81 posts tagged “work”

Co-irker left work early Monday and was out all day yesterday.  She was sick.

I hadn't seen her since early this week.  This morning, we rode up in the elevator together.  I asked her how she was.  This wasn't small talk. This was quite the loaded question. As the words, "Are you feeling better?" rolled out of my grill, I was thinking:

Please tell me she just had a bad bout of the scoots

Please tell me she had the bubblyguts

Please tell me she was dehydrated

Or had a migraine

Or was playing sick

Whatever it was... don't let her exemplify any

MOTHER

EFFING

FLU

LIKE

SYMPTOMS

"Oh," she said through a stuffy nose, with a voice worn-down from 1.5 days of coughing, "I'm feeling better. But I can only take so many sick days."

So. As corporate is sending out emails about how to try to keep from getting sick with H1N1 (SWINE FLU!), they are making sure that they keep their money right by not allowing co-workers to have sick days cus they can't afford it.

Hey. United States Health System? And corporate office? In the time of a flipping PANDEMIC (that's world-wide, ya'll... so international) where governors are declaring states of emergency, we allow sick co-irkers to take an extra day or two?

It will lead to an abuse of time-off? Well, figure it out. Make 'em get a doctor's note. Make 'em give you blood. Something.

I hate sitting in the cest pool that is an office with re-circulated pig air. I literally grown under my breath each time one of the FIVE sick co-irkers coughs.

Really. A little sympathy in the time of a pandemic would be awesome.

You know what's worse than getting an email forward? Having a co-irker beckon you to their cube so you can read an email forward that normally would have been sent to you.

I have a hard time mustering up a smile, let alone a laugh or giggle when I see some poor animal dressed up in a costume or a pig+wolf cuddling or some landscape picture with a scripture on it or some really detailed "artwork" that a guy made with a Crayola crayon.

And the reading ones are worse. Co-irker expects me to read some "joke" or something about how I'm not patriotic (hi ruiner!) or some you-know-you're-a-redneck-if email forward while I'm standing in her cube.

I'm bad at the fake laugh. Ask anyone. It basically sounds like this: "HAR. HAR. HAR. HARDYHARHAR!"

But nothing brings out that fake laugh more than when co-irker wants me to read an email forward with her in the same cube. Like, just forward that B.S. so I can delete it like I always do.

Ugh.

I came to work this morning and realized that my co-worker had thrown me under the train boat bus whatever via email communication.

And she cc'd my boss.

Friggen awesome. 

How's about you run the topic at hand by me rather than shine your teets for the boss man to make yourself look good at my expense?

And I can handle if I eff up.  I have humility.  I know I make errors.  I also know that what I did wasn't as bad as it was painted when you tried to cover the tracks that didn't NEED covering.

Screw you, your shiny teets and your crap-eating grin.

I refrain from eating in the break room for good reason.  I don't like to socialize.  Good reason, huh?

I was eating in there today.  I think I was feeling lonely or something.  So.  I ate in there today and was reminded why I refrain from eating in the lunch room.

One of the ladies was reading the sports page and dictated this (Chiefs' Johnson under investigation for latest incident involving a woman) story to us under the guise that it's ridiculous that Johnson is perplexed that this woman is pressing charges.

Another lady says, "Well, sometimes you gotta wonder what the woman did to get that..."

Then there is a 5 minute convo between a few of the ladies about Mike Tyson and Kobe Bryant.  How, regardless of the circumstances, spitting on someone is never ok (duh) and how maybe she deserved it (uhhh?!).  I shut the latter down with the following:

"If some holier than thou NFL player tried to pick up on me cus he thinks he can get anything he wants and I didn't want him to, I don't give a fuck how I said it or who heard me, I dare him to spit a drink in my face."

Yes.  I cussed. 

I also swivled my neck.  And I don't swivle my neck unless I'm making a point that comes from something so deep inside that I need the emphasis of head movement for people to audibly understand what I'm saying and visibly understand that I am not effing around and I mean business.

I also said, "I dare him..." which are total fighting words.  But I meant it. 

The ladies look bewildered.  I don't usually talk to them.  But seriously.  Sports and men in power and women who are victims to those people and women who cry wolf go hand in hand, but no one EVER EVER deserves to be subjected to being spit on/hit on/hit/raped/what the eff ever regardless of HOW this shit went down.  Cus if you think someone mayyyyyybe did something that is deserved of being spat on, you probably think that mayyyyyybe someone did something that is deserved of being beat or raped (seriously, they said that the woman who Mike Tyson beat up should have known better and not put themselves in a situation where they were alone with him.  SERIOUSLY.) 

Look.  I'm cussing again. 

I'll give you one guess.

If you guess: "It's freezing as the dickens in Goldie's office!" then you guessed right.

Sometimes, when the poop hits the fan, you have to high tail it outta the room to keep from getting dirty.

I usually delete email forwards.  This one was cleverly titled, "State of the Industry."  Slick sender, verrrry slick.

Anyway, insurance jokes have a special place in my cold, frigid heart.  Even if they're sent in email forward form.

A woman in a hot air balloon realized she was lost. She lowered her altitude
and spotted a man in a boat below. She shouted to him, "Excuse me, can you help me?
I promised a friend I would meet him an hour ago, but I don't know where I am."

The man consulted his portable GPS and replied, "You're in a hot air
balloon, approximately 30 feet above a ground elevation of 2346 feet above
sea level. You are at 31 degrees, 14.97 minutes north latitude and 100
degrees, 49.09 minutes west longitude.

She rolled her eyes and said, "You must be an Underwriter."

"I am, "replied the man. "How did you know?"

"Well," answered the balloonist, "everything you told me is technically correct,
but I have no idea what to do with your information, and I'm still
lost. Frankly, you've not been much help to me."

The man smiled and responded, "You must be an Agent."

"I am," replied the balloonist. "How did you know?"

"Well," said the man, "you don't know where you are or where you're going.
You've risen to where you are, due to a large quantity of hot air. You made
a promise that you have no idea how to keep, and you expect me to solve your
problem. You're in exactly the same position you were in before we met, but,
somehow, now it's my fault."

Yesterday, I led a meeting where training was done for a computer-based company we work with.  We were in the large conference room, and there's a computer hooked up to a projector so folks can see how to use the system.

I used my log-in cus I was conducting the meeting. 

At one point, we were shown how to attach files from our system to the companies to send via the miracle of the internet.  I mentioned I was using my log-in and the computer was hooked up to the projector, right?

Well, here's the images that are in my 'docs to be attached' folder:

I was misinformed

Propheta

Right!

1 comment

Wrong

Par for the course in the world of Goldie, my blogging life has melded with my real life and pictures that are for my blog were projected onto a computer screen with my co-workers.  This isn't the first time it's happened.  When the pics came up, no one said anything, but they were like, 'uhhhhh.'   The first two, I've blogged about.  The second two are for something I'd meant to write (hint: it involves cupcakes).

I just emailed my brother a link to a news story and utilized keyboard shortcuts for copy (ctrl+c) and pasted (ctrl+v).  I was in the middle of a project where I'm copying/pasting stuff for documentation in our computer system and forgot that the article I linked overrode the stuff I was working on and accidentally pasted the article in my computer system.  It is forever written in my computer system that I wasn't working was, instead, copying news articles.  At least it was an NPR article and not some link to my Vox or something.  That woulda been disasterous.

"Um.  I accidentally encoded my blog in our system... can you... um... delete it... and not follow that link... like, ever?  Thanks."

Will there ever be a balance between hot and cold in an office environment?

I mean, the fluxuations extend beyond what two people might feel as a comfort level... it is one extreme or the other: hella hot v. hella cold.  Never is it in between.

I keep a blanket at my desk cus it gets so bloody cold. 

Sometimes the women who make entire proclamations about their hot flashes try to joke about me and my bundling up or my blanket.  They look at me like, "how dare you be cold?!"  As if I'm some frail anemic or something. 

Today is a cold morning. 

I'm sure by noon, it'll be hot and smelling like hella breath and microwaved food in here.  See, there's never a balance.