January has turned out to be even worse than I thought. It's nothing I can't handle, but it's bad. I thought that the only things I would be able to do involved natural functions, some sleep, work, and hopefully packing. I didn't think there would be much chance for writing, which of course, led my brain to explode into creative overdrive. Work provides the perfect outlet for mockery and hilarity. The crazier and busier things get, the more the internal temperatures rise. Stupidity is always rampant, and when it gets busier, things get worse. Sometimes little slivers of observations are priceless. So, I have been keeping a diary of my time there.
Note: all instances are true, but some things have been paraphrased or altered so as to save my own ass if this anonymous-ish entry ever gets linked to me. It's doubtful, as no products, policies, or information will be displayed, but I still need this job, so I want to be careful. That doesn't mean I can't make fun of it.
There is a trainer here who is universally disliked. She is condescending, pretentious, a bad trainer, and has all the personality of a moldy sponge. Her claim to recognition is that she cannot seem to make up her mind where she's from—her accent changes between British, American, Irish, and I swear I have heard some German in there, too. She's a watered down Sybil who always wanted to travel but never did. In her classes, she is known to tell the employees—supervisors, managers, leads, and grunts all—to take some time to chat while she prepares the ongoing training. She will then immediately yell at the class—sometimes people who outrank her by several pay grades and promotions—that she didn't mean to be THAT loud. Invariably, the conversation is quiet enough to hear the squeaking of the dry erase markers on the board.
She’s over at my sup’s desk trying, in her condescending manner, to tell him all these things about the new clients coming on—stuff we all know about and have for some time. He’s coming back at her. A fight is about to break out. I don’t know who to root fo…oh, hell. GO SUPERVISOR!!! Kick her when she’s down! Make that multiple-personality-having-pretentious-wench taste her own salty, bitter words! Woo hoo! *waving a flag and wearing a pendant*
(later, Day 3)
Now this same woman is being hateful to our Director (even more grades and pay scales above her), a woman so genuine, so kind, so smart, so easy going, so sweet, that I have become convinced she is either an angel or the Lucky Charms leprechaun—because hearts, moons, rainbows, and happiness shoot directly from her pores. If she doesn’t tone that attitude down to our Director, I swear… *getting my brass knuckles and alerting the entire building*
If you can’t tell if they are pants, leggings, or body paint, it’s probably best to go a size or two up.
Wow. I have…never. This girl must have put on her make up with a trowel. Have the trannies at TBN taught us nothing?
She put on makeup (and fake eyelashes) like she's an 80’s transvestite. She passed me in the hall and said excuse me. I almost blurted, “Pardon me, sir. Are there no reflective surfaces under your bridge?”
One of my coworkers, at a loss for words under the crushing weight of work looming above us, took to impersonating the Wacky Waving Inflatable Arm Flailing Tube Man. I wasn’t sure if I should call a doctor, a priest, or World’s Dumbest Pet Tricks.
We got a request written by one of our phone people:
“Please mail spouse to address on file.”
The grisly images that produced amused us for some time. “In how many boxes?” I asked. “It will cost more if it’s more than one!” someone added. You always have to think about postage.
“While you were in Vegas on Monday hanging out with strippers, I was here and working overtime.”
“They aren’t strippers; they’re whoooores. Get it right.”
A lovely older Asian woman on the bus has apparently has a violent collision with Santa’s off-season sleigh and then gotten into a mean brawl with one of the reindeer. I don’t know if she won or lost, but her post-Xmas bells have become entangled in her keys and she is trying to separate the two. That’s a lot of jingling.
It adds an interesting counterpoint to Kylie’s “Timebomb” which has just come on my iPod:
“I wanna wanna…” *jingle, jangle* “…wanna wanna…” *jangle* “…dance like it’s the last dance of my life…” *rangle jangle* “We’re on a Timebomb…” *jingle* “…it might not last long…”
That’s a lot of gayness so early in the morning. It’s time to take Vixen out. *getting the tranquilizer gun*
We have just found out that our company IT has done a massive marketing campaign, sending out e-mails to our customers asking them to contact us…at the customers’ own numbers. The implied message? “If you have any questions or concerns call your damn self. You’re the only one who cares.”
(later, on Day 3)
To add to this, I just responded to an e-mail from a woman telling me, “It is my husband's work number, it is not toll free, and you have no right to send out his personal work number to anyone.”
Are. You. Stupid? What makes it worse is that this gem of compounded stupidity came from an internal source. The woman who sent us this e-mail works for our company. You know, it’s okay when you are trying to help people who don’t know the systems and don’t work in the corporate world. That’s expected. It’s why we are here. It is terrifying to think they have infiltrated the corporation.
But, let’s humor this implication. Let’s just say that something had gone terribly wrong and that we HAD been giving out her husband’s work number as our toll free number to EVERYONE. Didn’t she think—just for a second—that she might have heard about it by now? Wouldn’t he at least have said something like, “Wow. Busy day at the office today, honey. I took about a million calls!”
They walk amongst us. And I am terrified.
Just as I was beginning to think that today would be all work and no play, I got this (paraphrased) message straight from a customer:
Your "company" should lose its license to practice business. I think you are operating out of a garage in Mexico. How absolutely embarrassing.
We get the charmers. We’re just lucky like that.
Cuntessa—a very pretty yet overly sensitive girl who once tattled on me for offending her. I had informed Cuntessa that the program she was helping to put together didn’t work and we weren’t changing our processes until it functioned properly. She left out the “until it functions properly” part of my speech and told her boss on me. Which leads me to…
Whoreathia—Cuntessa’s boss. She has an exaggerated sense of importance lent to her by her position (lacking any real power, but desperately grasping for it) and her looks. She is, like Cuntessa, also very pretty, but a total hag where it counts. Not present in the aforementioned meeting, she decided to call my boss’ boss to inform him that I was wicked, resistant to change, and needed to be spoken to. The poop rolled down hill and I launched it right back up. I told them that she wasn’t present, didn’t see or hear anything, had crucial parts of the conversation missing and, when she tried to give me crap again (again to my boss’ boss), I informed everyone that her program still didn't work, that they had not responded to our requests to make the necessary changes, that she was singling me out and retaliating because I had the nerve to question her and Cuntessa, and if I heard from her again she would be hearing from HR. She has left me alone since.
Niobe—one of our supervisors here, tough as nails, smart, on top of the entire business, and not one to be trifled with. She also has a sense of humor and knows when to listen and when to fight.
Caught in the insanely crowded break room with them, I witnessed Niobe confront Cuntessa and Whoreathia. Used to hiding behind their relationship with someone with actual almighty Corporate Power, they were not prepared for the wrath of Niobe.
“Wrath” is too dramatic of a word. Niobe was calmly informing them that one of their projects was not functioning properly (a different project, I might add. It’s a running theme with them, apparently), and that they needed to fix it. Cuntessa had a look of horror not unlike that which a Victorian lady would wear if someone shat on her corset while she was still in it.
Whoreathia was stunned, stuttering and shaking her head as if denying that anything could possibly be wrong with her work. Niobe reiterated that they needed to fix it and that it was driving up complaints. Cuntessa looked as though the Phantom Crapper had moved north and defecated on her blond curls and crown of misguided self-satisfaction. Whoreathia simply stopped responding. Niobe was having none of it. She asked for a date and time the changes would be made.
Regrettably, this is where the trio of unhappiness left the break room and I was allowed to eavesdrop no more.
As with the previous argument I saw, I was waving the flag for my team. Niobe the Graceful Goddess of War. Loved it. Having recently watched the South Park episode Di-Yikes, I have been unable to get the lesbian fight with the transgender Ms. Garrison out of my mind. A butch lesbian kicks Ms. Garrison in the crotch and she yells, “Awwwww! You kicked me right in the PUSSY!” With that deep voice, and the note of sheer joy he had in his voice for being able to bring his new nether regions into the conversation, I have been giggling for days.
I heard that voice in my head today. I wanted to yell in my best (grammatically incorrect) Ms. Garrison voice, “Awwwwww! Kick them right in the PUSSY!”
You will be glad to know that I did not shout this.
Crude, grotesque, wrong, and horrible. I know. But I am still laughing.
*faint, twitch, die* JUST finished my main work. I had another chat with my team because these heifers were whining about OT. I said I couldn’t entertain their whining any longer because I was behind and my supervisor chimes in with, “You shouldn’t have as much work because I have you on projects.” What? They are complaining about doing overtime in a month where it is not encouraged but expected and you want me to give them some of my work? Do you know this team? They will kill me and grind my bones for their bread. I ran.
Just leaving. Kill me.
The bus is late. I'm trying to go in 1.5 hours early and this is what I get.
After leaving here less than 12 hours ago, I am back. The bus was about 15 minutes late. It’s not like there were a lot of people on the bus. There were five, including myself. If each able-bodied person getting on makes the driver three minutes late, he’s looking at a very long day.
I saw my coworker as I was walking in. She said, “I’m just waking up. I don’t even remember driving here.”
I’m glad I didn’t walk.
When told how much work we have today (not including the backlog), this same coworker said, “You’re upsetting my IBS.” We covered our cups. Who knows what could happen? Every day here is a treasure.
A customer in Texas has informed me that she searched our web site for local stores near her. Our website told her that there was one in Puerto Rico, and listed it as 0.8 miles away. I’m tempted to tell her that the rusty old spoon lying next to the cactus down the street is a portkey. *snicker* Damned Muggle.
*cackling until I almost pee* Sometimes our customers are a witty bunch. I present you with this (paraphrased) snippet of an e-mail I just received:
Got into a huge fight with an absolutely stupid SUPERVISOR who must have been schooled on how to be stupid (no one is naturally that stupid).
[after a lengthy diatribe detailing quite a horrific ordeal]
And lastly, change the GODDAMNED music. After being on hold for two hours I can't stand that music.
I feel him--time exaggeration aside. I can’t stand our hold music, either. It makes me want to place chopsticks firmly and irrevocably into my eardrums.
The strain is getting to us and melting our brains. A coworker sent out an e-mail to a customer saying, “I are unable to reproduce this issue…” She realized it too late, recalled it, and the customer (of course) received the uncorrected version. Luckily, he was so happy that her solution worked that he didn’t call her out for having the language skills of someone having been in the country for a robust 40 minutes.
From the documentation on an account:
…IS WATING A COMPANEY INVALOPE WITH…
Heavens, they’re multiplying.
I was at my supervisor’s desk discussing one of the dozen things he has given me to follow up on today and my old supervisor-friend-turned-manager came up to me and gave me a hug. Maybe she was just being friendly, but I can’t help wondering: Did I look so disheveled and cranky that I needed a hug and a nap? Perhaps a cookie, too?
10 hours and counting. One of our duties is to print copious amounts of accounting information to be sent to customers and our printer has cheerfully run out of toner. There are no extras in the building. I checked. It’s Friday—don’t test me.
So, my supervisor sent me on a ninja mission—to sneak to another department and trade our barely-there toner for the toner from a fax machine that was not ours. I did. I couldn’t help but think about what my defense would be if confronted. “I was just following orders.” That had far too many negative associations to attach to some pilfered toner, so I had planned to lie. “He said this toner was ours, too. You mean this isn’t our fax machine?” *innocent face* “That bastard! Get your torches and pitchforks! To the windmill!”
Nobody noticed me. I didn’t even get to use my smoke bombs (or kunai).
I feel that I must state here that I am not, in fact, working out of a garage in deepest, bleakest Mexico. I work for a Fortune 500 company which has won multiple awards for customer service, product, efficiency, and quality. What’s more, I can see it. For the most part we’re pretty good, but sometimes at the barely-above-grunt level you see a whole lot of the seedy underbelly.
Just when I’m getting ready to pack it up (finished or not), I see this:
CUSTOMER NEEDS A STATMENT SHOWING A STATEMENT SHOWING HIS BALANCE OF $0.01
There are too many things wrong with that and my head already hurts.
And that was my first three days of madness. I fled shortly thereafter. I had planned to go into work and finish my backlog on Saturday—84 of those accounting statements on the aforementioned new system which enjoys nothing more than closing up at the most inopportune moments, but I decided not to. With a wonky system, thieved toner, and lack of sleep, I figured I would end up like Ripley at the end of Alien when Mother won't shut the self-destruct mechanism down.
"You BIIIIIIIITCH!" *hitting it with a giant gun*
We shall see how tomorrow goes.