Wednesday, June 30, 2010

Remembering nothing from my Robaxacetted week except job-related loathing

I have just arrived at work and am being flanked on three sides by coworkers having personal conversations ranging from barely audible hush to full Springer melt down.

The latter is an otherwise genteel South Asian lady who I affectionately call Indonesian Dr. Philla. The 'a' is cause she's a chick. The extra 'l' is there cause I'm AMAZINGLY KNOWLEDGEABLE ABOUT LATIN LANGUAGE STRUCTURES. Currently, I'm being unintentionally entrusted with the knowledge that her cousin is back with this cad Antwan, who is evidently "just not a cool guy, you know?" and that he better watch "hisself" cause he played this same game with her friend Monique. It's like I'm working in the projects.

Across from her, another stand up employee is privying me to the knowledge that she's having some credit card debt issues and that the lovely Visa rep just "doesn't understand" that she and her husband are struggling to make ends meet, what with only making $45,000 each annually and that she was under the impression that their 50-inch plasma TV would be a tax write-off as he's an evening manager at Block Buster.

Finally, on the other side, is Black Magic, who is talking about me and the cold shoulder I'm giving her cause she's effectively passed half of her work load onto me. One of the lesser examples but consequently all the more infuriating is that rather than place a letter in the mail room on her way home, effectively requiring to take an additional 15 seconds in her laborious trek, she instead took the time to write a post-it note asking me to do it. Biznatch, how lazy can you get? Well, ladies and gentleman, the answer to that question lies in the size of her ass. I'm pretty sure it's the size of Gary Coleman's casket. One could incubate a baby moose back to health between those cheeks. Our boss seems to be okay with this situation as she knows BM (ahahaha...BM...) is lazy as fuck - trust me, fuck is lazy - and needs the work to get done so she tasks it to the one person currently not on the phone with creditors, recently paroled family members or BFFs named Shanice.

Finally, let it be known that the first two characters were both a ruse and that they're all Black Magic.

Fuck, I hate her so much.


BOO said...

OH MY GOD!!!!!!!!!!!!

I may have wee'd myself.

Thanks for this. Your trials and tribulations bring uncommonly high levels of joy to my life. As do you.

soft nonsense said...

Someday I'd like to just follow you to work one day, just to spy on the goings on. I feel like it would be the experience that I would remember for decades to come.

Pat Tillett said...

It just became clear to me, that there are valid reasons for "violence in the workplace."

Sandra said...

Today, everything has become about the list of people here who desperately need a punch to the face and how very much I would like - desperately, even - to be the one to deliver it. Imma go ahead and put BM (hahaha, BM!!) on that list. You want me to come down there? Cause I could totally punch a bitch today!

In other news, my program doesn't believe in time off, like at all. My day went from 8am-7pm with no breaks longer than 5 minutes. OMG. And as I said, there are so very many people just yearning for that solid contact of fist to face. There are also some pretty fine folk, but... just saying. Punch. To. The. Face. I'm on it.

The Illustrious D said...

I'm revoking your Cap Lock privileges.

It's a trip, especially since one day at my work kills the same amount of brain cells as two tabs of acid.

And no, Pat, it doesn't get you high.

You're veering dangerously close to P. Williamson territory with those 'desperately's.