Posts Tagged ‘haggis’

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 omaha. 450JPG
I’m in Omaha with Clark and Otto at a “Windows and Doors” trade show.

Yes, it’s as exciting as it sounds.

My 12 hour drive here with Otto was informative. I learned that he’s one of those people that likes to read aloud the names of every street sign and billboard you pass on the road.

That never gets tiring.

I also learned that Otto gets carsick and can’t read a map. And that he likes to drum his fingers on the dashboard and hum along to talk radio. I learned his license has expired and I’ll be doing the entire drive here and back.

We’re sharing a room at a Super 8 Motel while Clark bunks down at a real hotel.

Otto snores. Oh, he also likes to leave the lights on while he sleeps. And the television.

Did I mention that I’m considering killing Otto?

We’ve seen our boss, Clark, once.

He took us to our booth at the convention centre, handed us each a stack of promotional material and then disappeared into the crowd.

So, for now, I smile, nod, and hand out fliers to conventioneers that seem more interested in finding a bar and a local prostitute than in reading product information about Hamish Industries.

But then again, that could just be the fatigue setting in.

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I didn’t expect a great job.  Not even a good one.  And I definitely didn’t expect Mildred McClellan.

Mildred is the senior customer service representative here at Hamish Industries. I’m not sure if “senior” refers to her age or her time with the company – or both.

All I know is she’s my orientation buddy.

Mildred is a tiny thing with a booming Scottish accent. That takes getting used to. She has two cushions on her chair just to get her propped up to desk level.

Her cubicle is a shrine to Hamish Industries. From the 1950’s Hamish Industries print ads on her walls to the Hamish Industries coffee mug, key chain, and chachkes on her desk – it’s all Hamish all the time with her.

“I had a mastectomy on Thursday and was back to work on Monday.”

Honest to God, that’s the first thing she said to me. Apparently, dragging yourself in after having a body part removed is expected around here.

She said that colds, flues or other “wee ailments” never stopped her from getting to work.

From now on I’m calling her “Typhoid Mildred.”

Just not to her face.

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