Once, one of the IT guys in the place I used to work for sent a “broadcast” email to inform everybody that the email was down. The IT guy!
*Warning! The Surgeon General Has Determined that working with Idiots is bad for your health.
Jodi, I’m going to post to your OP now.
There, I’m posting.
Didja read my post? Didja? Huh?
I just want to make sure you read my post.
Should I post it again?
Call her, Weirddave.
Daniel
I found out today that one of our managers prints every email to his departmental printer, but then leaves them there, where they collect in a pile until someone throws them away. :eek:
Now that’s a :rolleyes: if ever I saw one.
Grim
Missy2U, are you talkin’ about anyone I know? 
From a BBC radio comedy the other day:
- How’s your new broadband connection?
– It’s great - watch this… Oh shit! - What have you done?
– I accidentally downloaded the Internet. - How big’s your hard drive, then?
– One and a half Internets. That’s why I bought it.
[phone rings] - Who’s that?
– It’s AOL, they want the Internet back. - You should email it to them.
– OK, I’m just attaching it now… I think I’ll copy and paste it into the message too, just in case.
The receptionist here called me over on Monday to show her how to get a reading from the coppier.
Now, she’s been here for about 5 years. Also, I was co-receptionist with her for 3, before my promotion in April.
Since April, she’s had to do the coppier reading herself. Since April, she’s asked me to show her how to do it, every month. You take the reading, then you call or e-mail the print center with the number. This is also all written down in the procedure manual. I know that, because I wrote it.
Earlier this week, she called me over. It was the coppier reading again. I showed her where to get the reading from, but then she starts mashing buttons at random.
“How do you do it? Where is it?” she asks me.
“Where is what?” I ask, confused.
“Where is the button that you push to send the reading?” She says.
She’s been doing this for six months!
porcupine, bwahahaha - could be, could be. Sometimes I wish RIF’s were decided and handed out by those of us who have to “serve”, know what I mean? At least we KNOW who the morons are.
I will say this much, though, it isn’t the one you’re related to. He’s a real peach! Never asks for ANYthing!
I had someone who has worked here for five years or so come and ask me to show her how to use the fax machine. Wtf? How do these people survive in life? How do you work in an office for five years and not learn how to send a simple fax?
That also goes for the girl who comes to me with two pages to copy. It takes her longer to walk to my desk to ask me to do it than it would for her to do it herself. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t know how to operate the copier.
How do these people have higher jobs than me? I really want to know.
Any chance that a few of these people are playing dumb to get out of actually learning how to do the job?
Oooh! Oooh! I’ve got a good one!
I was working at a real estate brokerage. One of the brokers comes to my desk:
“Overly, I’m having problems with the Internet. I can’t get to our Web site.”
“Okay, Mike, let’s see what you’re doing.”
I walk to his desk, he sits down. Opens his browser and stares at it.
“See, it’s not working. I can’t get to our Web site.”
“Ummm…” I’m trying not to laugh and/or tell him he’s a moron. “Why don’t you try typing in the address.”
“Oh, okay.” He begins typing in our street address in the URL field.
“Why don’t you try the Web address?”
“Oh, that’s right! That’s my problem. Thanks, Overly.” He gives me a huge, dorky grin. As I begin to walk away, he types in the URL. And stares at his browser, waiting for something to happen. I’m looking over my shoulder to see what he does. “Overly,” he yells, “It’s still not working. Would you call IT for me?”
"Sure. However, why don’t you try hitting enter or pressing “Go,” which is right next to that field.
“Wow. It worked. Why don’t you work for IT? You always solve my technical problems.”
By the time I got back to my desk I was almost choking with laughter.
As Elayne Boosler once said in reference to Ronald Regan’s comment that birth is a miracle:
I used to think this until someone explained that the fax machine took a picture of the document. I still don’t understand how the machine rolls the picture small enough to go through the wire, though. And how it gets back out of the wire at the right place is absolutely beyond me.
But seriously, I once worked as a technical writer for a guy who put every finished document he received via email in the recycle bin. That way, he said, he would always know where they were. And he did know, until the day the network administrator emptied his trash.
Semi-related, but I’ve been dying to tell someone this.
I recently had to outline, in email, twice (he asked me to write it for him again although it was still there, further down in the same email), how to copy and paste a URL from a browser into an email, and then how to copy and paste it from the email back into a web browser.
Then I had to go and personally show him how to do it, because he couldn’t get it to work. I had to show him where copy and paste was.
This is a person who has been using a computer at least since I got here, 6 years ago.
You forgot Pony Express and smoke signals. At least with the latter, all Jodi has to do is periodically cover and uncover her ears.
My first real job (not counting retail hell) was at a law firm. I started as the receptionist, but they quickly figured out I was a computer whiz and piled on additional responsibilities. (Did they raise my pay? What do you think?) I remember one day where one of the junior partners had been locked in his office, refusing calls or contact of any kind, obviously working on something really important. Then, at a quarter to 5:00 or so, he suddenly emerged. He came to me at the front desk and said, “This is an urgent fax. It needs to go out right away.” And he waved this massive sheaf of paper at me, at least a hundred pages. Fine, I said, no problem.
Now, this was in 1988 or so, when even top-of-the-line fax machines could hold maybe ten pages in the feeder tray, and didn’t scan anything; they slowly fed each page, one at a time: zt- zt- zzzt- … zt- zt- and so on. You had to sit and babysit the machine, in case each new page wasn’t grabbed by the feeder. (Output, of course, was on a big thermal roll, with a slicer to separate pages, but that’s not part of the story.) So I get the guy’s fax started, but at barely three pages per minute, it’s going to be at least half an hour and probably closer to 45 minutes before it’s done.
And as I’m sitting there, of course, with nothing to do, I glance over the first few pages that were sent first. Turns out it’s not casework at all: The guy was in trouble for his law-school loans, and had spent all day putting this material together. (Later we found he was dispatching an overkill-sized stack of forms and paperwork as some sort of delaying tactic to buy another couple of weeks to get things in order.) Fine, whatever, I say, and I go back to babysitting the machine.
At 5:00, when I’d been working for fifteen minutes and the stack was between one-third and one-half completed, he came and found me sitting by the machine. “Is it done?” he said. Uh, no. “What the fuck do you mean it’s not done?” he exploded. Well, it was a big job— “Goddammit, I told you it was urgent!” Yes, but— “Well!” he interrupted, his voice loud and cold. “Now, I’m fucked.” And he stomped away, leaving me burning in humiliation.
It made a huge impression on me, obviously. If something like this happened again, I would have no hesitation getting right back in the guy’s face, junior partner or no junior partner, and explaining exactly why he was out of line. But as an inexperienced 19-year-old, I didn’t know any better than to sit there and accept the unwarranted attack. The lesson here in the context of the thread, I guess, is that while dealing with pathetically ignorant people who don’t have a clue how basic office equipment functions and who beg for help for the simplest tasks may be annoying, it’s certainly preferable to dealing with people whose insecurities manifest as anger and abuse.
You mean, like husbands who “accidentally” screw up the laundry or the dishes? Nobody here does that, I’m sure.
Hey, what’s with the new surname? You get married or something?
I hear that quite a bit myself. 
The place I worked before this was the place where the telephone support people would send out mass voice-mails to notify us that the phone system was experiencing problems.
The only way we knew when it was working was when we got the message telling us it wasn’t working.
One of my users, who spent her days entering data into a PC, didn’t know how to do a cut and paste. And she practically made the sign against the evil eye when I set up a keyboard macro to enter a bunch of header information that she was typing in about two hundred times a day.
And I freaked another user out seriously, by writing a subroutine to automatically route her output reports to whatever printer was near her, even if she was signed on to another terminal. I told her the computer could see her thru the monitor. She believed me for the better part of a week.
Regards,
Shodan
I was called long distance and told “send me an email so I can respond to it”.
Jodi - one of my funding sources sent me to a ‘training seminar’ for email usage. It was four hours long. :rolleyes:
cripes. Even the good ship Minnow’s tour was shorter than that.