I feel like rambling again.
My problem (among many) is that I do all these updates at work. I don�t feel like spending the time to do them at home. By the time I get home, get done eating, finish arguing with Shmuppie (which goes like this: �Honey, sit down. Honey, eat your dinner. Stop touching the blinds. Please eat. Stop spitting. Did you shit your pants? Etc (as any parent of a 3-year old or once 3-year old can attest)) , give her a bath, poop, ride the Nordic Trac, and say hello to JewelrySlut, I�m too tired to type.
Also, I�m a lazy fuck.
Really, it�s more of the lazy and less of all the other excuses.
Let�s talk about work again. I feel the need to post this portion of an email. This is real, and has only been slightly edited for content (client info and such). Keep in mind that I work for a HealthCareRelated Company. I�d wager that we manage at least some of your health-related benefits.
�When I look up the eligibility in for this client there are 2,371 bellybuttons which would coincide with the amount on the file that eligibility has advised us on. We�re not sure if there was an influx in eligibility since the time the brief was submitted to now. We are researching that.�
What the hell does that mean? Bellybuttons? What the bloody fuck?
This trail of emails reached up to 20 before I truly started ignoring it. Our company�s so damned email dependent. You can�t get anyone on the phone because then you can�t be hung by your words. I must get close to 100 emails per day. It�s a mess and a half. Yesterday, we had an email survey about the staggering amount of email that we get. Insert joke here
Now let�s talk about going to the bathroom at work. I go in to recycle some coffee a few minutes ago and see one of my most favorite people in there. There�s this guy here who actually does not have a job. And I mean, he does less than Wombat does. This guy may stuff envelopes. He may run the document shredder. He may work in the warehouse. The thing is that nobody knows.
***Rant Alert***
See, our production area is a Union shop. So, as I see it, you can�t fire anyone. So, people like this guy exist and collect a paycheck here for doing nothing. Except, go to the bathroom that is. The guy�s always in there. He�s got this awful kinda-afro that he�s constantly picking at and trimming. So, you get short curlies all around the sink. It�s quite gross. So, this guy, and about 50 others like him here, do nothing all day, collect a paycheck and take disability twice a year. Guess what folks? You�re all out of a job as of June 1! This is what you get for doing NOTHING for 20+ years. You get outsourced. Your jobs go to people who can do them for � the cost. To make it worse, they�re staying in NJ! That�s how ridiculous our division is. You can outsource to within the state with the 2nd highest per-capita income and still save a ton of money. This lovely union of nobodies actually thought of striking last year. With the writing all over the walls that we�d be closing down, did they fight for a better termination package? Did they fight for severance? No�they fought for the Day After Thanksgiving. They all knew they�d be gone by summer, but they wanted to make sure they got paid for the last Friday in November. Very smart.
Here�s another work rant.
I got into it with one of our supervisors last week. I was trying not to wipe out the inventory of one of our envelopes. See, our inventory guy, when he�s doing OK, is a mess. Lately, he�s not been well. Really lately, he fell into a serious diabetic coma and may not pull through it 100%. So, I�m trying to avoid chaos. For the purposes of this conversation, I�ll call the supervisor Fucker.
Me: How many 31544s do you use a day?
Fucker: I don�t know.
Me: OK�roughly how many?
Fucker: I don�t know. Ask InventoryGuy
Me: Why don�t you know? Can�t you guess?
Fucker: No. Why should I know?
Me: Because you�re the supervisor of the production area that uses them, that�s why.
Fucker: I don�t have to know that. You need to learn something about supervising.
***Interlude***
Apparently, I do. Because I�d always supervised production with a working knowledge of what was being produced and in what quantities. I did not spend that time giving rim jobs to management.
Me: What? You�re the supervisor! The 2 envelopes don�t even look alike. It should be easy to tell the difference.
Fucker: I don�t need to know. We process over 1000 jobs per day
***Interlude 2***
No you don�t, assfucker. Ever since the company decided to stop wasting money on your department, you handle less than half of your original volumes. What used to take you 1 � shifts now takes until lunchtime to do. And you say you don�t know what�s going on.
Me: Fine. I�m holding back 10,000 envelopes. I don�t know how long that will last you.
Fucker: I don�t know how long 10,000 will last. It may not be enough.
Me: �walks away�
So, we have a production supervisor who has no clue what he produces.
This place is a fuck.
The latest defection was by EsteemedDirector. Now, me, the printing supervisor (another empty shirt. A nice guy, but someone who�s perfected the art of not answering direct questions.) and Wombat all work for nobody. We don�t have a boss and nobody knows what we do. That might be fine if it weren�t for all the insanity that we have to deal with on a daily basis. Our old manager (who left a month ago) was mostly useless, but he was a good buffer from a lot of the crazy shit here. Now it seems that I�m being elevated to some new unknown position. All I care about is keeping this job until I can find another one and continuing to add impressive-looking stuff to my resume.
Happy Easter, Everyone
Here�s what we did: We did go to the NoGoodParents� house. It was as awful as expected. NoGoodMother, as I see it, either never knew how to cook, or has forgotten over the past 5 years or so. In that time, I�ve become a pretty good cook, so it could be that I never knew any better. Well, JewelrySlut and I spent all week trying to be able to cook for Saturday night. NoGoodMother kept saying no, that she�d handle it. So, to handle it, she sent NoGoodFather to the store. Now, he really tried hard and I appreciate the effort. Deep down, he now knows that his wife can�t cook (and probably no longer loves him). So, he had no idea what to buy. We ended up with sliced cold cuts and some cheese. NoGoodMother made watery lasagna. It was bad. So, I did what I know best; get hammered. Let me say that mixing, in this order, a nice Cabernet, several crappy margaritas and then a big bottle of Pinot Grigio is not a good idea. I woke up on Sunday (we�d stayed over for some reason) hung over like all getout. I spent the whole morning on the couch dozing and running to the toilet to shit my pants. Fortunately, I missed breakfast: some casserole made from cinnamon-raisin bread soaked in milk, a nasty ham and an awful looking fruit salad. JewelrySlut was not happy to be eating.
SecretAgentBrother was there too. As mentioned earlier, his wife has left him. He�s scaring me tough. He�s a little too unemotional about it. He seems too cold. He also has weapons training, so I�m more than a little frightened about him.
It rained yesterday. Our yard is now a small lake. This should make it nice for people coming to look at the house. Our realtor�s still a ninny. She�s now passed us off to her daughter because her daughter really likes us and wants to be friends. Sorry, folks, I don�t want friends, I want my house to be sold.
Who wants some NoGoodAdvice?
Don�t take Sudafed right before bedtime. I did last night and was wired for almost 3 hours. That was nice. I should have known better because medicine always hits me hard. In May, I pulled something in my back. I ended up in the ER and they gave me Vicodin. I too 2 over a 3-day period and slept for all but about 4 hours. I was knocked out for 3 full days. Meds hit me hard. They always have. So, now I�m dragging ass today because I didn�t get enough sleep.
Well, I�ve wasted enough time for now.
Later�