 |
||
 |
 |
 |
 |
 |
|
| I QUIT THAT FUCKIN OFFICE JOB. by Zseni 03/08/2007, 9:20pm PST | ||||
 |
 |
|||
| Now I work for a startup company so exclusive I had to sign a 25 page NDA agreement just to get the full story on what they do, and I have security clearance now! We can talk about how great my new job is later (except we can't, SECURITY.) But in the meantime I can finally start telling all the Fussbett-style office-hell stories I couldn't tell before because my crazy Viet boss monitored absolutely everything I did, and it turned out that reading Caltrops was part of that.
CRAZY BOSS STORY 1 - oh hey and fuck you, crazy Viet boss In November I got word from my aunt that Crazy Schizo Grandmother was, in fact, finally about to die. She is nightmarishly old. Anyway, tearful, I requested time off of work to make a final visit to Crazytown to visit Grammaw. Crazy Viet Boss (CVB) sympathetically extended a Kleenex and a time-off request form. The tickets were booked before I had even said anything. Anyway I wound up having to extend my stay because 1. Grammaw was not in fact getting an amputation and 2. showed no signs of actually dying - just becoming ever more irrevocably diseased, crazy, and old, like some kind of unbelievable pre-embalmation mummycreature. As with everything else in their lives, my whole family is bad at dying and miss even the most obvious cues to kick the bucket. So she lived, and I stayed for Thanksgiving. It was not a romantic or fun trip. I spent most of my time tending unhealing wounds and listening, with profound and serious filial piety, to the insane ramblings of the Undead One. And then tending the psychic wounds of the rest of the family. And cooking a truly great Thanksgiving dinner in a truly hostile kitchen. When I got back to work, I was shellshocked, dehydrated, and profoundly depressed. The gravity of my situation was upon me: I would have to spend most of my money and adulthood tending to my mother and my aunt in their old age, since nobody else in my generation or wing of the family could possibly be relied upon to do it. I wore the black of mourning, not for the mewling, scab-picking, and still-living carcass of Grammaw, but for the horrible end to which I had, from birth, been consigned. And it would be a LooooOONNNNNGGGggg end. CVB said, "I need to see your tickets." As soon as I walked in the office. What? "I need to see the tickets showing the time you were originally going to come back." While it was frighteningly paranoid of her, I could understand this request. It was impossible, of course: there were no tickets, just e-bording-bullshit-passes, and the only ones ever printed bore the post-Thanksgiving date. Whatever. "I need you to show me tickets anyway." What? Then we had a long talk in the conference room. My job was on the line, she said. What? We think you lied about your real return date, she explained. Is your grandmother dead now? Did you have a good final visit? What? I explained, as politely as possible, that grandmother was not dead, and that I was more than a little uncomfortable with the tone of the discussion. She didn't die? CVB said. I told her about the situation: she is a lich-queen, mostly in the spirit world now. The suppurating wounds on her legs will never heal, and she will not die. I don't understand, answered CVB. She spoke slowly and haltingly, as one who is embarrassed but must nevertheless press onwards. If your grandmother is that sick, why don't you have her, you know... put.... down?... |
||||
 |
 |
|||
|
I QUIT THAT FUCKIN OFFICE JOB. by 03/08/2007, 9:20pm PST  Well if anyone would have access to the necessary tools it would be you. NT by 03/08/2007, 9:30pm PST Re: I QUIT THAT FUCKIN OFFICE JOB. by 03/08/2007, 11:07pm PST bad link by 03/08/2007, 11:12pm PST Re: I QUIT THAT FUCKIN OFFICE JOB. by 03/12/2007, 7:21pm PDT |
