said, "Would this information make any more sense to you if it was explained in Caucasian?"

And if you, dear reader, are sitting there, staring at the screen with eyes that are somewhat wider than they were a moment ago, know that that is precisely the reaction that everyone has who hears this story.

My good friend D. suggested I should have replied, "No, I'm fluent enough in gook, thanks," which would have been very satisfying.

And believe me, it would have been perfectly in keeping with the attitudes in that office. It wouldn't have even really stood out as offensive. For the duration of Mulan's absence, I am sitting at her desk so that I may take advantage of the experience of the other billers who know how to do her stuff. And Mulan's desk is right outside of Jacques's office.

This afternoon, as I was getting up from my desk to collect some papers from the printer, Jacques saw me. He smiled broadly, put his palms together in front of his chest and bowed low, saying, "Ah-so!"

I was so stunned by this display of blatant racism that I stopped in my tracks and looked around to see if anyone else had heard or seen it. I caught Sylvester's glance and her eyes looked like a pair of sattelite dishes. Finally, I turned back to Jacques and in Cantonese, told him, "Good morning, how are you?"

He thought that was pretty funny, so I don't think he realized that I was actually speaking one of the main Chinese languages. I think he thinks I was playing along with him and making up words, because he did the "Ah-So!" thing later on in the day. That time, I just ignored it, but in my mind I was thinking, "Christ on a cracker, man--the Human Rights Commission would be ALL over this!!!"

Of course, he would never dream of doing this to Mulan's face. Not like Teeth, who I overheard mocking Mulan's accent last week while they were both in the lunch room. Yet despite this appalling lack of cultural and personal sensitivity, Teeth still thinks she's manager material.

I gotta find another job.