Um . . . I’m almost afraid to ask, but who is bitching about people taking a shit in the toilet? The alternatives are kind of unspeakable.
Except that the message will usually go like this:
Uh…
Um…
Hello? Hi, um, er, um, my name is, um…
Hello?
Yeah, my name is Vrwgwdibhatsibudibumi, and, uh…
Hello? Yeah, uh, I’m calling about those TPS reports, and there seems to be a problem with the, uh, cover sheet, uh…
Hello? So, uh, the TPS reports, yeah, that’d be great, so if you could go ahead and, uh, yeah…
So, ah, yeah, Bill in accounting had a problem with your TPS reports and if you could give me a call at, uh…
Wait, we’ve also had a problem with, uh, the cover, aaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, sheet of your uuuuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhh…
Teeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…
Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee…
Esssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss…
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
Yeeeeeaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh, so if you could, uuuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, call me, yeah, uuuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhhhhhhhh…
Soooooo, my number, yeah, is, uh, sixonefouroh
click
End of message. To hear your message again, press two. To delete it, press star two three seven. To save, press pound pound star nine two pound star pound. To forward to another voice mail box, press star pound eight pound exclamation point star star star smiley face question mark six five nine zero tilde, then the extension number, then pound pound pound seven two star, then the gross national product of Zimbabwe, pound pound star.
Office dumbass: “swampbear I have a light out in my office.”
Me: “Well goodness! Are you sitting in the dark? How awful!”
Od: “I need it fixed.”
Me: “Did you fill out a work order and send it to the maintenance guy? Is it too dark in your office for you to fill out a work order?”
Od: “No, I didn’t fill out a work order yet and tell the maintenance guy.”
Me: “Instead, you chose to call and inform me.”
Od: " I thought you should know."
Me: “Well, thank you for telling me? Were you afraid I’d come in your really dark office and trip over something?” If you fill out the work order and all maintenance guy he’ll be over in just a few minutes to change your lightbulb. Matter of fact that could have happened in the time it has taken for this inane conversation to take place."
Od: “I just wanted to tell you.”
Me: “Bye.”
Yes, I did in fact have this conversation shortly before opening this thread. I’m tempted to go in Od’s office to see if she’s still sitting in the dark. What ya wanna bet she is? 
You : My supervisor, in charge of IT Systems at my place of employment.
Me : Programmer and technician working on several projects.
When I send you an email asking a vital question about something on which I am working, on which I cannot continue working without an answer … it might be prudent to read the email and provide some token response.
As opposed to opening it and letting it rot for months, and then coming along asking me why things aren’t done.
The latter response becomes especially foolish if I have, as I usually do, sent numerous followups asking the same question.
A little while ago, I was helping a family who was filling out some papers prior to taking a parentage test, when some ditz opens the closed conference room door and chirps, “Hey, are you allowed to be in here? Just kidding!” This passes for a joke because I keep the schedule for that conference room. The thing is, there is a window in that door, so she could clearly see that there were clients in there with me, and it just so happens that those clients were doing something most people consider intensely private, and whether they did or not, that was hideously unprofessional. Ever hear of a little thing called HIPAA, you stupid cunt?
Voicemail issues
“Uh, I’m calling about child support”
WOW! You are? You are good! Whoda thunk you called the child support office! I would rather talk about the weather though. Sorry.
“Uh, yeah, I’m calling… calling… ummm (repeat until vm hangs up)”
10 minutes later
“DAMMIT, I called and called and you people never call me back!”
Note still no identifying information or phone number.
Next morning
“That’s it. I’m calling the governor about YOU PEOPLE. I’m serious. You better call me back NOW”
WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU, MORON??
[voicemail picks up]cue loud music/screaming children/Jerry Springer mumblemumblemumble case mumblemumble back mumblethreemumblesixmumbleone click
Yeah, I’ll get back to you
Elevator issues
Don’t stand right in front of the doors then get pissy because I can’t get out of the elevator fast enough to suit you. Move yer arse.
Seeing as I am not wearing one of those adorable red pillbox hats, I am not the elevator bellhop. Press your own damn button.
Please keep your conversations quiet in such an enclosed space. I really don’t need to know about your latest rectal issues or why your wife/husband is so horrible.
I tried an experiment once.
My VP wanted to call a fairly important meeting. He’s a funny guy - we have the same sense of humor.
I knew in the past that most folks won’t read their emails - marked urgent with the lil red exclamation point notwithstanding. They will then say “I didn’t know about the meeting!”
So - I sent the information about the meeting under the title of “Complimentary Lunch in the Conference Room”. Everyone showed up on time.
VCNJ~
And if you’re going to press a button, please take the time to choose wisely.
The elevator where I work moves at a rate of approximately 3 microns per hour. You could grow a beard while riding the thing. I have seen infants board that elevator and be looking at universities by the time they get off.
There are 5 floors, labelled 1, M, 2, 3 and 4. Here’s what happens every day:
I’ll get on at 4 wanting to go to 1. The thing will stop at 3, and some fucknut moving at the speed of death will slowly get on. She’ll press the button for M. As the elevator begins it’s painfully slow descent earthwards, she’ll say “Oops!” and press 2. Thanks, assclown. I now have to visit every fucking floor because of you. Thanks to you, I’ve just missed the graduations of my unborn children.
Look, when I tell you that it isn’t possible to get that gauge with a 3/8" bottom NPT connection, please believe me. I can get you one with a 1/4" or 1/2" connection, but the 3/8" isn’t a standard connection size. Of course, if you really really need one with that size, I can get an adapter for you, no problem. But please don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m talking about. I have this job because of what I know about all this equipment. And I deal wth it everyday, where you just call me once or twice a year and read something off a piece of paper some idiot gave you.
Honest, I’m not trying to piss you off. Although I don’t work on commission, it is in my best interest to make the sheep happy. Although if you call back ten minutes later and ask the same questions to someone else, I may reconsider that last sentence.
Further…
The mirror is in there to give the illusion that we’re in a vast open space, as opposed to a small metal box. The mirrors are not there to give you the opportunity to finally get in under that zit and give 'er a good squeezing. I really didn’t need to see that.
To the guy on the 5th floor. You wear waaaaay too much Drakkar Noir. You should wear much less of it. Fifteen years ago.
I know you have something important on your mind (such as calliope music…), but is it so difficult to imagine that someone might be coming out of the elevator you’re waiting to board? Don’t barrel into the damn thing as soon as the doors open. This isn’t the Preakness. You’re not going to win a prize.
Look at the buttons carefully before pressing them. See the one marked “L”? What could it possibly stand for? No, not lumbago. Out of guesses? Just press “1” then. No one else in the elevator is going anywhere important.
Addendum: If a button is already lit, you don’t need to press it again. Yes, the bemused look on my face is directed at you. I’m looking right at you, aren’t I?
Back in the day when I worked in faceless corporations I didn’t return calls if I couldn’t figure out their number, and I didn’t lose a second of sleep over it. I figured if it was important, they’d call back or send an e-mail. Worked for me.
All these stories are great - so much frustration. Not that your frustration is great - just the stories about it.
Oh, oh, I’ve thought of one - the corridor meetings. People having their loud, impromptu meetings in the hallways - making it difficult for people to work (cause who can shut a door these days?) and/or get by them in the passageway. I have always wondered why people can’t figure out they’re in the way after the third or fourth person has squeezed by them, probably giving them the hairy eyeball as they went.
And another one - my jumpy freaking mouse, that jumps the cursor all over the place so any time I click it’s a crapshoot as to what I’m going to hit, like when I just closed this window trying to post this reply.
And when you squeeze by them or ask to be excused, they look at you like a heffer looks at conceptual art.
Personally, I like the meetings they have in front of my desk. Guys, you all have offices, use them!
Then there are the women who have private conversations in the ladies’ room and look at you like you’re intruding. Like I care about your petty problems, I don’t even know you. I just want to pee.
Oh, and Annoying Coworker - No, I don’t have a case of the Mondays, but I will if you don’t stop calling me Sunshine (like I’ve asked you 10 gazillion times). And I’ll smile when I want to, not because you demand it!
To: Whoever messed with the phone system so I get about 20 random calls a day
Re: See Above
Hello. Having a nice day? Good. See, I work in production. I discuss things with designers, I hire crews, sometimes I fire people, but mostly I try my best to get these shows on stage with the highest quality and lowest cost that I can. It’s my job. It’s what I do.
What I do NOT do is talk to people who don’t work here. Really. I don’t want to hear from someone who wants a different seat, or who wants to complain about the bathrooms at the theatre, or who wants to complain about who they had to sit next to last night (really), or who want to buy a subscription, or who want to cancel a subscription, or who would like a tour, or fricken actors calling up to try to get an audition. I DON’T CARE.
Let me dumb this down for you: Me hit things with hammer. Me big guy who no talk good. Me have nice relationship with other big guys who no talk good, and me like my c-wrench. I’m not the person you want representing this business. I don’t work with the public, because I don’t deal well with people I’ve never met before bitching about something I don’t have any control over. We have quite a large staff of people here who are paid to deal with this shit. I can even send you all their extensions so you can fix this. If you still have any questions regarding the above, please feel free to stop by my office (and when you get here, don’t comment about how much cooler your office is. No, I don’t have AC in my office. Yes, it’s fucking hot.) and I will explain all this again. And again. And I’ll try not to shove my phone up your nose.
Thanks
To: Random Project Manager
From: System Administrator
Re: Your Report Request
I know that you’re very important, and so is this report that you need “right now. Not tomorrow, not in ten minutes, but Right Now.” That’s just too bad, you’re going to have to wait.
The way I do things is I help out people in the order in which they made their request, unless it’s something that can be done very quickly (which your request is not). I’m not going to drop everything I’m doing for everyone else to recreate all the report tables I would need in order to build your report. I’m also not going to tell the Senior VP of Finance that I had to put his report for the Board of Directors on hold because you suddenly decided you want to know how much revenue your project made three years ago.
I’ll get to it when I get to it. Hopefully it won’t be too long, as I’m very competent at my job. I take pride in getting through all the support tickets as efficiently as I do. But not only do I have a list of people who requested help before you did, but I’m working on a major upgrade project and I’m training a new employee.
Bottom line is I’m busy, you’re going to have to wait, and the sky won’t fall because you didn’t get your report immediately. If it does, I hope it falls right on top of your Ford Excursion, you egomaniacal prick.
Dear nice lady in the next cubicle over: Please stop singing. I imagine you have headphones on. I imagine you think no one is here (it’s the lunch hour). But I am, so please stop singing.
Who in the fuck is so stupid on my floor that they turn on all the burners on the three burner industrial coffee maker when there is only one pot made?
Who the fuck is so stupid downstairs that they take the last of the coffee from a pot in their coffee maker and don’t turn off the burner?
Who the fuck is so stupid downstairs that they take the last of the coffee from the other pot in their coffee maker, don’t notice that some dumbshit left the first burner on, and then don’t turn the other burner off, either! So now there’s two empty pots frying…
Hey, bossman, I know you thought your little project was going to be cool and make you look cool and maybe make us some money. So stop blowing it off leaving me to scramble to do my part every single week. Why do I have to remind you to do your part of the project? It’s the goddman easy part!
Co-worker out in the hinterlands: I’m not a moron. Stop trying to scam things from me after your boss (who’s also my boss) has told you no.
Other co-worker in a different part of the hinterlands: Yeah, I know a lot of stuff that gets asked of you from my boss is stupid. But see, I’m charged with making sure it happens, being his underling and everything. Stop punishing HIM by not responding to MY emails. I don’t have enough time for your passive-aggressive bullshit, you feckin’ weenie. Take it up with him or play ball.
And, finally, to all my boss’s direct reports: read your email, read your email, read your email. Years you’ve worked with this guy. You know he communicates mainly via email. Guess who gets to spent hours on follow-up when YOU don’t read his email? Do you get spanked for it? Oh, hell no. I get told, “Well, just give them a call.” Yeah, there’s nothing I like doing MORE than re-doing what he’s already done because you don’t get that you need to check your email!
You know, the way I’m feeling today, it’s hard to resist the urge to put this whole post in italics. Cuz that’s the way it sounds in my head.
Dear Coworker who sits next to me,
You’re super great and all, and I do like you. But the next time you go on a 5 minute monologue about your kids, or your grandkids, or any of their ex spouses without letting me get a word in edgewise, I’m gonna kill you. It wouldn’t be so bad if I could tell a story once in a while. Also—when you go to lunch take your cell phone. It’s really loud.
Dear Applicants,
This is graduate school you are applying to, not kindergarten. We have certain rules and requirements, which I have spelled out for you in that first letter I sent you. Remember that letter? It came in a big envelope and said “This is what you need to do to get into Grad School.” The most important requirement is that we need all your official transcripts from all your previous colleges and universities. Even that one you went to in 1976 and all you took was a scuba diving class. Even if all those classes are listed out on your most recent transcript. We still need them. I know, I know, it’s a hassle. Many schools now expect you to pay up to $10 per transcript! Well dang! Did you realize one single credit of grad school costs upwards of $400? And you can’t shell out $30 for your transcripts? Also—a photocopy stamped “Issued to Student, Unofficial” folded into tiny, tiny bits and stuffed in a Hello Kitty envelope does not count. You moron. Those things I take, in all their crappy glory, to the department chairs and we laugh and laugh about your ambitions to become a masters student. It is too funny.
Dear two specific department heads,
I realize you don’t handle money. That’s cool, I don’t expect you to. But if you have an applicant in your very office at the moment you decide to accept them, remember you will not be able to sign them up for classes. This is because I need to be informed that they are accepted and be given a whopping $150 deposit. At that point you will be able to register them. Easy Cheesy. But please, don’t just tell them everything is hunky-dorey and send them out your door, then call me in a panic an hour later when you can’t get them registered. Again. At least send them my way with the cash. Please. I promise you won’t even have to touch it. And quit telling me to schedule your interviews. That’s not my job! Get your own damn secretary.
Dear everyone who walks by my desk,
No, I don’t know where X is right now. I am not his or her secretary. I don’t know when he or she will be back or when they left. There are a lot of people in this office and I keep track of two of them: Me and my Boss. I realize I am in a half-wall cube, not an office. This is to facilitate communication between myself and my walk up applicants. They can easily find and approach me, making it nicer for them. But it does not mean I am question-answer-lady for everyone in the office. This is a small college and you walk by here all the time. You should know what I do by now. Do I come into your office and ask you where the Dean is? No, I don’t.
Oh also–
Applicants:
You didn’t do very well as an undergrad. You have a low GPA. I understand. It happens. That’s why we have recommendation letters, entrance exams, and essays–to show you have grown and learned from your experience and now have the ability to succeed. Do not offer up your awesome high school transcripts as evidence you will succeed. That will garner the same treatment as the Hello Kitty envelopes.
I suppose this could be a seperate rant, but as it involves coworker, I’ll put it here.
It’s about “Wendy.”
I’m not sure what his real name is, I think it’s Bob, but on his cubicle it says Wendy. I fear Wendy. If I see him approach, I try to get away. Otherwise he will talk my ear off. He doesn’t seem to get that if I’m not at my desk, I might be trying to get to my desk, and that I’m not necessarily at work because I feel like just hanging out.
So Wendy will go off on some story about–well, I have no idea what his stories are about. He’s a low talker to begin with, so I can’t really understand him. And his stories filled with what I guess are parenthetical asides within parenthetical asides, each one of which is quieter than the last. So I just stand there and half smile and say things like “yeah” and “I hear ya” (which I don’t) and make lame attempts to take a step away in the hopes that he’ll get the hint that I’m trying to end the conversation. He never gets the hints.
While I’m here, might as well rant about Barbara, who was once the subject of a seperate Pit rant.
Stupid ass bitch whore Barbara. It’s getting to the point where no one can stomach her. But I think she has it in for me. She’s always talking to me like I’m a child. The other day she tore into me at a meeting. For no reason. (I’m not imagining this, as it was confirmed by several other people who were at the meeting.)
But what burns me is the badge thing. Every employee here had an ID badge which lets them in through various locked doors via a card reader. Barbara has been trying to steal me and my coworker (no, not Wendy) away from our regular office so that she could put us full time on a different project in a different office. What she fails to realize is that we cannot simply abandon our old jobs–it’s an ongoing project that people depend on us maintaining. We need to be there.
But Barbara’s impressive wingspan and fiery breath finally won out. We agreed to work half days for her, my coworker in the mornings and me in the afternoons. That way someone is always at the old office.
To get into the new office, you need to go up the elevator (no stairs allowed), but can’t press any floor buttons unless you swipe your badge. Barring this, you need to alert the security guard and have him or her buzz you up. This is often difficult, as the security guard is often too busy playing Minesweeper to be bothered. Of course, my badge is not keyed to work on that elevator.
So I asked Barbwhora if I could get permissions for my badge. “Not while you’re part time” was her answer. As if I’ll relent and abandon my morning duties. Yes, she actually expects me to do this. And she said that nobody here that works in a cubicle has permissions either, so I shouldn’t feel bad. Which is bullshit. A bald-faced lie. TEMPS have permissions. My coworker has permissions.
It seems that Barbara wants me to beg the security guards for access to my own job every time I come in. The bitch.
Makes me want to punch her on her scaley snout.
To this day, I am astounded this actually happens. This is an office, people, not f***ing kindergarten!
I’ve had success marking my stuff, back when I was working in the large corporate environment. I wrote my initials on my SINGLE coke can that I put in the fridge. Never more than one, because THEN the “extras” disappear. Mark the lunch bag, TV dinner, etc., too.
Of course, I’ve heard the horror stories that sometimes even THAT doesn’t work. Hey, you don’t suppose someone’s invented the “lock-up lunch bag”, do you?