*Best read with Mr. Moviephone’s voice in your head to enhance dramatic tone. Roll tape!
AS IF A NIGHTMARE, DEAD-END JOB WASN’T BAD ENOUGH – SNARKNADO! is NOW. Scanning. IN!…
NOT just another ANGRY ADMIN … BEYOND your everyday SARDONIC SECRETARY – her witticisms punctuated by the blood-red lips of a snark-slashed smile…
Seven-years jaded & increasingly resentful OF THE MUTATING MOUNTAINS OF PAPER ON HER DESK and the pitiful complaints of Professional Idiots,
A little song to illustrate my mood but what I also wish certain people (ahem, you KNOW who you are!) would do when they see me. Moving on…
Nothing makes me madder than someone whose powers of communication, or lack thereof, keeps me from making some kind of forward progression.
Progress matters to me, especially in my place of employment – progress in diminishing the piles of paper on my desk; progress in my exodus downstairs for my morning coffee; progress in the general direction of the cafeteria and DO NOT come between me and that hand-scanner at 5:00 (unless you just happen to be my boss)! Continue reading
It took the Administrative Assistant from HR no less than ONE-HUNDRED words to basically ask me if anybody in my office happened to be missing a Post-It with a phone number on it. The Post-It accidentally became attached to a signed form which I interofficed back to them yesterday.
NEED… …MORE….. POST-ITS!!!
It’s that type of message where you’re rolling your eyes so hard that should anyone enter in the middle of this, they’d probably think you were having a seizure and might just make the mistake of calling the paramedics.
At least that would make the day more interesting by allowing me the chance to ROLL with that opportunity!
Yep. It’s HER again!
Here is another post of mine on Showcaine! Comment, like, share! (Feel free to comment here or there; whichever you prefer) 🙂
“…A common theme of “Give ME! Because, why not!” currently plagues all levels of the American work-force and is a very serious dilemma for Grown-Ass, productive, dedicated men and women who actually DO work for a living.”
via An Epidemic of Entitlement.
So in this professional journey of never-ending frustration, I’ve realized that it’s not entirely my fault that I cannot get shit done around here. It seems like every time someone else’s input is required to complete something, like keeping current on my share of the water bill or getting an answer about a notice from OMH, I seem to always arrive in the middle of some tedious, long-winded personal conversation. Because we have nothing better to do at work, apparently. Continue reading
I am a promotional idiot – sticking it out on the simpleton shift chewing up ticky-tack specks of bone bowing loyal to the sweet, senile, blind… and monthly State Reports. Which were temporary…
I am a promotional idiot – tongue-bitten bruised keeping silent all these years not for fear; NOT for fear of Beelzebitch’s plowing through our hut like an angry convoy – I compile and file; I crack jokes as my gift to her victims…
So there’s this situation at work which I, as (my) luck and position would have it, have the good fortune of handling.
It seems for some time now that someone has been splashing around in the downstairs ladies bathroom. There have been several complaints from the ladies about getting butt-soaked and general watery mayhem. Several disturbing times a day, water will be found all over the counter, the floor, the toilet seat, the mirror, the doorknob.
Um, WTF! Was our potty being used by a certain someone to enact a secret water-ritual every flipping day??
Someday, when warmer weather finally arrives, I will be seriously tempted to drape my hopeless empty shell of a secretary’s body in this little number for a casual Friday. Or, perhaps this might stir things up at the monthly Administrative Assistant’s Meeting!
(Apparently, my dosage of Fukitol is currently way too high…)
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Until morale improves, the crocheting will continue.
Just because you don't see the struggle, doesn't mean someone isn't drowning.. Pain of the mind is worse than pain of the body.
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