PLEASE stop ‘refiling’ for me. I know your heart is in the right place, but when YOU refile something it inevitably leads to a half hour or longer search by me the next time you want that piece of paper.
Face it: you have ADHD. You get irritated while looking for the right place to return the doc to, and suddenly anything ‘sort of’ right is Good Enough for you to shove that piece of paper in.
And it’s NOT good enough. :mad:
See the cute little wire baskets labeled “To Be Filed” that I have put in your office, the file room, my office AND the hallway??? Please, please, please. USE THEM.
On Jay Leno’s headlines last week was a police blotter entry about a person who called the Police (didn’t say 911, but it wouldn’t surprise me) because the time on their VCR was wrong!
I shouldn’t be bashing an agency that is still holding my paperwork, but just so the rest of the world knows who we’re talking about - Columbine High School is in JeffCo. The perceived missteps by these guys could (and maybe did) merit a thread of their own. Granted, there’s a new Sheriff in town, but I don’t know that he’s much different. They’re politicians.
I know that sometimes the gender of my verbs and adjectives don’t match up right, but I promise you I’m not stupid. Please, please, please just give me the documentation I need and don’t tell me that someone else told you this paperwork would be good enough. Someone else doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Humor me, people. GIVE ME THE PAPERWORK I NEED OR THE PROJECT WILL BE DISQUALIFIED. And I spent a shitload of time working on it, so GIVE ME THE FUCKING DOCUMENTATION!
Mom, please stop tarting up your e-mail with cutesy-ootsie graphics. I really don’t want to see a cartoon of a kitten chasing a ball of yarn every time you send another ZOMG!11!!! SAVE ISRAEL!1!!! BOYCOTT (whoever)!11!!! e-mails.
And while we’re on the subject, please stop sending me those e-mails altogether. Kthxbye
If you don’t stop saying the horrifyingly ungrammatical “please call back at a later convenience” because you think it makes you sound smart, I shall most assuredly throttle you with a phone cord.
I’ll jump on the cancer bandwagon, but from a different perspective:
Mom and Dad, I’m sorry that your eldest son is dying of kidney cancer and entering hospice. Especially since you’ve already lost a son to suicide. But please stop asking me to contact him. The alcoholic, twice-divorced, never-seen-a-pair-of-scissors, never-passed-a-tattoo-parlor loser barely gave me the time of day when I was a kid, and is not someone I would ever choose to associate with as an adult. If you see something worthwhile in the dirtbag, I’ll give you all the sympathy and support I can muster. But please stop trying to guilt me and pretending that he’s sitting by the phone pining for a phone call from me.
A few years back someone called 911 on me for noise. I was already done making the noise by the time the cop showed up so we had a nice little chat. I asked something like " They called 911, for noise?" He said, “I’ve gotten 911 calls because McDonald’s forgot the ketchup in their drive thru bag.”
niblet_head, I think I would have shut his door with extreme prejudice before I even realized what I was doing - SLAM!!!
So, I’m in my basement working on my designs, and a big fat noisy wasp has flown in here. We have a nest* under the bottom of the siding in the back of the house, and our efforts to foam them out of there have been less than stellar. We are now escalating the offensive to foam-sealing the entire bottom of the house, and foam-sealing wherever the little waspy bastards are getting into the house, too, assuming we can find it. If the little friggers would ever fly close to the floor, my cat would take care of it in a heartbeat, but it’s probably just as well she can’t get at it.
*The annual nest. This is the most irritating so far - it’s going to be hard to get them out of our siding, I’m afraid.
ETA: I remember the other thing I wanted to rant about - I had a nice, funny response ready to go in Johnny Hildo’s thread, and it got closed before I got to post it. Poo. So long, Johnny. Hope your next message board suits you better.
Ladies, you are in a gym locker room. There will be nudity. I need to shower before I go back to work or I’m going to have those Pig Pen lines coming off me all day. So do not treat the maybe 10 seconds between me getting completely undressed and wrapping a towel around me to head to the shower stalls as though it were a pole dance with a pap smear finish. Standard gym etiquette dictates that you not stare at other naked people. It does not say you have to act as though normal locker-room nudity is a sin against god and nature and that you must shield yourself from my pasty white buns.
Finally - if you are one of the people that is so afraid that someone might see anything in the range of shoulders to knees and you cramp yourself into the toilet stalls to change clothes because god forbid someone might accidentally get a glimpse of you changing then maybe you ought to change at home. Tell you what, I’ll forgive you for taking up a toilet stall to change clothes if you’ll forgive me for peeing in your locker. Deal?
Dr. C, I understand that you wanted me to have one normal(ish) cycle before the surgery, to make sure that I was not pregnant. However, and I’m sure this was an oversight, has no one told you that you work for Kaiser Permanente, and that right there in your own building is a lab that can tell me if I’m pregnant? Usually within 2-4 hours, too, none of this wait 8 weeks and we’ll see if you bleed crap. Because it turns out that my migraines are hormonally induced, and my amazing gap of over a year was because I was on hormones the whole time. And now I’m not, and haven’t been for almost 2 months, because you wanted me to bleed for you. And I have had 4 migraines in the last 7 days. And my surgery is another 8 days away. I don’t want to have to miss work because of ‘headaches’, it makes me sound like I’m hung-over every morning. If I gouge my own left eye out from the pain, I will blame you.
[takes another dose of Excedrin, hopefully]
A few words for the emergency calltakers and dispatchers, that you can sing to the Love Story theme:
Where shall I plug in?
To hear the story of a cat stuck up a tree
Or maybe Mrs. Johnson thinks she saw a bee
Or someone else has found some non-emergency
Thus to bore me.
How to end this call?
Saying goodbye has so far no effect at all
If I hang up this guy will just redial 'til fall
So he can tell me all about the Berlin Wall
The Good Old Days.
This is nine-one-one
It’s not the place to call if you see UFOs
Or have the goods on who killed Marilyn Monroe
Or think the CIA has bugged your Cheerios
You raving loon.
Sorry Mrs. Dax
We can’t deport your neighbor just because he lacks
Appreciation for your prizewinning lilacs
And you just know he fakes those hay fever attacks
So please relax.
Mrs. Johnson, please!
We found out last year you’ve no allergy to bees
And if you did they’d have to sting you first you see
The kind you heard about live only in Belize–
Up here they’d freeze.
This is nine-one-one
Hard to remember how I once was all gung-ho
A superhero saving lives by radio
But every false alarm and crackpot and stubbed toe
Has brought me low.
Listen Mr. King,
The Lindbergh baby would be eighty-one this spring
It’s real unlikely that you found his teething ring
There’s no reward to claim, no place for you to bring
That chewed-up thing.
Your baby’s only five
I’ve told the paramedics where to quickly drive
But meanwhile you and I will see that he survives
I’ll tell you what to do to make sure he’s alive
When they arrive!
I guess I’ll persevere
For after all someday someone will need me here
A heart attack, a fire or an accident severe
And then a voice trained to be knowing, calm and clear
Will fill their ear.
I am nine-one-one
And I am ready for all cats stuck up in trees
Or some new super-race of freeze-resistant bees
But most of all I’m here to handle my county’s
Emergencies!
:: rises to her feet, cheering wildly ::
BRAVO! BRAVO!
[childish mode] Still no word from the rude one. I’m not emailing first, it’s not the first time she’s treated me this way. Yes, I will feel bad if something awful has happened, but it hasn’t. [/cm]
Somebody seems to have taken three small craps in my basement, about 10 feet away from my computer. My husband and I weren’t home, so I’m going to assume it was one of the cats. One of the incessantly whining cats around this joint who don’t want me to sit at a computer and work - if I’m home, I’m supposed to be playing with someone. We caught my cat peeing right on the wall the other day, after yet another day full of whiny badness. I think somebody is looking to spend their days locked in a bathroom while I get my work done.
Fuck this heat. There had better be major ice storms this winter to make up for this shit.
Also, I’d like to rant against myself for poor fiscal responsibility. Self, shape up. Suck it up and do the math. You need to get the hell out of debt so you can move next year.
Actually, around here for a noise complaint you’re supposed to call 911. We live next door to a community center that occasionally rents out to people who don’t seem to grasp that playing music so loud the walls of my house are literally vibrating at 11:30 on a Sunday night might not be popular, and so I’ve turned into the neighborhood bitch. But on the bright side, apparently the cops got tired of being called out for noise and people are turning it down at 11 pm when the noise ordinance goes into effect, thank heaven.
I used to be an assistant for an otherwise wonderful boss who was not only a pack rat but had created her own filing system many years before that followed no logical order to anyone but her, and she had an exceedingly illogical mind. I actually drew up a complete redesign of the system that would make it easier for anyone besides her to ever actually find anything they might need, but she chickened out. Any time I could actually find something for someone when she wasn’t around, I’d receive such excessive expressions of gratitude it was ridiculous, but truly it was an unholy nightmare.
Look, genius, giving me more taskings then I can handle in a normal duty day means that there will be a delay in getting some of them done. Giving me aforementioned taskings and then giving me a tasking which keeps me out of the office all day means that I will not progress on the ones you gave me. I understand you can survive on coffee with no actual food for those 12 hour work days but let me at least spend the $3 I am given for lunch for a bad cheeseburger without saying that it must be nice to have time for lunch. (Wolfed down in 5 minutes or less). Telling me this is your life and that you are recommending me for promotion so I can live it really makes it sound like I fucked up somewhere.
Also, you have told me whatever you ask for is a priority. I put that to the top of my list. That means unless I have a hard suspense for something, your last minute off the top of your head Bullshit becomes my mission for the moment. If I do have a hard suspense, I have to put you off. Sorry, you are not the entire Army. I may not have time to sit one on one with you to discuss the status of your personal well being or the state of the Dollar at this time. I will try to make time.
Also, telling people that I need to be constantly reminded of tasking that I have been given and these people should request frequent updates means I am spending time in meetings rather than getting the things done that you have asked me for.
Finally, your wife and kids need to see you now. Not in 2-4 years when you retire. Now, genius. You don’t have to spend nights and weekends at the office sending e-mails to your higher ups so you can show you work 100+ hour weeks. Your NCOER won’t mean shit if you don’t see your kids grow up.
The King of Soup, that was beautiful. May I send it to my co-workers? My bosses would probaby enjoy that a lot more than that handwritten copy of “Frustration” I left lying around a couple of years ago.
