swampbear, the light in my home office is out.
It needs to be fixed.
I thought you should know.
Yes, I know you are the office manager/receptionist.
Yes, my office is way in the back of the building and I don’t get up front often.
Yes, I know it’s your job to tell me when there is mail for me or my staff.
But for the sake of my own sanity and the preservation of your own neck (because I so want to strangle it when I heard what your voice told me)…
When you know I am with a client, after having called my desk and I did not answer, and after having called my cell phone and I did not answer, (because, did I mention I was with a client, oh thats right, you knew that because only 15 min earlier I you called me to announce their arrival and you know damn well they had not left yet)…
DO NOT PAGE ME asking me to call you. At this point I figure either someone must have died or the building is on fire… but the alarms are not going off, so therefore someone must have died. This forces me to excuse myself from my Very Important Client (who incidentally pays us more in a month than you and I both make in a year!) to call you and find out what is so all fired important that it can’t wait. …
Only to learn that the mailman delivered a very important item for me… a catalog from one of our vendors that is almost identical to the one they sent us last month and very likely not that much different from the one I’ll get next month.
A catalog?!?** *For this you interrupted my meeting? Why didn’t you just send me an e-mail… Oh, I see you did, just before you started this whole mess. That makes everything better then. Carry on.
Not yet, but they have invented nearly-tasteless laxatives 
BiblioCat I’ll be right over to fix it. In the mean time, you should remove the dead light, then stand in a big tub of water and stick your fingers in the socket. That will help keep all the electricity from leaking out. See, all that electricity leaking is probably why your lights don’t last very long. Don’t worry about that little tingling feeling. That’s just the water absorbing the extra electricity so it doesn’t get all over the floor. Electricity is a bitch to get out of carpet. 
So, I’m working at a place where the owner’s two sons (almost totally worthless and totally worthless) believe that the fridge is their own private poaching ground.
So, after several 64oz jugs of Gatorade go from full to practically empty in the course of a week I lose my patience.
I take a quarter-full 64oz’er and put in about 20 ounces of dish soap and then top the rest off with water (and I also learned that in such a situation you should put the water in FIRST and then put the soap in so you don’t have to wait for the bubbles to die down).
Sadly, I didn’t get my primary target - it was actually Almost Totally Worthless that drank it.
Out with stomach problems for two days.
Gosh, I certainly felt guilty.
-Joe, mad poisoning melonfarmer
<snippage>
Do. Not. Steal. My. Lunch. <further snippage>
My fave story about a lifted lunch.
Tiny little lady who works in our office was pregnant. She was thinking about her spaghetti & meatball in the fridge all morning. Lunchtime rolls around & she goes to get the lunch.
Someone took the meatball - only - and left the pile of spaghetti there - with the indentation from the meatball plainly visible.
This was over 5 years ago and is still an office legend.
VCNJ~
She just wanted to make you feel guilty… [Eore voice]"Don’t mind me, Swampy, I’ll just sit here in the dark. I’ll probably go blind, trying to work in the dark, but its ok… You don’t have to do anything. Maintance will wander by eventually, maybe not today… but I can get new glasses…[/Eore voice]
You big meany, why didn’t you call maintance for her?
This happened to me as well. I am colocated in a center 2 days a week. I am not actually an employee of said center; I offer my employer’s services there to their customers. Yet somehow my phone extension seems to be the one where the random calls go. So, at least once a day, I get:
Random Caller: “Someone from there called me.”
Me:“Well, I’m sorry, I don’t know who that might have been.”
RC:“Well, but someone from there called me! They left a message but I didn’t write it down.”
Me:“Well, perhaps you should have, since about 50 people work here and I have no idea who called you.”
RC:“But someone just called me! I didn’t answer the phone because I’m screening my phone calls, but THEY CALLED ME!”
At that point, there’s just nothing I can do. I’d transfer RC to Reception, but why make them hate me as well?
To: new project manager for OGT
From: Me
Dear Idiot:
I can understand when you are confronted with a question you don't know the answer to, you want to find somebody who does know the answer. But CCing to half a dozen people who have nothing to do with what you're asking isn't the way to do it.
For example: Company X says they can't find certain files on the FTP site. Joe and I will check on it. But the Adminstrative Assistant can't help you. She doesn't have anything to do with transfering files to the FTP site. Her mother can't help you either. I know they're related, but that doesn't mean they share EVERYTHING that goes on in their life, work or otherwise. KT can't help you either. She's 85 years old, works part-time, knows nothing about the FTP site, and DOESN'T EVEN HAVE A COMPUTER!!!
Something else: When Company X asks for certain files, make sure they exist first. Half the ones they asked for don't, as they're still in development. That's what PROJECT MANAGERS are supposed to know. Maybe this is the reason a project you headed wouldn't renew their contract unless you were off the page. Maybe this is the reason another project you headed got awarded to a different contractor. Maybe this is the reason you effectively got demoted to being the Senior Project Director's lackey. BECAUSE YOU'RE FUCKING INCOMPETENT!!!
Sincerely,
Mr. Seeing-eye Dog
I once lived in a badly run down rooming house. During my stay, the top floor was taken over by sleazeballs and punks who kept stealing everybody’s food out of the refrigerator. I got fed up with this. I took an empty malt liquor bottle, stuck a funnel in the neck, and peed in it over the next several days, getting it about three quarters full. I then capped it tight, washed it very carefully so that there wouldn’t be any urine smell, and put it in the refrigerator.
When I got home from work later that night (I was working an evening shift) there were two police cars and an ambulance out front. Seems a punk had stolen the “malt liquor,” taken it back to his room, and offered the first swig to his girl friend. She broke his jaw.
OMG!!
Hahahahahahahahahaha…
This rant makes me feel so much better that I always leave my phone number twice when I’m calling someone I don’t know very well.
TO: My dear husband
FROM: Your hard-working, commuting wife.
Yes, it is fascinating that the London tube was bombed again this morning. Thank Og the damage was not nearly as bad as last time.
However, what the fuck do you expect me to do with this information? I am sitting on a commuter train this very instant and you are relating to me that the Tube has once again been targeted for terrorism I hope you find this phone call with me alive and well reassuring, because I’m not too sure I do. Really, there is nothing for me to do but sit here, on a moving train, wondering…
Trust me, if someone bombed the South Shore and South Bend Railroad I am certain someone would notice, even in the hick state of Indiana, and notify the local newsmedia who will descend upon the scene like a flock of starving vultures sensing quantities of roadkill. Every minute you do NOT hear of such a calamity is yet another minute you can feel assured I am alive and well, “enjoying” the rude antics of my fellow commuters.
Hugs and kisses,
Your wife
P.S. - remember the days when it was flying small planes on the weekend that were dangerous and going to work that was safe?
To: Accounting
From: Me
Re: Bureaucratic stupidity
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If someone is not a US citizen, and not a US resident, no, they don’t need a US social security number in order to be paid for work they do for us. Really. Honestly. I am not bullshitting you. No, I am not going to ask them to obtain one - I don’t think they could obtain one. Put a note in the fucking file to that effect. Yes, the auditors will understand - they are much more intelligent than you.
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How do we know if they paid their taxes to their government? Buddy, it ain’t our fucking problem! That is between their government and them.
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We hired them because we couldn’t find such expertise in the US.
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Why not? Because no one is funding that research here. Why not? How the fuck should I know?
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Not everyone has either a website or e-mail, even in this day or age. Therefore, I can’t give that information to you because it doesn’t exist. You will pay these vendors anyway, or I will go to your boss, and your boss’s boss, and as far up the chain of command as necessary to get you to fulfill the obligations incurred by this fine organization when they, too, signed on the dotted line in agreement to pay for services rendered. Services have been rendered, so cut the damn check already.
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No, I can’t get you more info on that vendor. He’s dead. As of last month. No, I am not kidding, he really died. Why? Because he was terminally ill. Don’t tell me you need three more invoices - he DIED, put a goddamned note in the fucking file and YES, the auditors will accept that!!!
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Yes, we are really paying the Europeans in euros. Yes, we talked to the VP of Finance, look in the goddamned file, see memos and notes and signatures and all that happy horseshit. No, they won’t accept payment in dollars. No, they don’t have to. Why not? Because we signed a contract with these people where it states very plainly they will be paid in euros. No, dollars are not good enough - hell, if I could get my paycheck in euros I would, too - they’re worth more. Yes. Really.
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Sure, you can call Germany - just remember it’s 11 pm there right now and I doubt anyone is in the office right now. And no, they don’t want dollars, they want euros.
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Next time you have a problem with a request from my department don’t let it fucking fester on the side of your desk for four weeks, then expect me to solve your problem in four minutes. Ain’t gonna happen. Hey, why don’t you try this - when you have a problem call me that same day. Or send me an e-mail. Or, since we use the same damn coffee machine a dozen times a day why don’t you say something? Hmmm?
That’s absolutely beautiful, LonesomePolecat. Thanks for giving me a laugh and making a crappy week a little better.
Ooh, that was always one of my favourites. Especially when there was actually a date right on the damned thing, and you could tell how long it had sat on someone’s desk. Those “crises” were not my top priority (yet another reason I’m not in the corporate world at the moment).
To: A. Coworker
Re: Boring Jobs
Do not bitch and moan to me about how long it took you to do a boring job. If you weren’t doing it, I would be and I have other things on my desk which need to be done. Yes, I know it’s boring and time-consuming. Yes, I’m glad I don’t have to do it. No, I don’t want to hear you moan about it because I have other (also boring and time-consuming) jobs to do for our paying customers.
Also, do not shrug your shoulders, look dumb, and say, “What do I know?” I don’t find stupidity cute or appealing, mostly because, in my experience stupidity means more work for me. I’ve also known people who’ve feigned stupidity to get out of doing work, thus passing it on to me.
Thank you.
To: B. Coworker
Re: Reference Material
When you’re wondering how to do something and I hand you one of the reference books on my desk and suggest you look it up, do not have me do it for you. I assume you have enough basic competence to find the information yourself. If I had the time to look up the information you need for you, I would have done so rather than handing you the book. As it is, I’ve got to get to work at my job, rather than doing yours for you.
Thank you.
To: C. Coworker
Re: Information.
Information is a good thing. Please give it to me before the fact. If we do a routine job slightly differently from the way we do all others, please let me know before I start it, rather than afterwards. It makes a difference in terms of time and effort and reduces efficiency. I’m a programmer. I think efficiency is a good thing. Please give me the information up front.
To: Our Customers
Re: Addresses
O most beloved and respected ultimate payers of my salary, if you give me 5,000 addresses to mail something to and mark 7 of them “DO NOT MAIL”, “INVALID ADDRESS”, etc. it’s going to be very difficult for me to pick them out. Also, putting “CA” in the state field is not the way to indicate “CANADA”. Removing spaces from street addresses to make them fit, aka “1234MainStreet” will confuse the software we use to verify addresses. Yes, of course I’ll correct them manually when the software kicks them out, but it will take time. Also, if you give me just a name and a city, what you’re sending won’t get delivered, especially if the city’s something like Chicago, Detroit, or Pittsburgh. I’m afraid the person just isn’t that well known.
Thank you
Coworker C/J
TO: Consultants trolling for work and headhunters
FROM: Secretary with Crossbow
Look, fucktards, if you call and get me and I say we’re not interested, no, really we’re not, get lost, take a long walk off a short pier, etc. do NOT call someone else in the office 10 minutes later and try pumping them for information or using htem to wriggle a foot in the door. It ain’t gonna happen. You know why? Because we talk to each other. We have an on-going contest for “most annoying bastard calling us” and the prize is pretty good so we get our entries in early. We have special categories for Name-Dropping and Best Bald-Faced Lie, too. We exchange information and laugh at your sorry, pathetic attempts to wriggle onto our boss’s calendars.
Special Case #1: I don’t care that you have the name of a US Senator’s son. Or grandson - I forget which you’re claiming to be this week. I don’t care if you fucking are connected to a powerful family you fucking loser. It doesn’t matter. Our code of ethics and our lawyers specifically prohibit us from doing business with your organization. All I can say is that if you really are a member of that famous clan it’s a goddamned shame it was Jack, Jr. that went down off Martha’s Vineyard instead of you, asshole.
Special Case #2: Don’t tell me you work out of Ohio when a quick Google search brings me to an aerial photograph of your office building in California. Have you heard of caller ID? Yes? So explain to me why someone supposedly based in Cleveland has a San Francisco area code.
Don’t tell me you just got done talking to Executive Smith or Jones, or worse yet, talking to Executive Jones’ or Smith’s secretary. Guess what, goat felcher, I answer THEIR phones, too. You scumbag, you sure “talked” to their office - you talked to me five minutes ago and I said “no”.
Don’t fucking lie to us
No, I am not giving you the CEO’s home phone number. Are you fucking out of your mind? My job is not perfect but it beats unemployment.
I know we have “technology” in our name, but we don’t do computer shit here. Hold onto your chair, skippy, and brace yourself - the word “technology” pre-dates computers.
No, I will not transfer you to IT
No, I will not tranfer you to Human Resources. If you want to apply for a job here follow the directions on our website. Oh, so you did fax your resume in to the proper number? Yeah, you and 2,346 other people. Here’s tip - next time, don’t write your resume in crayon.
I once worked for a moron who, as a sideline, put in phone systems. So of course, he had to install the top-of-the-line system in our office. It had dozens of extentions, and every feature known to man.
There were two of us.
One handy feature was call parking. In a nutshell, when someone we did not want to deal with called, there was a dead end extention we could send the call to, to remain in limbo for 30 minutes before the system dumped it.
Now, this legend in his own mind thought paying bills was low on the list of priorites, one of the main reasons he is a former employer, [he was far busier nailing the ex-girlfriend/expartners wife {who was a witch, but I digress} to the matress than makeing money] so many less than happy bill collectors would call. Thus, our fictional accounts payable person was born.
When a dunning call would come in, it was “Oh, you need to talk with Helen, let me transfer you over…”
It started getting amuseing when the telemarketers would call and ASK to talk to “Helen Waite”
So of course, we transfered them to Hell, where they waited…