Seriously, WTF is with all of these friggin’ timeouts? I don’t care if it’s the international cable, the fuckin’ hamsters or my goddamned ISPs proxy, but it’s really starting to get on my tits. I just want to read some threads. It’s taken me nearly 45 minutes to read half of the threads in the pit, because they keep timing out every time I want to open one. GYAH!
Dear Mr. <name of QA engineer that retired 2 months ago after 35 years> the Third:
Listen here, you mouth-breathing, knuckle-dragging little twerp: I don’t give a shit who you are, you don’t come into my office and sigh, and roll your eyes, and chew your gum loudly trying to get my attention. You’re waiting for a plot and it isn’t coming out? Guess how easy it is to get what you want:
<ingratiating smile>“Hello. My plot isn’t coming out, do you think you could help me with it?” This has worked like a charm for almost all the engineers in the plant. Or at least the engineers worth remembering.
Me: Of course!
And then I will stop what I am doing, fix whatever needs fixing, and if you were nice, I’d even fold the fucker for you and send you on your merry way. Also, in future (not that it matters now), I’d be more likely to not knock any of your other requests to the bottom of my in-basket.
However. Your approach was to come in and look sullen, slouch around and sigh. I went to the bathroom and came back, and you were trying to fiddle with the controller. Bad move, douchebag. Then when your plot came out half the size you wanted, you made more whiny demands of me. Fuck, didn’t your old man (who was more into throwing drawings around, giving me a dirty look, then stomping out of my office) teach you to plot from AutoCAD before he left? Guess not. I know he sure didn’t give you any lessons in common fucking office courtesy, since he wasn’t exactly in possession of that skill himself.
Then when I try to give you instructions to resolve your AutoCAD issue, you insolently plug your iPod into your ear instead of listening to what I had to say. This being after you asked me what you should do to fix your problem. And that is why I said, in reply to your “What?”: “I don’t know, AutoCAD isn’t my fucking problem.”* Instead of “You should talk to X about that.”
I really hope that the person that replaces me is even meaner than I am.
*Why yes, I do have short-timer’s syndrome, why do you ask?
I can get away with this because I am the Golden Child of the department, and I know it.
Dear Instructor of my night class:
There is no “U” in ‘similar.’ Please stop pronouncing it that way.
You’re making me crazy.
Thank you.
Cooking is woman’s job, right? Right.
Ah, but traditionally, sunday cooking or family-meet-cooking has been “man’s job” in many houses. Many husbands would have one dish they did very well and they’d trot it out on every possible occasion.
As Mom would say “your father’s potato omelette is delicious, but how can a man who’s so picky elsewhere leave such a mess behind, I’ll never understand! And I hear the paella-makers are worse!”
Someone handling MONEY is licking their FINGERS??? EWWWWWWW. I hate handling money at the best of times (i.e. when I can wash my hands directly after), and I certainly don’t try to lick all the grossness off my fingers. Ew. Ick. Ewewew.
(And for any of you who think I’m an over-reacting germaphobe, I have two words for you - tuberculosis.)
I suspect he’s one of these people who may be carrying a coffee perculator on the esculator. What is with people putting u’s in everything these days?
Sure, they get a couple of bills in their hand, lick their thumb, and go to town. There’s someone in our office who does the same thing with the files. Whenever she’s paging through looking for something, she licks her finger about every third page. On some of the files, you can actually see where the moisture has wrinkled the corner of the page. :eek:
Such folks should be forced to repeatedly watch select scenes from The Name of the Rose. It certainly made me think twice about licking fingers and turning pages…and about ever becoming a monk.
Oh. My. Fuck.
I don’t know whether to pit the electricity in this house, the lightbulb manufacturers or throw god in there for good measure, but by jolly gosh someone’s getting pitted.
6:45 am. Hubby wakes me up - “Love, the light in the loungeroom has exploded”.
Me: “Huh. Whu? Blown?”
Him: “Yes, but exploded. Kapow. Glass everywhere.”
Hubby’s got to go to work in five minutes, so he can’t clean it up. So I get up to inspect the damage. There is no glass whatsoever attached to the light fixture anymore. I can just see the little aluminium base-cap of the bulb nestled right in there, but no filament, no glass, no nothing. However there is glass all over the friggin’ loungeroom. So now I have to pick up the largest pieces of glass, with them crumbling between my fingers as I try to do so, and then try and vacuum up the rest. In a room with no light. In the early morning. Plus there’s still part of the light up in the fixture. And we don’t know if the light in the lounge is still technically on or not, because our lounge has two switches, and you can’t tell if it’s on or off just from the position of the switch, so we can’t even attempt to remove the remainder of the light (not that we would anyway).
Now at this point, in a normal house we’d just be blaming the bulb and trying to sort out a way to switch in a new one. But this isn’t the first time we’ve had electricity problems in this house. When we first moved in, hubby plugged our old computer in and it asploded. Every time we turn the aircon/heater on, the lights dim. On occasion, if we have too many electrical items plugged in/turned on, the fuse will flip off and we’ll need to go outside to reset it. Occasionally the aircon (which is on its own fuse) will do the same thing, of its own accord. We blow lights on a regular basis. Hell, one of those fluro bulbs that has a 13 year guarantee lasted 6 weeks in our bedroom. Something ain’t right with the power in this house. But the real estate agent has sent out electricians, twice (separate electricians as well) and both of them said there was nothing wrong with the power/wiring.
So yeah, it could be a dodgy bulb (exploding bulbs has never happened before, and we’ve been here for over two years now). It could be the dodgy wiring. I dunno. But goddamnit.
AND … ?
“nucular”
Bumper sticker I spotted yesterday: “Republicans for Voldemort”
How about a counter? “Democrats for Cthulhu”, or maybe “Democrats for Hugo Chavez”…
:rolleyes: :rolleyes:
I was just foolin’ with y’all. There is only one word. Well, I guess you could add “infection” to “tuberculosis.”
Ooh, I have a very minor rant - women’s clothes manufacturers who can’t put the closings on the right side. Men’s clothes close on one side; women’s clothes close on the other. It would be nice if all women’s clothes manufacturers could figure out which side it is supposed to be, so I don’t have half my pants closing on one side and half closing on the other. It just…bugs me.
It’s a reference to the webcomic Goats , not a political statement.
I’ve lost my phone. I had it at a party last night, and now I can’t fucking find it. It’s probably at the flat where the party was, right? Except no one can find it! Arg fucking arg.
I lost my damned wallet. I have cancelled the cards, but it will be Tuesday before I can get another driver’s license. Just knowing I am stuck in the house is giving me cabin fever.
I pit one of my rental office’s tenants who, after being evicted for non-payment of rent because she left her Temporary Rental Assistance lapse and Social Services won’t renew it, said I should “rent” one of my three rooms to her because “It’s your fault they’re not paying my rent, and you don’t need three rooms anyway.”
Yes, she’ll go far in life, blaming everyone else for all her problems and never being responsible for anything. Best wishes to her.