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apocalypsosBecause God knows I need it for this post.
When they hired the Grouch to come work the front counter to replace Oh-Woe-Is-Me-Ohhhh, we were only supposed to work until 8:30 p.m. It took us forever to get the data entry done at night back then, because neither of us had any idea what we were doing, and we were getting everything done at 8:45 or even 9:00 on busy nights.
So because DHL is run by cheap bastards who won't pay overtime unless they absolutely had to, they moved both of our shifts slightly to the right so they started and ended a half hour later. It made sense, so both of us went along with it.
Fast forward a couple of months, and the Grouch and I have the system down so well we're getting done routinely at 8:30 p.m. And it's been this way for the past month at least, so that he's been able to leave at 8:30 and if I can get a ride with him, I've been taking it. To offset it, I've been starting fifteen minutes early or so if I can, because I'm usually there early anyways.
So anyway, the past couple of days, we've been so light on the workload I've been getting out of there at 8:20, so that I can make a mad dash for the bus that leaves Van Dorn at 8:40 and gets me home at quarter after nine. Today, I got finished at 8:30 like usual, and the Town Crier and the Glorified Optimist pull me aside and talk to me like I'm an infant who doesn't understand the concept of eight-hour shifts.
Yes, I understand the concept, and I also understand that if anybody else in that brain cell wasteland understood the concept, they'd have already noticed that we've been leaving early for weeks and would have done something about the shifts. I've been meaning to say something about it to Bossman, but somewhere between TweedleDum and TweedleBraindead over on the other side of the building and that thing where no one really seemed to give a damn, I've been a bit preoccupied. No more, though, because I'm so getting this dealt with on Monday.
And there's a week's worth of work I'm not even looking forward to, because not only am I working on my birthday, but I also have to deal with the fact that Lieutenant Asshat is leaving me alone with the Glorified Optimist because he's going to New York or Atlanta or some other damn place for training. You know how when you were a kid and your parents told you you were going to your grandparents's house for the weekend, and you got all excited because you thought it was the grandparents who stuffed you full of candy and let you watch R-rated movies and taught you as many curse words as possible? And then it turned out that it was your other grandparents who told you stories about all the vegetables they canned for the winter and kept squirrels they shot wrapped in foil in the freezer and listened to '50s lite rock? Remember that tantrum you threw? That's what I'm doing right now.
And let's not even mention TweedleDum and TweedleBraindead, who are doing even less work than I'm apparently doing (*eye roll*). I'm going to start a betting pool on my side of the building to guess what they're actually doing over there when they're supposed to be working, and I'm going to call dibs on lots and lots of manicures, counting the cockroaches in the bathrooms, or flinging their own crap against the wall. Considering that I could get untrained monkeys to do their job better at this point, that last option looks like an even bet.
Also, let's not even bring up Creepy Mexican Stalker, because quite frankly, that's what he is right now. I told the Grouch to tell him that I wouldn't date him if he had fifty million dollars for every inch he was shorter than me -- albeit in some way a little more poetic and Spanish -- but I don't think he's gotten the memo yet. I'd bitch about him constantly hovering around my desk and breathing down my neck, but mostly, he waddles around my chair with the other Munchkins and blows my hair up in the air. And if *I* can make Munchkin jokes about anybody, you know I've finally found a man I could totally take in a fight. That's just not enough to build a relationship on, and that's not including the creepy resemblance to my weird uncle Butch and the fact that the only way he could stare at me any longer than he already does is if he were to pop out his eyeballs and glue them to my forehead.
Urgh. God forbid I say that out loud. He might get ideas. Ick.
When they hired the Grouch to come work the front counter to replace Oh-Woe-Is-Me-Ohhhh, we were only supposed to work until 8:30 p.m. It took us forever to get the data entry done at night back then, because neither of us had any idea what we were doing, and we were getting everything done at 8:45 or even 9:00 on busy nights.
So because DHL is run by cheap bastards who won't pay overtime unless they absolutely had to, they moved both of our shifts slightly to the right so they started and ended a half hour later. It made sense, so both of us went along with it.
Fast forward a couple of months, and the Grouch and I have the system down so well we're getting done routinely at 8:30 p.m. And it's been this way for the past month at least, so that he's been able to leave at 8:30 and if I can get a ride with him, I've been taking it. To offset it, I've been starting fifteen minutes early or so if I can, because I'm usually there early anyways.
So anyway, the past couple of days, we've been so light on the workload I've been getting out of there at 8:20, so that I can make a mad dash for the bus that leaves Van Dorn at 8:40 and gets me home at quarter after nine. Today, I got finished at 8:30 like usual, and the Town Crier and the Glorified Optimist pull me aside and talk to me like I'm an infant who doesn't understand the concept of eight-hour shifts.
Yes, I understand the concept, and I also understand that if anybody else in that brain cell wasteland understood the concept, they'd have already noticed that we've been leaving early for weeks and would have done something about the shifts. I've been meaning to say something about it to Bossman, but somewhere between TweedleDum and TweedleBraindead over on the other side of the building and that thing where no one really seemed to give a damn, I've been a bit preoccupied. No more, though, because I'm so getting this dealt with on Monday.
And there's a week's worth of work I'm not even looking forward to, because not only am I working on my birthday, but I also have to deal with the fact that Lieutenant Asshat is leaving me alone with the Glorified Optimist because he's going to New York or Atlanta or some other damn place for training. You know how when you were a kid and your parents told you you were going to your grandparents's house for the weekend, and you got all excited because you thought it was the grandparents who stuffed you full of candy and let you watch R-rated movies and taught you as many curse words as possible? And then it turned out that it was your other grandparents who told you stories about all the vegetables they canned for the winter and kept squirrels they shot wrapped in foil in the freezer and listened to '50s lite rock? Remember that tantrum you threw? That's what I'm doing right now.
And let's not even mention TweedleDum and TweedleBraindead, who are doing even less work than I'm apparently doing (*eye roll*). I'm going to start a betting pool on my side of the building to guess what they're actually doing over there when they're supposed to be working, and I'm going to call dibs on lots and lots of manicures, counting the cockroaches in the bathrooms, or flinging their own crap against the wall. Considering that I could get untrained monkeys to do their job better at this point, that last option looks like an even bet.
Also, let's not even bring up Creepy Mexican Stalker, because quite frankly, that's what he is right now. I told the Grouch to tell him that I wouldn't date him if he had fifty million dollars for every inch he was shorter than me -- albeit in some way a little more poetic and Spanish -- but I don't think he's gotten the memo yet. I'd bitch about him constantly hovering around my desk and breathing down my neck, but mostly, he waddles around my chair with the other Munchkins and blows my hair up in the air. And if *I* can make Munchkin jokes about anybody, you know I've finally found a man I could totally take in a fight. That's just not enough to build a relationship on, and that's not including the creepy resemblance to my weird uncle Butch and the fact that the only way he could stare at me any longer than he already does is if he were to pop out his eyeballs and glue them to my forehead.
Urgh. God forbid I say that out loud. He might get ideas. Ick.
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no subject
Date: 2004-09-24 10:30 pm (UTC)Yours in solidarity,
Rat
no subject
Date: 2004-09-24 10:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-25 10:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-25 01:10 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 10:02 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 05:41 pm (UTC)Seriously, though, I spent a-year-and-a-half working for the Global Mail division of DPGM(sister company of yours, I do believe) and even if they had wanted me back at this point, there's not a thing they could do to get me there. Not if it meant the same mind-numbingly endless rounds of data entry, stupid drivers botching pickups and idiot customers who expect bloody miracles. Nuh-uh. No thanks.
Mean to say you got sympathy, empathy and a pint of Ben and Jerry's of choice.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 06:09 pm (UTC)God, tell me about it. Right now, I'd say the worst problem is driver supervisors too dense to update the package history in the computer before they send bad addresses my way. And I gave them a step-by-step guide an untrained monkey could follow of exactly how I wanted them updated in the computer. Bah.
And I've been stressed all weekend long because I so don't want the Town Crier and the Glorified Optimist to tattle on me to Bossman. I swear, I've never been this jumpy about any boss I've had ever before.
no subject
Date: 2004-09-26 06:40 pm (UTC)Yeah. I know that one. At least when I was working night shift the data entry clerks had a sort of loose alliance, such that we all knew that we didn't spend all our time working and wouldn't tell and if someone needed to leave to do something we'd cover for them. Worked fairly well, really. When I worked day shift, though, that's when you really had to watch your back.