Surely all jobs can’t be this bad

Shit's bad, all right?

Oh hai, I’m an asshole

Shit's bad, all right?

I know you already know this.

But today, I feel like I’ve sunk to the lowest level of asshole. It all started with an IM conversation with GingerMandy about finances. She got this complicated budget sheet and she sent me a copy and WHOA! I have a headache and I kind of want to slit my wrists. But the wrong way, so I don’t actually die or anything. Suicide is serious business, y’all.

So here’s what happened.

I thought to myself (Because much as I’d like to, I can’t really think to anyone else. Natalie? April? Get on that shit, please.), “Self, you don’t have any money. This should probably change, so you can pay off those student loans and handle having a car payment (since your car is about to DIE a painful death of exhaustion) and, you know, buy yourself that sex toy you were going on about all day yesterday.”

Okay, since I know you’re going to be all distracted about the sex toy, you can take a look here. That is TOTALLY NSFW. I’m serious. It’s also not safe for coworkers or family members. In fact, some of my friends should steer clear. You know who you are.

Back to the point? Babeland, if you need someone to review that bad boy, you just call me.

That wasn’t the point.

The point is, I spend a lot of my damn time blogging (for free). And I feel like I’m pretty entertaining. And, well, you all KNOW I have a nice rack (because I told you, obviously). And now I’ve decided that if any of your hearts (or loins) are inspired to give me some of your hard-earned dollars, I’d be happy to take them. If you look to the top right sidebar there, you’ll notice my button (heh). That will take you to a secure PayPal site, and there you can buy me a virtual drink. Or a virtual car. What? I know some of you out there must be loaded.

I’m kidding.

I will promise that the money you donate will never be used for any good cause, unless you consider my shoe collection, my vagina, or the further destruction of my liver to be a good cause. If that’s the case, every red cent will be for a good cause.

I feel like I should give you guys something in return, but well, none of you have donated yet. I do have a giveaway planned for the near future, though.

Also, you should know that Toy With Me sent me a deliciously large sex toy in the mail to review. I’ll let you know when (if?) the review is posted, as I’m sure you’ll want to take a look at that. My mother is so proud (and by that I mean “barely speaking to me.”)

Basically, until some of the other stuff I’m doing turns out to be gainful employment of some sort, my ass is broke. Broke and with no free time. This is not a guilt trip, I swear. I’m just telling you like it is.

Donate, don’t donate. The decision is yours. It’s better than ads, right?

Performance Reviews

You may already realize that my boss is quite the character. If you don’t, you can find some stories about it here (and here and here (with MS Paints!) and here).

Now that we’ve taken care of that, and you can see what I’m working with over here, I’m going to tell you a little bit about what Performance Reviews are like in our office. Basically, think Michael Scott…but older.

These days, I pretty much run the office, so I’m the one who does payroll and all that jazz. Which, ya know, means if you work in my office? You should probably not piss me off. Look, it’s not that I don’t LIKE archaeology (but I don’t really like the kind we do), it’s just that it pays better to do what I do now. And it was a full-time gig. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the economy’s not really doing so hot. Full-time = good idea.

Last year, my boss decided that maybe it would be wise for us to have an employee handbook. He decided this because a coworker and I pretty much beat him down until he came up with the idea all by himself. Unfortunately, this meant that I had to write an employee handbook. I had no earthly idea how to go about that, so I gathered a few examples and set about writing it up. This also meant that I had to pick my boss’s brain on every subject from lunch breaks to vacation time to pay increases to attendance. Trust me, my boss’s brain is not really a pretty place to be.

It turns out that my boss does not believe in giving his employees “cost of living” raises. He went on and on about how he didn’t believe in just giving someone an increase in pay for doing the exact same amount of work, and so, if anyone wanted a raise from him, they’d have to come talk to him about it.

Yes, I tried to explain that cost of living raises are designed to keep employees’ salaries in line with inflation and that not giving them essentially means that he’s making it more difficult for the employees to live, while they’re still doing the same amount of work, etc. He didn’t buy it.

I argued and argued, but to no avail. And alas, it says in our employee handbook that no cost of living raises should be expected and that if an employee feels he deserves a raise, he is required to discuss the matter with the boss. Of course, no one but me will actually do that.

Every year, at the end of the year, we’re supposed to have a “Performance Review.” Last year, I think mine went something like this:

Boss walks up to my desk. “Shine, go ahead and give yourself a such-and-such cost of living raise. Oh, and here’s the list for everyone else.”

So…yeah.

After an employee has been here for three months, he is also entitled to a “Performance Review” from the boss. This review should determine the employee’s future status with the company and his rate of pay for the coming year. About six months ago, we hired a new guy. He was only supposed to be here for a month. But, after three months, when he was still here, it was time for a Performance Review with the boss!

This is how that went down:

Boss calls me into his office. “Shine, what do you think of New Employee?”

Me: “Well, I think he works hard. He’s not scared to ask questions. I’ve read some of his stuff and he seems to have a really good grip on the English language.

Boss: “Anything else? Do you think we should keep him around?”

Me: “I think NE is a pretty good asset. He’s a little flaky, but I think he more than makes up for that with his writing. I don’t know how he is in the field, though.”

Boss: “Oh, he does just fine in the field. Let me ask you this, though. Would you date him?”

Me: “………Ummmmm….what?”

Boss: “Would you, you know…date him?”

Me: “……..Ummmm, well, uh, considering that he works here and that he HAS a girlfriend and that he’s nearly five years younger than me…no. I really don’t think I would. Why do you ask?”

Boss: “Oh, I was just curious. He has a girlfriend? What’s she like?”

Me: “Honestly, Boss, I have no idea. None. I’ve never met the girl.”

And now NE has a full-time position with our company. I can’t say I’m sure whether the correct answer was “Yeah, I’d date him” or “Um, Hell no,” nor do I see what in the FUCK that has to do with his employment status at our firm, but there you have it. A Performance Review by Boss.

We'll get back to your regular grumpy holiday blogging tomorrow, today? It's poo time.

I understand that popular notion of waiting until you get to the office to take your morning dump. The toilet is clean (except that you pooped in it yesterday morning and our cleaning people only come on the weekends), you’re at work so you’re getting paid to relieve yourself of the giant load of crap you’re hauling around in your intestines, and there’s the added bonus of subjecting your coworkers to the smell of death wafting from your rectum.

What’s that you say? You’ve never contemplated the third one? Ah! Then you obviously don’t work in my office.

See, most offices have restrooms for men and restrooms for women and they aren’t located, say, in the middle of the space. At my job? We only have one bathroom downstairs and one bathroom upstairs and both of them are within a (two year old’s) stone’s throw of each and every desk. Which means each and every person. Which mostly means ME. (Obviously.)

Every morning, most of my coworkers choose to wait until they get to work to take their morning poo. I’ve ranted about this before, but I feel the need to do it again, because I just got knocked in the face with POO SMELL.

Here’s the thing, boys. It’s disgusting. I don’t care who you are, your shit does, in fact, STINK. We also have several different kinds of poopers in the office.

The “I Have a Lot of Gas and I’m Going to Force You to Listen to It, But Then We’re All Going to Have to Pretend That Didn’t Happen” Pooper: I hate to tell you this, but having to listen to you relieve your bowels every morning is really not inspiring any more respect for your cause here at work. If you feel like it’s going to be a gassy one? Please poop at home.

The “I Just Rocked a Big Deuce and I’m Going to Leave the Door Wide Open and Never Bother to Use the Air Freshener so Thoughtfully Provided for Me” Pooper: If I never have to smell your crap again, it will be far too soon. Please subject your wife to this, she took vows. I didn’t. That doorway is in direct path to my desk. For the love of all that is orange, please close the door at least a little and feel free to use that fancy little bottle of Febreez (which, actually, now just smells like poop to me anyway…but at least it’s slightly prettier poop than whatever roadkill you’ve been consuming).

The “Close the Door All the Way and Trap the Smell in the Bathroom” Pooper: While I’m generally okay with you trying to be considerate about the smell, all you’re doing is making it worse when I realize that I have to pee. Which is inevitably about five minutes after you’ve expelled the large quantity of meat you ate for dinner last night right into the work toilet we all share.

The “I Work Upstairs, but I Don’t Want to Smell my Own Poop While I’m Working” Pooper: Seriously, POOP IN YOUR OWN BATHROOM. I’m already dealing with a lot of poop down here, I don’t need you adding to it. If you get the urge, just as you come downstairs? I feel sure that you can hold onto that log until you get back upstairs to your own space. I usually manage to hold mine ALL DAY. Hell, I barely even pee at the office any more if I can help it.

So, this is to you, dear Office Poopers. Please, please, please…KEEP YOUR POOP IN YOUR OWN TOILET. If you’re so regular that you can plan your poop for every morning right as you get to work? Please schedule that poop with your intestines just a little bit earlier. You know, when you’re at home. I’ll talk to the boss about counting that time as work, so you can get paid. It’s not like you’re doing anything useful in the bathroom for that half hour anyway.

**In case you didn’t notice (seriously, what’s wrong with you?), I changed the layout on my blog. What do you think?**

It's not a World Series if yours is the only country competing, assholes.

So the Yankees are in the “World” Series. Color me pissed off.

Not that I’m an Angels fan. I’m not. Pretty much anything Disney related can kiss my grits (What? I’m from The South.). Well, except The Little Mermaid and Mary Poppins. Okay okay, there are probably others I like. But still. This whole Disney Vault thing? Blows horse penis. And I think we all know it. (Sorry, family. It’s Monday. I’m not in a censorship mood.)

Since my Dodgers couldn’t pull one out (TWSS), I’m stuck with a Phillies/Yankees “World” Series. Frankly? I couldn’t care less about it.

But let’s talk about this for a second. A WORLD Series? Because the United States of We’re More Important Than You encompasses the whole world? No. You people kinda make me sick.

I guess it’s too late to change it now. Just make a note: I think this is complete jackassery.

In other news, I, too, am a jackass. For an entirely different reason, though, don’t worry. And this isn’t an interesting story. I’ll just warn you now.

At the office, we have this printer, copier, scanner, fax machine thing. We all hate it. For months, it printed all white backgrounds blue. Which is fine, except we print A LOT of maps. So it looked like everything was underwater.

We lease this machine from a company and that company pretty much refuses to give us a different one. So we’re stuck with this one.

Well, it’s a laser printer, so it uses toner. LOTS of toner. And of course, the excess toner has to be stored somewhere. They give us a little reservoir thing which has holes that correspond to each of the toners. When the reservoir fills up, I have to change it out for a new one. All of this sounds pretty simple, right?

Removing the completely-full-of-excess toner reservoir is where things get a little tricky. See, it has a bunch of holes in the top, for the toner. No problem, right? But when it’s full, I have to do something with it. This is usually on a day when I’ve actually gotten ready for work and/or am wearing something white. Cue disaster.

I pull the reservoir out of the copy machine; carefully trying to put it in the plastic baggy that the new reservoir just vacated (with my help, of course). Inevitably, I spill toner all over myself/the floor/someone else’s face whatever. ALWAYS. Then came the day I realized that the little baggy? It has a HOLE IN IT. Oh good!

Last week, I was changing the toner reservoir when I noticed all these little plastic knob looking things taped to the front of the container itself. They are oddly the EXACT size of the little holes in the top. Like so:

Now, I’ve been doing this toner thing for nearly two years now. And I’ve never noticed this before. I’m supposed to be using the little plastic things to PLUG THE HOLES (TWSS?) in the toner reservoir before I dispose of it. You know, so I don’t get toner all over the damn place.

Hi, my name is Shine, and I’m an idiot.

I swear I'm going to give you guys an update on what was my horrendous experience traveling back from Seattle…

Just not right this second. I have a crap-ton (technical term) of work to do.

But I totally love you all and I miss you and I will write soon! Also, I will catch up on all your blogs. Promise.