Dear Motherfuckers 9/4/2006

Yeah, I called you all motherfuckers.  Turns out I haven’t had anyhting to write about in a number of weeks.  Even my reader contribution blog didn’t work as I only got 2, maybe 3 responses.  It was a bad idea to begin with as I can’t write an angry blog from someone elses perspective.

So, my job still sucks and I still work with an alcoholic, a gravy filled fatty, an all black wearing guy with a mo-hawk, A new guy who knows nothing (he works tech support but doesn’t know what a router is), and a guy who hasn’t been to work in 3 weeks.  None of these people get fired for their appearance, lack of knowledge, or lack of showing up to work.  I seriously am going to start testing my boundaries there.  I’m going to start planting things in the office… like bras and condoms on peoples chairs just to see what the reactions are.  I’ve already put in a Tech support ticket, signed it as Arnold Schwarzenegger and filled it out as “The server is down!  Get to the chopper!  You’ve got to get the server up or get to the chopper!”  Sadly, no response.  I also may start sitting on their chairs and pulling myself down on them as hard as possible, fart in the cusion, get up nice and gingerly so it stays in the cushion so the next time they sit down, the smell pours out as if they did it themselves.  I’ll figure something out, or else I’ll go nuts.

Now I’ve got to get back to punching faces and karate kicking hearts.  Fuck ya.

Save the Trees, so this Dude can Wipe his Ass

I was just in the bathroom in the stall (yes, pooping).  A guys goes in the stall next to me and does his business.  I hear him go for the TP and figure he’s done.  He goes for the TP again.  These aren’t like small amounts, I can hear him spin the roll for quite a bit.  By the end, he had gotten TP 5 times.  Whos ass gets that dirty?  It didn’t sound all squirty or anything.  I think he probably made his ass bleed on the third wipe, yet kept going.  I wonder if he does that at home too, but since its not a commercial toilet, it clogs every time.  Perhaps he figures since it’s not his TP he can just waste it.  I don’t kow what he was thinking, but it was stupid.  Moral of the story: you don’t need to wipe your ass 5 times or I’ll make fun of you.

Corporate America 6/14/2006

I work in a corporation.  I don’t know if you’re familiar with how corporations are run, but it’s about the worst possible way to run anything.  I don’t know if that’s specific to my corporation, but it’s my only perspective.

I work at the helpdesk, the frontline support for all technology in the corporation.  I thought if you worked high up in a corporation, you had to have some sort of education.  This is apparently not the truth.  An example of this is alot of the calls I get.  Things like “Yeah, I changed my password yesterday and I can’t login today because I forgot it.”  So, you forgot something you just changed yesterday?  You need it to get in your computer every day you work, but you didn’t think to write it down in case you forgot it?  It’s bad enough you forgot from yesterday, but then not to write it down shows your true brilliance.  I’m so glad you make alot more money than me.

Another gem here is the call I got about a ladys “E” drive.  She was complaining that her E drive was gone.  She uses it everyday and now it’s gone.  Guess what, it’s not some drive on the network she has mapped to “E.”  It’s not even a drive.  It’s her god damned Internet Explorer icon.  She called it the E drive because the icon is an E.  Sweet Fucking Christ people, are you that computer inept even though you use one every day of your life?  How do you make more than me again?  Is your degree from a school for the “gifted?”

Another thing I hate about corporations is the managers.  Take mine for example.  She manages the helpdesk… in the IT department.  She doesn’t know a fucking thing about any technology that we have except our old reservations system… that we are eliminating.  How are you my boss?  Yesterday, she lost her folders in her email program and for the life of her, couldn’t get them back on the screen.  I looked into it because I hadn’t seen anyone do that before.  15 seconds later, I had it fixed.  “Here boss, go to ‘view’ and check ‘folder list’ and voila!  Your folder list is back in your view.  It’s not god damn rocket science, but I’m glad you’re my boss.  Retard.

Reincarnated 4/3/2006

Ok, I’m not really reincarnated, but it felt like I died last week.  The Streptococcus bascteria invaded my throat and made me die.  Tuesday and Wednesday were a huge blur, most of which I slept through.  Thursday I still couldn’t eat, and it hurt, but perkiset rocks for taking pain away.  Well, not so much taking pain away, but making me forget that pain hurts so bad.  Friday wasn’t bad, and I ate my first solid meal in 4 days.  Tuesday was the day I went to the doctor.  The took a strep test and it came up negative, but it looked so much like strep that they prescribed the antibiotics for strep anyway.  They said if it didn’t work, I had to get a blood test for mono.  Oh fun, mono… cause I want to be sick for 3 months.  Turns out, it was strep and the medicine worked.  Overall in the week, I lost 10 lbs from Monday to Friday.  Not a bad diet if someone wanted to drop alot of weight fast.  See me about getting infected if you want!

Now, my favortie part of the story.  I didn’t get sick until Monday night, so I worked Monday.  I emailed into work at about 4am because my throat was so swollen I couldn’t make words (insert generic sucking cock joke here).  Now, if you’ve read my blogs, you know I work with a gigantic individual that is basically a piece of crap rather than a human being.  He has a habit of calling in sick pretty much every Tuesday for the last 6 months.  Well, I beat him to it, only I’m really sick and he’s just as fat as normal, which you can NOT call in to work for.  If you could call in fat, he’d never be here.  At about 6am, I get a phone call that I don’t answer for obvious reasons.  Guess what, it’s him on my voicemail… “Derek, what’s with this strep shit?  I’ve been up puking all night, I can’t work.  I was hoping maybe you could do a half shift and I can do the other half.  Well, I guess not… I’ll have to tough it out I guess.”  Dear fat man,  if I could, I’d kill you right now.  Nobody believes your sick every Tuesday, and you use the same fucking excuse every week.  I know you’re not bulimic and making yourself throw up, because bulimic people don’t weigh a quarter of a ton (he’s 425lbs).  How do you have the audacity to call someone with strep throat and ask them to work.  I work with you, and have for years….  I know you’re not sick on Tuesday like you always pretend to be.  If deep fried bacon and tall glasses of fryer oil weren’t going to kill you at 30, then I would.  Fuck off.  I heard later, from a girl I work with, that he still didn’t come in and called someone else in.  What a waste of fucking life.

Work is Spreading 3/23/2006

So, what’s with talking about work while not at work?  Doesn’t work take up enough of your life without talking about it when you’re not there?  Seriously, I go to lunch with people from work and the only menaingless conversation they come up with is “Man, (whoever) at work is pissing me off.  They did this and that and it sucked and I cried.”  So F-ing what?  It’s work, nobody likes it.  That person’s probably saying the same thing about you right now, and you deserve it as much as they do.

The most I talk about work outside of it is “Man, I hate work” or I tell a funny story about Quarter Ton and how he tried to shotgun a can of crisco at lunch and it got stuck in his mouth and looked like he had rabies made of fat… which he probably does.

Moral of the story… don’t try to shotgun crisco… I mean, don’t talk about work outside of work.  It blows, yes, but people don’t really want to hear about it.  Their jobs suck too.  Talk about something fun like fat people’s downfalls or how the government is robbing you.

F-ing Work 10/17/2005

I’m sitting here at work, wasting away my existence.  I called in sick this morning, but the fat fucker that is supposed to cover for me is getting his wisdom teeth removed.  I hope that in some way this will allow him to eat less, but I highly doubt it.  He’ll figure out a way to eat 7 hams and a can of crisco even after mouth surgery.

I’m really sick too, I’m not making it up this time.  Everything I’m eating is going through my stomach as if it were Satan himself, and then runs a marathon through my intestines only to start a fight with my colon.  I should go to the doctor, but I am lazy.  As soon as the next guy on shift steps in, I’m outta here.  I fear for anyone that gets in my way on the way home as I will run them down, then curse their entire family.

Another Day… Wait, What Day is it? 2/7/2006

Yes, another day at work.  I’ve managed to drag myself into a place that I hate more than anything for another day.  I’ve been here over 3 years now and I couldn’t hate it more.  The sound of the phone ringing makes me well up with anger.  The stupid ding noise the phone makes when calls are in queue makes me swear out loud at people that can’t hear me.  I know that an hour after I get here every morning, I’m going to feel the building shake because the 425 lb man that I work with is going to stumble in stinking of hams and crisco from 10 minutes before he left for work.  One day I just want to stab him in the belly and see if he really does bleed gravy.  After he gets here, it’s 4-5 hours of random stupid fucking stories about how he kicked ass on his Role Playing Game last night or how he watched some fucking thing about the Seahawks and how they are the best thing around.  Guess what gravy veins… they lost the Superbowl.  Stop talking or I’ll cut you and save your blood until thanksgiving.  After I take my lunch, which is supposed to be an unpaid half hour, but I take an hour and stay clocked on because I hate this place, I get to come back to more stories about what Fatty read while I was gone.  Sometime in that hour, the other guy comes in (he also plays the same RPG.  They are, in fact, in the same ‘guild’ or whatever gay clubs are called nowadays).  So I get to hear more awesome stories about how he raided some cave that had level 30 monsters in it and he tricked them and won the battle.  Teriffic, you won the prize that will ensure you never get laid in your entire life.  Douchebag.  After that prize of a human goes home, I just try to stay awake for an hour longer before I leave for class, where again I will fight to stay awake.

None of those reasons are why I hate this job, they are only pieces to the puzzle.  The main reason I hate is is what I do.  I work the Helpdesk for Red Lion Hotels and for TicketsWest.  The Red Lion part isn’t so bad.  The TicketsWest part is equivalent to punching myself in the testicles a hundred times an hour.  See, when an outlet or venue fucks up selling tickets, they can’t siomply refund them, they have to call me to put them back in the system.  With close to 400 outlets and venues, that’s a lot of fucking up.  Most of the calls I get could be solved by reading the computer screen BEFORE printing the tickets.  Example conversation:
“Hi, I need to unsell these tickets.”  Get the usual info, then ask “Ok, what’s the reason for unselling these?”  “Oh, they wanted Keystone ski tickets and I sold them Copper Mountain.”  Ok, harmless enough answer one time… but this kind of thing happens at least 25 times a day.  Seriously, theres an exact picture of what you’re going to print on the screen in front of you.  It says “Copper Mountain” right on it.  How did you even manage to bring up copper mountain in the place of keystone anyway?  It’s a keyword search… and last I checked ‘copper’ doesn’t appear in ‘keystone’ anywhere.  Imagine 3 years of talking to idiots like this… See why I hate it?  I’m tired of hearing “Oh, it was the wrong date” or “They didn’t want to pay the price” or “It was the wrong event.”  How?  How are any of those things possible when there is an EXACT picture of what you’re printing on the screen in front of you.

After I deal with this for 8 hours a day, then go to F-ing class, I get to go home.  Awesome, home.  All I have to do there is get wasted, and I’m tired of getting wasted.  My roommates are cool to hang out with, but that only goes so far.  I basically waste my life at a job I hate, then go home and do nothing.  Exciting.  No wonder I have no drive to do anything at all anymore.  I go to the gym 2-3 times a week, and play hockey on Mondays, but that’s it during the week.  The weekends are just a blur of punishing my liver with alcohol, which admittedly leads to some great stories… but then the weekends over and all I have left to show for it is a messed up digestive system and a possibly dying liver.  Yay, back to work on Monday.

Why am I writing this?  I don’t know, I’m a complainer… it’s what I do.  Why do you care?  You don’t have to, I just thought I’d give you a peek into what I do and why I hate everything about it.  I have to stop writing this though, cause I can already feel the rumble of crisco guzzling ham man coming up stairs as I type here….

Listen to Yourself 1/24/2006

Have you heard yourself talk?  I was in the deli at work today where they serve espresso.  I don’t personally get it, but a lot of people do.  A lady in front of me gets her latte or whatever, tall, with ’skinny’ milk.  Skinny?  What the fuck?  Do you realize how stupid that sounds?  Milk comes in a lot of varieties, none of which are ’skinny.’  Here’s what you’re not going to get by drinking so many lattes a day that you have your own term for skim milk: skinny.  Do you think maybe if you call it skinny that you, yourself, will become skinny by drinking it?  Maybe it makes you sound like your health conscious?  Remember that when you are pouring a stimulating drug down your throat.  I’m willing to bet when you go to MacDonalds and order your double quarter pounder with extra cheese and mayo, you get a diet coke also.  If you call it ’skinny’ coke, I will kill you.

Bastard Corporate Bandits 1/15/2006

This is an email I sent to my entire office after I found out someone stole my $1 Frozen lunch:

Dear Freezer Bandit,

I see you were not dissuaded by my previous email wherein one of my hot pockets was taken.  This time, my Santa Fe Style Rice and Beans are the victim.  I know it must be hard trying to remember if you brought that food and somehow forgot, but you didn’t.  I did.  Alas, it is today and I have no money for lunch as I forgot my wallet at home, but I figured “Hey!  I’ll just eat the food I have in the freezer!  The day is saved!”  Guess what?  WRONG!  It has been eaten by someone else.  The day is not saved, but ruined.  Congratualtions Rice and Bean culprit, you ruined my day.  Now I have to go to Sante Fe and get more Rice and Beans.

Derek