Time for some mini work rants!

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
41

Dear cow-orker,

Please realise that my private life is just that, private. I don’t have to share life stories just to get some annual leave. And the next time I have to rush my girlfriend to hospital, don’t leave a couple of voice mails for me and then pester my parents (especially when they don’t know I’m actually in hospital with my g/f)

And, cow-orker of mine, I know that because we work in a university where I studied, you can look up my personal details online. But please also remember the fact that legally, this is forbidden. Especially so when you abuse this privaledge to pester my parents (see above)

Finally, my relationship between my girlfriend, baby and I is peachy. Quit asking as if I have some sort of custody battle with her. And I realise you love your dog, but don’t pretend owning one is in any way like raising a three and a half month old baby :dubious:

Perhaps if you were to treat our working hours the same as your own, we wouldn’t hate you as much. No-one sees you come in, at whatever time you come in, but we see you busily washing your mug for the last ten minutes of work and isn’t it handy that your bladder asks to be emptied five minutes before this too. Perhaps you wouldn’t hassle us when we come in soaked having been waiting for a late bus to collect us from across town :rolleyes:

As an aside though, thanks for leaving a list of complaints about me in your sent mail to the boss. I thought it prudent to return the favour of poking about in your business just the once, nice to know that you want to reduce my work hours and dock my pay for being in late three days over a few weeks. Doesn’t matter that I worked those hours off later, you just like acting like you run the university.

42

clicks the pen and sits on the chair right next to the comfy sofa

So…tell me how you really feel…

43

Ah! You’ve got yourself one of these.

Like the above thread title states, there is a special place in the hot zone for office snitches. May this person Burn with the Pain of One Thousand Pichforks.

Tell her to mind her own fucking business.

44

Office snitch, office busybody, office intruder, she’s everything to me. I’ve heard of worse behaviour commited behind my back, like for example including asking a co-worker (who is definately a co-worker and not cow) for more information on my girlfriend when I submitted a paternity leave request. That and expressing annoyance at seeing me come in from my girlfriend’s place by bus to co-workers, because she knew that my own rented room is within walking distance of the office and I had phoned in to say I was bussing it in. Oh yes, and expressing annoyance that I had formed a friendship with a temp in the office and that I had a “thing going” with her that I was trying to hide from her :rolleyes:

She really is f*cking paranoid. I could continue about her (probably) fake illnesses, but her intrusion into my private life is enough.

45

And the reverse is true, too. Your private life, co-worker, is private. I don’t need to hear all the sordid details of your stupid life. I don’t want to hear what goes on between your and your husband, or the fact that your 15-year-old daughter is on the Pill, or that your 19-year-old son has knocked up yet another girl, or the nasty details of your neighbor’s divorce, or all the stories about your alcoholic sister and her lazy husband. Shut yer yap and let me work.

(This does not apply to any current co-workers - it applies to a certain former cow-orker who would not shut up.)

46

Hey, you.

Yeah, you’re the boss. I’m your only staff member. Yeah - and I think maybe you could actually hear a word I’m saying sometimes. You know, if you tried.

Also - DO SOMETHING! You are sitting in your office surfing what is mostly porn. Fine. But don’t come out here and act shocked that I’m not done pricing EVERY SINGLE BOOK IN THE B’DANG SHOP yet. Because it’s going to take more than a few hours. There are over 200,000 books. I’ve only been going on this for 3 days. Give me a chance. And a break.

You know I price faster than you anyway. You know that if it weren’t for me you’d be out here twice as long. So stop whinging. I am actually doing it faster than I would have ever expected of someone. Piss off.

And on the one day of the week that I am not here and you have to emerge from your office for the day in order to serve customers, could you maybe choose ANY other job to do besides the one that I specifically said I would enjoy?

Of all the subject areas that are left to be gone through, I said I would like to do Poetry. You agreed. You have no interest in or knowledge of poetry. I do.

There are subjects that you have declared yourself lord and master of. Automotive. Business & Management (trying.not.to.laugh.at that one). They still need to be organised, alphbetised & priced. But you couldn’t do those. I’m not allowed to do those, but you just couldn’t. Why? Because they’re big. Lots of books. Lots of work. Poetry is small (notice it still took you all day though). You knew I wanted to do that bit. In the mountain of shitty, boring work that has to be done - which we are supposed to be sharing 50/50 - I am doing 99% of it - you took the one part I might have got an iota of satisfaction from. Thanks. Thanks a fucking bunch.

And when I say, ‘Gee, I was looking forward to doing that’ and am obviously disappointed, it’s probably not too unreasonable to ask you not to laugh at me for the rest of the day. Prick.

47

Is it too hard to get some damn useable office furniture?

My “desk” is a plastic folding table that appears to be of an amazing construction such that:
a) It dips in the center, making my keyboard jitter around when I type, unless I have placed a sheaf of paper under the left half
b) It is thick enough that it is impossible to have at a height that makes it level with my armrests, meaning that I am always reaching up.
c) It is also thick enough that it is impossible to cross my legs comfortably underneath the table.

My chair lacks an armrest. I don’t mean it lacks armrests, because it has them both. However, the one on the right lacks the little pin that keeps it at any height, so it immediately sinks to the lowest setting in the event that I try to do something stupid like, say, rest my arm on it.

What makes this even more insulting is that some of the other workers and I spent a day building three desks and setting up three PCs in the other side of the office. Even my boss mentioned, “Hey Brahe, go pick out your new desk while you still have a choice.” The next week, the company hired three new people, who of course get the new desks. With the new chairs. And the new computers. That I put together. Fuckers (Actually, they’re pretty nice guys, but they’re fuckers by circumstance). And I still sit in my broken chair, at my picnic table desk, banging away at a computer that still uses Word 97 and a version of Excel that nobody else in the office seems to be using but can’t upgrade because the discs are lost. Oh, and they get hired at full-time positions while I’m still a temp after three months. What the hell, boss?

And whoever designed EMachines monitors deserves some misery. I thought I was going blind because I was seeing orange circles all over the place. They turned out to be afterimages from the large bright blue ring around the power button on the monitor, which I was staring at for nine hours a day until I realized that covering it up made my eyes stop hurting.

Oh, and you, coworker: I don’t have anything personal against you. I just don’t like to be in your presence. No, no, I’m sure you’re reasonably approachable. It’s just that you smell like a person who wears the same sweatshirt every day and has smoked five hundred cigarettes without washing it. I wonder why that is?

48

Jan, you’re a really lovely lady, a hard worker, and nobody has a bad word to say against you.

Every Sunday, you bring in lots of cakes and chips and dips and other munchies for the entire floor, and all out of your own pocket!! You really are a saint! Seriously.

But please, when I ring the bell to finish the shift, and when everyone else has gotten the hell outta there because it’s cold and miserable and Sunday night and everyone wants to go home…don’t ask me to find some metho-wipes so that you can clean your keyboard.

Fuck…I WANNA GO HOME TOO…and I don’t want to hang around waiting for you to be a domestic goddess at work.

Thank you. :frowning: