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Archive for the ‘Staff -Typhoid Mildred’ Category

sick-days-spirit-kill-me
Mildred got her job back.

She didn’t get her 200 million and she didn’t get Clark’s left testicle, but she got what she really wanted.

She looks very pleased to be back at Hamish.

And that is a testament to just how dedicated and crazy the woman is.

Oh, and we also received a memo from HR saying they’re pleased to announce that: “Effective immediately, Clark Renforth has been transferred to a management position in our Florida Branch, and while the recruitment process is under way, Carlita Paonessa will serve as Acting Manager.”

Clark doesn’t seem too broken up about leaving us.

As he packed up, we all heard him laughing and shouting “Florida? Awesome!”

Later, he danced out of his office and told us all how “sad” he was to be leaving and how much he would miss us.

It would have been easier to believe if he hadn’t been smiling from ear to ear.

He called us a great team and then skipped back into his office and finished packing.

Looks like it’s worked out for Clark and Mildred.

Speaking of Mildred…

When I had a moment alone with her I asked “So, did you steal the pencils?”

She looked me straight in the eye and said “Damn right I stole the pencils, ya eejit. I’ve been here 41 years and I’m entitled to help myself to a box of pencils, the odd stapler and occasional laptop. But if you tell anyone, I’ll cut your balls off.”

I think I gulped.

She burst out laughing and said, “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies. I didn’t steal the bloody pencils.”

Then she chortled and went back to work.

Yeah, she stole them. I think…?

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Mildred’s lawsuit is fast turning into the summer blockbuster here at Hamish Industries.

It has all of the markings of a big budget movie extravaganza. Intrigue, suspense, and a disgruntled lead woman with a high priced Scottish lawyer.

The reviews aren’t in yet but based on Clark’s complexion, he’s not enjoying the show.

Mildred’s lawyer, Duncan MacIntosh, was at the office today to have a meeting with the CEO, company lawyers and a hungover looking Clark.

I don’t know what the outcome was but when they came out of the boardroom, Mr. MacIntosh was smiling, Mildred had her hands over her head in an “I am the champion” salute and Clark looked like he had been ridden all night and put away wet.

We’re a sympathetic group and, as such, Farook immediately initiated an office pool. The betting has been fierce.

The current odds on favorite is that Clark is about to be fed to the corporate wolves and that Mildred is either going to receive a lavish buy out, get her job back, or both.

Sounds about right to me.

My confirmation came when Clark walked up to my desk with a box of pencils and barked out “See these? Well apparently anyone can stuff them up their girdle, take them home, and no one gives a crap.”

Then he threw them in my lap, marched into his office and slammed the door shut.

I should probably return Mildred’s stapler…

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sick days mildred scorned
I figured there’d be repercussions when Clark fired Typhoid Mildred.

Mildred’s not the type to be put out to pasture, and she’s never been fond of Clark.

My guess was that there’d be some nasty letters, slashed tires, and maybe a good old fashioned ass-kicking.

I never expected her to sue.

But according to the rumor mill, that’s exactly what’s happening. And in typical Mildred fashion, she’s not just suing; she’s going for the jugular.

Otto said she’s hired some high profile Scottish labor lawyer and that they are coming out with “cabers blazing.”

She’s looking for $200 million in damages, her job back, and Clark’s left testicle. (I’m not sure why she’d want her job back if she was awarded $200m, or why the left nut is preferable to the right, but I’ve long since given up trying to figure out the woman).

Clark hasn’t taken it well.

He spent the day in a meeting with HR and legal, and there was a lot of screaming and swearing. “I’m not taking the fall for that!” “What do you mean the bitch has pictures?” and “Do I need my own lawyer?” were repeated refrains.

Rumour is Mildred knows where all the Hamish skeletons are hidden.

Naturally, no one is talking about it publicly.

All I know is that Clark looks suspiciously like a man who’s eaten some bad haggis and is about to pay the price.

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sick days cube vultures
Given the circumstances of Typhoid Mildred’s recent departure, people have been more restrained than usual in their cube plundering.

Usually the vultures descend quickly and start scooping up staplers, rulers, mousepads – anything that isn’t bolted to the floor.

Of course it’s just a matter of time. Once someone makes a move and unplugs her desk fan, all bets are off.

The larger issue will be who gets Mildred’s cube. It has indirect light and a partial view of a corner of a window, so in Hamish terms, it’s a very desirable piece of real estate.

Word is that the lobbying for her cube has already started on the QT. Innocent emails of inquiry to Clark and casual hints dropped at the water fountain.

It’s kind of creepy. Her seat isn’t even cold yet.

While I have no intention of claiming a stake (it’s a fixer up ‘er and likely haunted) I do have an interest in who gets it.

My worse case scenario has Otto moving in. Or Farook. Or Mike. In fact, when I think about it, there’s no one in the office that I can imagine being able to co-exist with for any length of time. I’m not sure what that says about them – or me.

I might be okay with a photocopier. It’s hard to say. They can be noisy and draw a crowd.

Mildred wasn’t the most engaging neighbour but she was quiet, professional and made me laugh. Plus, she kept other people out of our corner of the office. And she made me tea once.

Oh. My. God… I miss Mildred!

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sick days so long typhoid
Typhoid Mildred was fired today.

Apparently she was captured on the office video surveillance stealing a box of pencils… Oh, and apparently we have office video surveillance.

Mildred got a call, went to HR, and came back to her desk with Trudy and two Security Guards. She packed the contents of her desk into a single box and was ushered out of the office.

But Mildred did not go gentle into the land of unemployment.

First, she screamed “Help me!”

Then she bit one of the Security Guards.

Next she broke free and made for Clark’s office.

By the time she was pulled off Clark, the boxed contents of her desk were scattered all over the floor. The picture of Mr. Hamish, the 1950’s Hamish Industries print ads, the Hamish coffee mug, key chain, and chachkes.

She’s been her for over 40 years and they dragged her out by her ankles…

There’ll be no retirement party for Mildred.

As she was hauled past us, I asked Clark if there wasn’t something he could do to help her.

Clark asked me if I knew how much a box of pencils cost.

I said “A box of 12 costs around $3.00 at Staples.”

Then Clark asked me if I liked working here.

He walked off with a smile on his face as Mildred’s screams drowned out the photocopiers, phones and fax machines.

As the elevator doors were closing behind her, she yelled “I’ll be back to kill you all in your sleep!”

That should keep us all awake.

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sick-days-saint-milly
St. Patrick’s Day is an interesting “holiday” here at Hamish Industries.

Mary Margaret may be the only person in our department of Irish heritage, but there’s no shortage of festive spirit.

We have green cookies, green cake and green tea laid out on a table by the photocopier.

Me, I try to avoid green food.

There’s only one person here who dislikes St. Patrick’s Day… And that’s Typhoid Mildred.

I know… I was shocked too.

According to Mildred, if we celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, we should also celebrate Robbie Burns Day.

Apparently she’s lobbied for this for years… I’ve seen the petition. There’s only one signature.

Mildred is having a hard time getting her head around the fact that drinking green beer and going to a parade is more fun than reading poetry and digging into a plate of steaming haggis.

But I think the real reason that she’s pissed is because today’s her birthday.

It must drive her round the bend to have to share the day with an Irish Saint.

So, tonight, while everyone else is knocking back the green beer, I’ll order a single malt scotch in honour of St. Mildred’s Day.

But I’ll never eat haggis.

That would just be wrong.

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sick-days-hamish-industry-suits-1
I wore a dark blue shirt to work today.

Thought I looked respectable enough.

But when Typhoid Mildred saw me, she shook her head.

According to Mildred, the original Mr. Hamish always wore a white shirt and a simple black tie.

Mr. Hamish didn’t need to wear flashy blue colours and “prance about like a sherry drinking, nancy-boy.”

Mr. Hamish was a man of substance. He was a leader. He was a man who understood windows and doors.

I would hope so. It’s not like they’re complicated subjects. They open. They close. You walk through one and look through the other.

Mildred sure was fond of old Mr. Hamish. She talked about his solid chin, good posture and Scottish work ethic.

She has a picture of him on her desk.

She told me that when Mr. Hamish died they opened a door in Heaven.

A Hamish door, no doubt.

She said “Half of the men in business today are weak chinned, shiftless layabouts. And the other half are bloody preening peacocks.”

I’m not sure which camp she’s placed me in. My guess is both.

The original Mr. Hamish died 20 years ago and his sons sold the business before they could get him in the ground.

But she didn’t mention that.

So tomorrow, I wear a white shirt. For Mildred. And for the original Mr. Hamish.

What the Hell. I’ve got lots of white shirts.

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