Tag: Work

Fail, Humor, Office, Secretary, Sexism, Work

Insult, Injury, and Comeuppance

“Sweet is revenge – especially to women.”
– Lord Byron

Good morning, minions.  Where can I get the best real-looking plastic snakes money can buy?

Oh, I'm sorry. I thought work ended at 5.

Last week, after doing the laundry run, I returned the key to Lt. Colossus as per usual.  Then J. and I headed up to the City for the evening.  I’d left my phone at home because it needed to charge, and when we came back I had about half a dozen messages on it that proceeded thus:

“C. this is —- from work, Lt. Colossus asked me to call you and find out where you left the key to the van.  Could you call me back?  Thanks.”

“C. this is —- again, we really need that key.”

“This is Officer —-, I’m not happy.  You know that you’re supposed to turn that key into Colossus when you’re done, it’s not your car.  We need to use it.”

“C., Colossus.  Where the hell is that key?  You know better than to keep it, damn it!  We need it!”

“C.!  Where is it?!”

“C.  Hi…sorry…this is Colossus…I found the key…see you tomorrow.”

The blasted man, after having told all the officers on duty who needed the van that I had absconded with their blessed key,  had accidentally taken it home with him in his pants pocket.  Jupiter Ammon, what is it with men and pants in this office?!

But to add insult to injury, this morning he found Lt. Citrus pressing a uniform in the supply room and cracked, “Shouldn’t you have to wear a skirt to do that?”
Wise heard him and let him have it with both barrels.
“But you girls weren’t supposed to hear that,” he protested.
“It’s sexist whether we hear it or not,” I retorted.
“You just have not sense of humor,” he tried to tease.

See, my my bite far, far worse than my bark.

Foolish, foolish man. I’ve officially lost patience with your mild but all-pervading sexism and your tendency to blame things on me.  And unlike most women you seem to know, I am not of the ignore-it-and-it-will-go-away persuasion.   Also I know three very important things about you.  1 – that you scream like a girl,  2 – that you are terrified of snakes,  3 – your locker combination.

There are many ways to cure sexism and undesirable behavior.  I choose psychological warfare.

Humor, Office, Stupid People, University, Work

Mob. Mentality.

“People are a problem.”
– Douglas Adams

As if we were not already desperately busy, especially with Fall semester looming, this is also when the University hosts a conference open to the public.  For a mere $44 dollars, you can come spend week going to classes about academic topics, theology, personal development, and probably basket weaving for all I know.  This wouldn’t be so bad if it were not for the people.

And we're not leaving without our commemorative mugs!

It is impossible to convey how boorish these invaders are.  You’d think they owned the place!  Office supplies go missing, we have to lock classrooms so that they can’t get in, they knock people down rushing to classes, they yell at everyone…genuine menaces to society.  However, it’s their propensity to complain about everything, usually consequences they’ve brought on themselves by their rude behavior, that really bleaches us of all sympathy.  Some favorite complaints:

I couldn’t find a parking space so I had to park in the road against oncoming traffic.
No.  You didn’t.  That’s like saying, “There were no cigarettes so I had to smoke crack.”  Not at all.  The circumstances are probably aggravating and cause withdrawals and make you irritable (not unlike frustration with parking), but the solution you propose is still illegal.

We paid good money to come to this conference, get out of our way!
We pay much, much more money to go to school here for four years.  Full time.  And do you think any of us get our way?

We paid good money to come here [again, please note $44], so we should be able to park wherever we want.
Hm…not really.  This is, in fact, a fully functioning university 365 days a year.  Which means that we have anywhere between 20,000 and 60,000 people here on a daily basis who are actually working and taking classes who need to park.  To put it simply, we trump you.  You are visitors, we are permanent.

We can’t find anything on this campus of yours.  Don’t you label anything? And where are we supposed to park?
Yes.  You will find them on those handy maps you were given on your first day.  And you can park in any one of the half-of-the-entire-campus-lots we took away from those mentioned in the complaint above this one and gave them to you to use.  For a week.  For free.  Ingrates.

The bishop encouraged us to come so, since the bishop sent us, you should give us food for free, because of the bishop.
This is not the parish potluck!

We drove a long way to come here, why can’t we leave our car in a handicapped stall?
I don’t care if the Vatican called you personally and declared all your sins would be forgiven if you invaded campus.  I don’t care if we get an email from Mecca declaring this the site of this year’s pilgrimage.  I don’t care if St. Thomas a Becket re-capitates himself and orders Chaucer resurrected to write another masterpiece about our humble university town.  You do not, under any circumstances, get to get away with such unpardonable behavior!

(Cutting in front of whole lines of people, including one in a wheelchair, to buy things at the campus store and then snapping at the people who ask you to move to the back of the queue, “We’re with the conference!”)
Who raised you?!

Humor, Office, Secretary, University, Work

I Saw a Sign

“All abstract sciences are nothing but the study of relations between signs.”
– Denis Diderot

One of my annual duties is to process raises for all of the student employees, all 150-200 of them.  Each of these raises must be individually entered, then individual added to two separate databases (before I hand them off to Susie who enters them into another worksheet).  As you may imagine, this takes quite a bit of time.  I usually clear my entire schedule to work solely on this project so that I can get it done in a couple of days.

These couple of days are brain melting.  I stare at the computer screen without breaks from the moment I get into work until the moment I leave.  By the time I limp out to my car, my eyes are crossing and uncrossing beyond my control.  I swear I’ve developed carpal syndrome in my right index finger.

Note: NOT Dave Matthews.

Funny things happen to my head, such as yesterday when I had to do a double take  because Pandora (which often doesn’t make sense anyway), playing in my peripherals suddenly flashed a picture of King Leonidas from 300…no…wait.  It wasn’t a naked, roaring barbarian, it was Dave Matthews.  I rubbed my eyes and prayed for 5pm.  But it pays off to do it all at once because within three days I can usually get back to my normal schedule only slightly worse for wear.

The only way I am able to get it all done in a timely matter is by carefully cultivating the idea that anyone who disturbs me during this process will be marched out into the parking lot, lined up, and summarily shot.  This year, to facilitate the speedy processing of raises, I put up the following sign:

And, much to my royal irritation, everyone has been ignoring it.  Cretins.

Humor, Office, Secretary, Stupid People, Work

Things You Say That Will Make Me Doubt You

**Don’t forget to enter the Shabby Apple giveaway!  Winner announced tomorrow!**

Now, while some people come into our office and say things that are just plain silly, other people say things that are, literally, unbelievable.  From this week (and it’s only Wednesday morning):

“I have a doctor’s note.  Uh…from…um…a doctor!”  *

“I’ve, uh, locked myself out of my car.  Don’t have my keys.  Could you guys open it for me?”
“Can you prove ownership of the car?”
“Um, no.  Can’t you just shoot the trunk lock open for me?” **

“You don’t understand, you are going to do what I tell you.  Don’t you know who I am?” ***

* I am a rhinoceros.  One of us is lying.
** I’ll bet lunch someone finds a body.  Any takers?
*** No.  I don’t.  And since it’s my job to be painstakingly aware of all requisite movers and shakers, that ought to tell you something.

Humor, Office, Secretary, Work

For Your Saftey…

We are rather busy and terribly grumpy.  We are hiring nearly 30 people, firing about 20, and processing paperwork for all of them, along with giving all our 200 employees an individual raise.  Your complaints about not being able to buy more targets to vaporize in shooting practice, bafflement on how to use the fax machine, repeats of questions we’ve answered dozens of times, or excuses of why your work is late will not be acknowledged, much less tolerated.

Go away.

Humor, Office, Work

Postive. Identification.

“Regrets are as personal as fingerprints.”
– Margaret Culkin Banning

Occasionally one of my jobs at the front desk is to help with fingerprinting customers.  Usually Officer Lampost does this but if he’s running security somewhere on campus, sick, or on vacation, I’m your girl.  Fingerprinting is one of those standard services a police department offers, we do them digitally, but I’m convinced that the customers we get are no where close to standard issue.

You get the averages weirdos, the people with really sweaty hands, the older men who lean against you and sniff your hair, and such.  But then, you get the even more bizarre types.

Like the girl who came in, said she needed her fingerprints taken, paid, and then sat down and opened up a book.
“Ma’am, you’ll need to come with me so I can fingerprint you.”
“Oh, can’t you just go get them?”  she asked in surprise.
I blinked.  “Excuse me?”
“Can’t you just go print them off for me?”
“Have you had your fingerprints taken here before?”
“No.  Why, don’t you have them ready?”
“Um…we have to prepare them – ”
“Well, do you need me for that?” she asked, with perfect sincerity.

Then there was the gentleman, about my own age, who needed fingerprints done for a job application.  I’d typed all his information into the program and then said that I needed his right hand to start the process.  His lips compressed but he allowed me to direct his hands and then fingers one at a time to the scanner.  When I was done he shook himself like I was a rodent and turned a religious, baleful eye on me.

Dear, dear. You're assuming WAY too much.

“Do you think what happened just now was appropriate?”
Pen poised above the line for my signature on the form, I froze.  “I’m sorry?”
“You hitting on me like that?  In a place of business?”
“Sir, I’m afraid – ”
“Really, it’s disgusting.  I’m married.”
“So am I, sir.  And I promise that under no circumstances would I ever hit on you,” I said, meaning it with all my heart.
“Pathetic,” he muttered under his breath before snatching his prints and stalking out.

Like I said…weird.

Angst, Humor, Office, Secretary, University, Work

That Time Again

“No supervisor becomes the quarterback in this situation.”
– Richard Hirsch

About this time last year, we organized a meeting in which to hold student supervisor’s feet to the fire about their negligent hiring practices.  The Great Uprising of the Secretaries had some effect since the University complimented our department on having no hiring errors since then.  HA!

However, seeing as it’s been a whole year, and what with some people being raised to the position of student without being trained how to do the job, the fact that some supervisors don’t like to read forms, and that the same supervisors have developed the habit of letting the University auto-terminate their students instead of doing the work themselves (actually, telling us to do the work) and not telling us students have quit…we must again go over the same information we did last year.  And none of the information has changed.

I am imagining throwing this phone at you.

I long to be able to shake a stack of paperwork, uniforms, and gear in their faces and say, “We do all of this.  We get them hired, outfitted, in compliance with state and federal laws, and keep them that way.  We keep track of the last time you, their supervisor, with whom they have contact every day, gave them a raise.  We get them access to all secured areas, programs, and even sometimes personally hand them pepper spray (at great personal risk).  We do this, for 150 of them a year.  Literally all we ask of you is to have this form filled out so we know what timetable to do all this on…please explain to me, WHY IS THAT SO HARD?”

Fail, Humor, Office, Secretary, Stupid People, University, Work

Things You Say That Will Make Me Laugh at You

“If idiots could fly, this place would be an airport.”
– Sign on Lauper’s desk

I am constantly amazed at some of the conversations that we, as a police department, get to be a part of.  Read on for a sampling of THIS week’s pearls of wisdom:

“My child’s backpack went missing at your university over the weekend.  I’ve checked the Lost and Found, all the custodial departments, and with his camp counselors.  What do you think happened to it?”
“Honestly, ma’am, I think it very likely it was stolen.”
“(Gasp!) Would someone do that?!” *

“I just thought that if I didn’t pay these tickets they would just go away.”
“Sorry, sir, that’s not correct.  If you don’t pay tickets they go to collections after a certain number of months.  That information is found both on our website and printed on the ticket you recieved.”
“Well, I still wasn’t going to pay them.  It was the principle of the thing.” **

“I’ve been driving around for an hour looking for your pink parking lots.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The pink parking lots!  They’re pink on your map, but I haven’t found any parking lots painted pink.”
“Ma’am, we only depict them in pink on the maps to distinguish visitor parking lots from all the other lots on campus, they are really just normal parking lots.”
“What do you mean?  This is false information!” ***

“So, on Craigslist we found a listing for a scooter that we’re interested in, but I wanted a police opinion first.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s listed for $50, the guy says he doesn’t have paperwork for it, and doesn’t even have a key for it.  Does that sound normal to you?”
“…?” ****

* Yes, ma’am, they would.  Which is why we have police departments.
** Congratulations.  Your principles, which apparently do not include being a law abiding citizen, have just ruined your credit score.
*** I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you.
**** Let me guess, the owner is Mr. Jean Boogaloo from Nigeria.

Humor, Office, Secretary, Work

Porcelain. God.

“…where there are bosses there are crazy bosses.  It’s nothing new.”
Judd Rose

I’ve already mentioned Lt. Figaro’s ability to talk the brains out of new employees.  I failed to explain a couple of his other quirks that makes him beyond compare the most odd person we work with.

First of all, he is never around.  Seriously.  We go whole days without seeing him.  Weeks sometimes.

No one's been able to explain it.Second, he has the amazing ability to bend the space-time continuum.  If, on the off chance he is located in his office, you must never take your eyes off of him.  Because the moment he wanders out, he’s lost.  If he but turns a corner, goes into someone’s office, or shuts a door behind him…he is GONE.  You can run after him, you can search everyone’s cubicle, you can call after him, but it will all be in vain.  He has stepped into another dimension and will not reappear for several hours.

Third, he will (either on accident or on purpose, we aren’t sure which) invariably forget his schedule.  Even if he’s the one who arranged it.  It doesn’t matter if he called a meeting himself, there is a very good chance he will manage to forget it or fail to show up to it for at least a half hour.

All of this occasionally congeals into a wonderfully absurd/frightening cocktail, as it did this morning.

At nine o’clock on the dot, a smart young man showed up at my front desk and said politely that he needed to speak with Lt. Figaro and had an appointment with him.  I trotted off to his office only to discover that he was, predictably, absent.  So I tried Susie who said she’d seen him heading towards the back office mere second earlier, but a brisk walk around the whole department proved he wasn’t to be found.

At this point I head back to the front desk to apologize and ask if there is anything I can help this dapper young man with.  He explained that he’s been hired by one of the Sergeants but was instructed to pick up something from Figaro (which makes no sense, as this new hire will be working in a facility a couple miles off campus and will never come into our office again, but Figaro insists on giving out their identity cards).  I try but can’t locate this card.  Hennessy and Wise asked what I was doing and when I explained they rolled their eyes.
“I told him about this twice yesterday and sent him an email,” she sighed.  “Better just wait and see if he shows up.”

At 9:15, I go back to Hennessy’s desk and ask her to just get Figaro on the phone and she obliges while Wise hovers to catch the denouement.  After a couple of rings he picks up and though we can’t hear the other half of the conversation, we watch Hennessy’s face go through a series of convulsions.
“Your nine o’clock has been waiting for you.”
[Eyes widen]
“Oh.”
[Grimace]
“Alright, we’ll let him know.”
[Hurriedly hangs up phone and snatches hand away from the receiver]
“Oh my gosh…he’s in the bathroom!”

My brain needs bleach!

What he was doing in there for nearly 20 minutes is a mystery we’d rather not ponder, but that he answered his phone there…gah!  We all had to dance around making faces and saying “Yuck!” for a while to clear the image.

Friends, Humor, Work

Addendum

“I do not believe they’ve run out of surprises.”
– Larry Niven

Whilst this has been going on, Red has been dealing with a bad employee who has been showing up late, being rude to co-workers and patrons, and refused to learn her responsibilities.  Last Thursday, Red took her aside and cautioned her that her behavior would have to change and she stormed out.  Today she simply didn’t come in and fired off an email to Red two hours after she was due to start work saying that she couldn’t work in the “volatile situation” that we had put her in.

“Volatile!”  exclaimed Luthor incredulously.  “We get ice cream here!”

Well said, Luthor.  Well said.

Small Dog forgot entirely to take ice cream into account!