I finally got another warm body. A tall, male warm body. He is nice and helpful and computer literate. After we spent an hour together, I knew that he would last about a week before they needed him for more urgent tasks.
That was yesterday. Today, I got an email saying he wouldn’t be back because elections had a big project coming up and they needed him to help prep.
Managing the warehouse is like running the landfill. Nobody cares what happens to their garbage as long as it goes away.
You know something? I wonder how I can get a Shredder Guy job. I don’t bum money or rides from people without paying them back, and I can act nice. Sometimes. I can even be helpful, and I can learn how to perform various tasks on a computer, including signing someone else off and signing myself on.
And I don’t steal the silverware. Or the paper products.
Me too. I would seriously love a job like that myself, and I am not at all difficult to work with. I think. 
I’m organised and computer literate and fairly affable.
I think the *real *question is, how can we arrange to kill and skin SG so that **Lynn **can disguise herself in the hollow shell of his corpse and take over his job?
I think one of my co-workers is on that cabbage soup diet. Man, the breakroom stinks.
You’re quite welcome. 
I know that it seems wrong somehow, but the next time one of these paragons wanders into your orbit, you must capture it and not let go. So, what you do is this: As soon as you think your new warm body is like your last one, start recycling some old SG complaints, with the new person’s name filled in, then forward them to your boss.
Sometimes you just have to look out for Number One, knowhutImean?
Even if it feels like you’re treating someone like Number Two… 
For a second there I thought you had my job. But I actually get more calls from guests who don’t understand the concept of ‘exchange rate’.
You’d think someone coming in to work for/with one of the local high-tech companies (at least according to the company rate on their account) wouldn’t have trouble grasping that in a Canada we don’t actually use American currency.
But it’s dollars! Dollars are dollars and all dollars are American! Why don’t we name our money something else so they know it’s not real money?
Right?
Heh, if we did switch I’d never have to send another note on company letterhead swearing that we, a Canadian company located in Canada, charge our guests in Canadian dollars.
What do you say we just go ahead and make ‘loonies’ official?
I enjoy watching the General Manager at my work have a quiet conniption every time he finds Canadian coins in the cash drawer. The quarters I can understand because they get stuck in the coin laundry, but pennies too? Before I went on vacation this week, I hid a couple of Canadian pennies in his inbox under some papers. 
But … but then, if you’re gone on vacation, how will you get the fun of watching the conniption?
But the United States is the centre of the world! Nothing exists outside of it! How can you not understand that?
I can get behind that.
When I was working in payment processing, the Canadian Loonie was significantly higher than the US dollar; it gave me way too much enjoyment to do the exchange rate calculations and short people on their bill payments when they sent us cheques in US dollars.
I like flatlined and all, and I’d love to work in a place that occasionally has new kitties to coo over…but Fort Worth is bad enough. I’m melting HERE. I’ve lived in Las Vegas, and I’m not sure I could live in Arizona. So some other deserving soul in Arizona can skin and process SG’s hide, and wear it to work.
You know what’s worse than a Congenital Moocher?
A Congenital Moocher who is constantly – CONSTANTLY – whining about the quality of the stuff he mooches.
Seriously, I’m starting to doubt that this guy actually owns anything. I know the car he drives is his sister’s old one, which he talked her into ‘loaning’ him last fall rather than trading it in when she got a new one. The lunchroom gets treated to continuing ranting about its defects, both mechanical and cosmetic. Well, duh, guy: Do you think she was replacing it because it was pristine???
He has been borrowing his neighbor’s lawnmower for at least two years. It’s a POS according to him: doesn’t cut a wide enough swath, doesn’t cut smoothly enough, takes too much effort to push, takes a lot of yanking to get started, burns too much oil – oh, yeah, and he has complained at least three times that when he went to borrow it the tank was too close to empty for him to finish the yard! One time I said something about well, I hope you at least top up the tank when you return it, and he just stared at me like I’d switched over to Swahili.
This week he grumbled about how inconvenient it was to have to use a key to unlock the neighbor’s garden shed each time he needed the lawn mower (or edger! He borrows that, too.) See, the shed used to be unlocked and he could just help himself “without bothering Joe at all” but sometime in the spring he found the shed was locked! So he had to go to their house, and Joe explained that he’d things had been taken from his shed. Uh-huh. Apparently CM commiserated with him over how the neighborhood had gone downhill since some of ‘them’ had moved in…and then he asked for the key and said he’d get a copy made so ‘he wouldn’t have to bother you’ all the time. :eek:
Joe handed over the key. 
I’m betting he was too stunned, or maybe too polite, to flat out say to his face that CM was the one he was trying to keep out.
What else…oh, he mooches wifi (different neighbor) and gripes about the speed, he mooches food left and right and then complains that it’s isn’t the way his mother made whatever.
And, of course, he mooches money. Doesn’t complain about the quality of that at least. :rolleyes:
Have you considered lending him a cemetery plot? You know, one he could bitch about ‘not wanting to be caught dead there’? I can almost hear him now:
“I don’ wanna be buried under a cherry tree. Dem birds’ll be a shittin’ cherry seeds on me from now til Doomsday.” :eek:
Just try not to let him see you smile when he does bitch about it.
Dear Mrs. Boss:
You are incompetent. Which, honestly, would be okay, if only you were smart enough to let the rest of us do our damned jobs. But micromanaging those of us who know what we’re doing, and actively interfering with our performance? Not the best idea. Bad idea number two? Being too cheap to pay for enough training time, then griping because your employees don’t know what they’re doing. (And BTW? You’re paying for a bunch of EXTRA labor when your managers have to spend umpteen hours per week fixing mistakes because the other staff don’t have proper training.)
Dear Mr. Boss:
I know that she’s your mother, and God knows I’d actively avoid her if she were mine, but as the competent owner, you need to get your ass into town more than a few hours per month if you want this hotel to stay in business. Your employees are on the verge of a mass walkout, the property is physically deteriorating before our eyes, the guests are increasingly unhappy, and I wouldn’t be the least bit shocked to learn that taxes are among the bills not being paid. Please grow a pair and get your mother out of a supervisory position.
Sincerely,
The Manager Who Is in the Process of Finding a New Job
butbutbut…its a dry heat! I’m in central Arizona and it rarely gets over 110 here. You won’t get all sweaty because any moisture gets sucked into the air as soon as it happens.
You don’t ride, so you won’t notice the soft tar on the roads.
Not to mention that the warehouse is kept cold to protect the paper. Walking out of a dim meat locker into the bright sun of a triple digit Arizona afternoon can honestly be called breathtaking.
this isn’t working, right? not even if I mention that kitten season here lasts for 9 months?
Like I said, I lived in Las Vegas. I know all about dry heat. I don’t even like KITTENS enough to live in that kind of climate again.
Besides, my husband would definitely feel slighted if I up and moved without him.
I swear to Og, you just described the man who lives across the street from me, and now I wonder if we are neighbors or something.