Even at 2:00 AM, its all down hill. All day, all down hill.
So, after poking my self in the eyes to get my contacts in (one of which was inside out, but I didn't really have the time fix it) I flew through the house trying to find my keys, grab a granola bar, and remember what day it was.
By the time I actually started my car, I knew I was going to be late. My goal as I hit the highway was to limit the lateness. That and avoiding the string of small town cops looking to generate revenue.
Luck in transport, unlucky in love. I managed to make it only a couple of minutes later than normal. So, things were looking up. Until I realized that the other person that was suppose to be at work wasn't there. Great.
And then, as I approached the gate, there's a fucking tree, ok half a fucking tree, blocking part of the gate. I got through without much trouble, but I was thinking that the semi wouldn't quite squeeze through.
I tried to move the limb. But being that I wasn't in the mood to hurt myself and the phrase, "this doesn't seem like a good idea," went through my head. I left it. (The voice in my head that says that something isn't a good idea is NEVER wrong) I ended up calling the boss just after three to ask if there was a chain saw handy. Cause me and a chainsaw at three am is such a fantabulous idea. All I got was "grumble, grumble, blah, blah, leave it. I'll be there."
As I start to work and I noticed that Homer (or the lazy idiot i have to work with but not his real name) hadn't finished a few things before he flew out of the office Saturday. Great, because there isn't enough mail to fucking sort on a Monday morning. The first thought through my almost awake brain is "What the fuck Homer, work interfere with your snaking time you fat fuck."
I just started doing all the other crap I had to do. And wait for the truck to rip off the gate.
Then the boss shows up and moves the limb/tree and walks in. He looks around and notices all the mail to be worked. Of course all the union rules and accepted practices state that the boss isn't suppose to actually do work, but since the clerks won't do it, what the hell, the mail doesn't sort itself. He's about halfway through the Saturday leftovers when he starts asking questions and it dawns on him that the parcels A) showed up Saturday, B) Homer was the one that worked that afternoon, and C) Homer didn't get squat done.
I just keep doing what I need to do. All the while the boss is stewing. And then in walks Homer. Knowing the boss' temper and everyone's propensity to ask "What you been doing Homer?" I knew it would be a good one. And so it goes, what did you do?
Of course he rattles off a list of things we all do anytime we close, but we usually get everything done. Homer is the king of making excuses. Nothing is ever his fault and he thinks he's working hard. Somehow, no matter how hard he works, Homer never actually accomplishes much. Maybe it's the semi hourly comfort breaks and the nonstop snacking, but I'm guessing that he's his own roadblock to success.
So, Homer gets all indignant and actually works hard for the rest of the day. And then he goes and talks (another weakness, because he can't talk and work. Seriously, he actually stops working to have a conversation) to other employees about how mean the Boss is to him. Not much sympathy was to be had. Pretty much everyone is tired of working harder so he doesn't have to.
I finally break down and tell him that he needs to work harder. He says he works. I remind him just because he's moving and looks busy doesn't mean he accomplishes much. I also went on (because by the time I decide to say something I often don't stop until I've said too much) say it's a damn shame a grown man has to be babysat at work. He was a little hurt that I felt that way.
Today, he was less chatty and more productive. He'll eventually get over his butthurt and return to his old habits. That's the cycle of things at work. He gets yelled at and his feelings get hurt. Homer works hard for a few weeks, and things are back to normal. Until then, the mail won't have to sort itself.
ROTFL! I once had a "Homer" only mine was lovingly named "Slothy" (as in three toed sloth). I think his actual name was John or something easily forgotten. I think it's a Union plot, one "do nothing freak of nature" per every 15 workers.
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