Give Time if Over Have Street

I have attempted, with only moderate success, to describe just how bloody frustrating my secretary is. I hope the following illustration of her incompetence will allow you to feel my angst (thanks for the great word, Sturdy Girl (formerly Love Monkey)).

I was out of the office most of the day yesterday, and I returned to find several telephone messages on my desk. On one of them, the secretary had written only the gentleman’s first name, no telephone number, and this delightful message: “call put you won’t here.” That is exactly what she wrote. I have no idea what it means, either. Even my secretary seemed to be confused at what she had written.

Sigh.

In other news, I have fixed Jen Mck’s and mel’s new blog addresses in my 40-Man Roster. I also added Guilty Secret and Have the T-Shirt. If you check them out, tell them Lefty sent you. They’ll send me a case of beer for any referrals.

It's Like Working in a Carnival Sideshow

Does anybody have any advice for handling people who have fragile egos? And by that, I mean the people who feel the need to gain attention and gather accolades to themselves, and who fume and pout at every perceived slight? And all of this, despite the fact (or perhaps, because of the fact) that they produce few actual results except to drive everyone around them completely nuts.

One of these days I'm going to snap and put them all into the wood chipper.

You Say Tomato; I Say Cucumber

I started seeds for my vegetable garden inside and then transplanted them out in the garden after they sprouted.

I had a number of trays, and I was smart enough to label each set of seeds so I'd know what I had. For example, for the cucumbers, I put a big black "C" on the tray. And for the canteloupe, I put a big black "C" on the tray. So maybe there was a slight weakness in my system.

I thought I had them figured out, though, and I put the cucumbers beneath a trellis and the canteloupes in a spot with room to spread out. As you will have guessed, however, I mixed up the two.

I wondered why I couldn't get the plants beneath the trellis to climb.

Note to Self

Tim McCarver has no idea what he's talking about.

I think you know what I mean.

P.S. I'm still out of the office with this damn back pain. Regular posts will resume soon.

Who Needs Teeth When You're Drinking Beer?

I’ve heard some people say that radio host Don Imus’ statements about the Rutgers women’s basketball team were blown way out of proportion.

I thought to myself, “Maybe they’re right.” I decided to run an experiment that just might show that Imus’ words weren’t all that bad after all.

When I got home from work, I said to my wife, “Hey there, nappy headed ho, what’s for dinner?”

And that’s why I am sitting here in my dentist’s office.

Some Great Things to Do

In my continuing quest to improve our quality of life...

• When turning left at a busy intersection, try dialing a friend on your cell phone. It is good fun for everyone when you miss the gigantic openings in traffic through which one could steer both the Titanic and the iceberg. It is particularly great when you fail to notice the light has turned red, and both you and I are hung out in the middle of the intersection.
• While listening to your iPod in public, earphones jammed deep into your ears, sing along with the music. The louder you sing, the better. Those around you enjoy hearing your off key screeching while getting none of the actual music you hear.
• When you are finished with a soda, hamburger, piece of gum, cigarette, child or other object, simply toss it over your shoulder to land wherever the gods will it. If you’re in your car, fling it out the window. The same applies to urine or feces, especially if you happen to be right outside the front of my office building at the time. This is like a giant pinata, and we’re all winners.
• If you are a telemarketer, and your victim--er, potential client--asks, “Is this a sales call?,” say “no,” and then forge ahead with your sales pitch, which technically isn’t a sales pitch, but an amazing opportunity that can’t be passed up.
• Drive erratically--stops and starts, sudden u-turns, drift toward the curb and then back toward the middle of the street so other drivers don’t know whether to go around you or follow you at your blistering eight-miles-an-hour pace. If you want to heighten the effect, get on your cell phone, too.

You're welcome.

Death by Stapler

You should be glad you don’t work in the same office I do. Today, you’d have a very unpleasant Lefty around to make your life miserable.

First, I’m sick. It isn’t the steaming fever, raging sore throat and exploding sinuses (to steal a line from Dave Barry, the Exploding Sinuses would be a great name for a rock band) sort of cold. It is the slight drip, dripping runny nose that reminds me of a leaky sink, the “Dad, can I? can I? can I? CAN I, huh, please?” sort of sore throat that is more irritating than painful, and enough of a fever to make me weak and weary. So that’s got me pissed.

And then, did I mention, there is a secretary that works here?

Each week, on the very same day every single bloody week, she is to go to a particular drawer in another office and pick up two forms that were filled out the previous afternoon. She is to then fax the forms and put the originals in a file.

You’d think it would be a simple task, right? You would be totally WRONG. It is more complicated than assembling the entire Earth using only a box of matchsticks and a piece of gum. About every other week, the secretary comes in to tell me that one or more of the reports is not in the drawer where it is supposed to be. What she really means is that the form was not RIGHT ON TOP with a Sherpa guide nearby to help her locate the form.

It is true, that for some unexplained reason--probably ghosts or mice with superpowers--the people who fill out the forms do not always put them in the right drawer. Sometimes one form is in the correct drawer and one is not, and sometimes neither form is in the right drawer. But always--ALWAYS, damn it!--if the “missing” form is not in the correct drawer, it is in a drawer precisely adjacent to the correct drawer. That means there are a maximum of three additional drawers in which to search for the form.

“But,” says the secretary, “I can’t go ALL OVER THE PLACE looking for the form.”

It gets better, though, because this week she couldn’t find one of the forms. So, like the idiot I am, I went in to look for it. I opened the drawer. On top was the empty clipboard that holds the form she had already collected. I lifted up the clipboard. And there, like the Golden Ticket from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, was the blessed form. She DIDN’T EVEN LOOK!

Now on to part two.

Our office answering machine had a message from an employee at another location stating that she needed certain supplies. When that happens, the secretary purchases the supplies, and I take them to the other location because I am over that way quite often. Did I mention that the employee said she urgently needed the supplies?

After a couple of days had passed and there were no supplies for me to deliver, I said to my secretary, “Please let me know when you have bought the supplies so I can take them over.”

“You didn’t tell me to buy them.”

Somebody else was in the office, so I didn’t say what was really on my mind, which was “Waaaaaaaaagh!” as I plunged a stapler into her heart.

I also wanted to say, “And I didn’t tell you to breathe, but you managed that. And I didn’t tell you to pick up your paycheck, but you did that. And I certainly didn’t tell you to leave the office early last Friday but still put on your time card that you worked a full shift, but you sure as hell did that.”

Instead, I said nothing, and several arteries in my brain disintegrated.

So be glad you don’t work here. I might just kill you with a stapler.

Working 9 to 5...or Thereabouts

I review the hourly employees’ timecards every Monday. We do not have a time clock, so the times are filled in by hand.

Here’s the conversation I had with my secretary this morning.

Me: Are the hours you filled in for Friday correct?

Secretary: Yes.

Normally, I am not in the office on Friday afternoons, and so I cannot observe whether or not she is in the office. Guess what: last Friday, I was in the office for a short time.

Me: I was here from 2:45 to about 3:15. I didn’t see you here. When I left, I locked up your computer and the copy room. They were still locked when I arrived Sunday.

I work on Sunday, but the secretary doesn’t, and she almost never locks her computer or the copy room.

S: I was here. Maybe I took my lunch at a different time, but that’s when I thought I took lunch.

She had marked her lunch as 1:30-2:30pm.

Me: When it comes to your timecard, you can’t think you’ve got it right. You must fill it out accurately.

She was lying through her teeth.

Additional note: my e-mail inbox has 666 messages. Could that mean anything?

Guess Who Is Ranting and Raving Again

There are some days (like today), when I wonder “what in the world am I doing here?” This isn’t a metaphysical question, but a work-related one. What the hell am I doing in this job?

Yes, there are some upsides to the job. Earning money to buy food and thus avoiding starvation comes to mind. Though the pay isn’t particularly good, the benefits are exceptional. I have job security. I am very low on the list with the title “People to Fire When the Going Gets Tough.” Those are all great things to have, especially when the one thing my wife doesn’t have right now is a job.

Some days, however, the downsides seem overwhelming. High on that list is the fact that I work with a pack of slobbering, underachieving lunatics. I feel as if nothing will get done with a high level of precision and quality unless I do it. Some things won’t get done at all. And it is clearly not good for the company if I am doing things like changing light bulbs because the custodian is afraid of heights. (I’m not making that up, folks.)

Part of the reason I work with people who can’t (or won’t) do their jobs is that I am a poor people manager. I don’t particularly like people in the first place, and my attitude toward the employees I supervise is that they should do their damn jobs and leave me alone so I can do mine. Unfortunately, they don’t want to do their own work, and I’m the one that has to ride their butts if they don’t perform.

The best solution would be to fire the biggest idiots and hire other people who will work. The firing part is proving to be a hassle because our human resources advisor wants to be sure we jump through all the right hoops so we won’t get sued. The hiring part is also problematic because we can’t afford to hire good people, just ones who will work for low pay because they are not good enough to get a better job somewhere else.

What to do? I’ve considered jumping out of my office window. That isn’t an effective solution either, because my office is on the ground floor and I’d probably just sprain my ankle.