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Posts Tagged ‘office humor’

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-chair-search
9.01am: Farook is at my desk. He tells me he wants to be more popular and could use my advice.

I ask why he’s come to me. He says that I “appear to be moderately well liked by most, and tolerated by the rest.”

What a sweet talker.

9.02am: I suggest that he lighten up, smile, say hello, and play the odd practical joke.

Farook says “Practical jokes?” He barks out a single laugh and leaves.

9.03am: I’m pretty sure I’ve made a big mistake.

9.15am: Swearing three cubes down. Word is “someone” dumped coffee grounds in Naline’s desk drawer.

Let the antics begin.

10.45am: Next victim… Me! I enter my horse stall to discover my mouse has been crazy glued to my desk. Bravo, Farook. Well played.

12.42am: Nutless Tom goes into anaphylactic shock. Apparently some crazy prankster put peanut butter in his egg salad sandwich. An ambulance is called.

Farook is nowhere to be seen…

1.36pm: Jack from Payroll enters my cube weeping. Someone has shredded all his reports and his family photos. When he leaves, I see the sign pinned on his back that says Fire Me.

2.54pm: Naline screams. I run to the office kitchen and watch Mike pull a blue lipped Farook out of the fridge. Apparently he emptied it, crawled in and waited for someone to open the door so he could spring out and yell at them.

4.12pm: Farook enters my cube. I say “You’re going overboard.”

He says “No I’m not. I’m making them laugh.”

He tells me he’s thinking of pulling the building’s fire alarm or slamming a coconut cream pie in Otto’s face.

He asks “Which one is funnier?”

4.13pm: Farook slams a coconut cream pie in Otto’s face.

4.14pm: Otto punches Farook in the stomach.

5.02pm: I leave the building. As I exit, I hear the fire alarm going off.

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sick days stigmata rock
First, I listened to Goth Mark’s CD.

Next, I went and saw his band, Mark and The Stigmatas.

Finally, he asked “Be honest, what do you think?”

I said “It’s pretty intense.”

I guess it’s the best ambiguous comment he ever got. He took it as a compliment.

Pretty Intense… I like that.”

Now whenever Goth Mark drops off the mail, all “we” talk about is his band…

Mark: Alpo, I meant to ask. What about Nausea Insomnia?

Me: About what?

Mark: Track three on my CD.

Me: Oh right, track three.

Mark: It’s not derivative of Alien Sex Fiend? Or Sartre?

Me: Nah.

Mark: Yeah. (sings) “Amnesia, hysteria/ I got nausea insomnia!”

Me: Yup. Whoa, look at the time.

Mark: Time To Fester.

Me: What?

Mark: Track six. Time To Fester.

Me: Right.

Mark: We opened with it.

(Silence)

Mark: Hey, have you joined the band’s MySpace Fan Club yet?

Me: I keep forgetting.

Mark: When you join, you should write a review on our page about how awesome we are.

Me: I’m not much of a writer.

Mark: I’ll write it for you!

Me: Please don’t.

Mark: Oh… I’m thinking of changing the band’s name to Pretty Intense.

Me: Makes sense.

Mark: You don’t mind if I use it?

Me: It’s all yours.

Mark: Thanks! You should write some lyrics for the band. Your words. My music. Anyway, no mail for you today. Think lyrics. Later, man.

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sick days otto talk2
Just had lunch with Otto.

Where do they keep the antacids around here?

Int. Fast Food Restaurant – Day

Alan and Otto sitting in booth. They’ve just finished eating their burgers and fries.

Me: So, Otto-mobile.

Otto: I don’t find that funny, Alan.

Me: Sorry. Can you pass me a napkin?

Otto: A napkin?

Me: Yeah, you know, for wiping your mouth.

Otto: I know what a napkin is.

Me: Great. Can you pass me one?

Otto: You don’t have your own?

Me: Uh, no…

Otto: What happened to your napkins?

Me: I forgot to get them. Luckily you grabbed some napkins. So, can you ‘lend’ me one?

Otto: Are you sure you don’t have any napkins? Have you looked under your tray?

Me: Yeah, Otto. I’ve done a pretty exhaustive search.

(Beat)

Otto: I can’t help you.

Me: Excuse me?

Otto: I have 3 napkins. If I loan you one, I’ll only have 2.

Me: And…

Otto: And, I like to have at least 2 back up napkins.

Me: Sounds sensible, but… Come on, Otto.

Otto: I don’t think so.

Me: Otto, just give me a napkin.

Otto: Sorry, but if I give you one, I set a dangerous precedent. Next thing I know you’ll be asking me for a few fries and then a bite of my cheeseburger and a sip of my strawberry shake …

Me: Fine…

Otto: Maybe you should get a napkin holder… To help you organize…

Me: Thanks, Otto…

Otto: Or monogrammed napkins…

Me: Okay, Otto…

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sick-days-hamish-industry-hats
I’m on the Hamish Industries Softball Team.

We’re called The Window Pains.

Our captain is Farook from Accounting. He asked me what position I wanted to play. I laughed and said “towel boy.”

He said I could be towel boy and outfield.

It’s gonna be a long season…

We played our first game last night against Bob Jones’ Revolving Doors.

It was everything I expected. Hot beer and cold chicken wings; sweaty co-workers slapping each other’s rumps, and Otto’s nonstop trumpeting of Gary Glitter’s “Rock N’ Roll.”

“Ba na na na… Hey! Ba na na…”

The first time I went up to bat, my Hamish teammates and pals were all shouting “You’re the man, Alpo.”

By the 7th inning it was “Oh great, here comes the strikeout king.”

Mike compared my striking out at the plate with my success rate with the ladies. The “limp bat” jokes quickly followed. Everyone found them very funny.

It was a long dark night of softball.

Everytime I said “Is it over yet?” drunk Mary Margaret would respond with “You’re such a turd, Alpo.”

But things got interesting in the bottom of the 9th

We were winning.

They were up at bat.

Two out, bases loaded, full count, and me in the outfield checking my blackberry. (I know; a typical baseball cliché.)

That’s when I heard the sound of a crack and people yelling.

I looked up. The field lights were in my face. I stuck up my hand to block them out. I accidentally caught the ball.

Next thing I knew the members of The Window Pains were carrying me across the field and cheering my name.

I kept asking them to put me down and let me go home, but they didn’t hear me.

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sick days summer students
Today, Hamish Industries welcomed three “summer students” to the customer service department.

Their names are largely interchangeable but I believe they are Kathy, Cathy and KC.

The idea, I suppose, is to introduce keen young people to the world of work while, at the same time, providing us with some much needed help during the summer vacation season.

The reality, though, is rather depressing.

Nothing bumps up employee morale more than introducing a bunch of fit, young and optimistic young people into a moribund workplace.

Just having them here serves as a great reminder of how horribly our own lives have gone off the rails.

Somehow we just seem fatter, older and pastier-looking when sitting next to them.

It’s also depressing to note that someone can walk in out of high school and learn your job in the same time it takes you to find them a chair.

It’s a reminder that we all had dreams once – and that’s not something we like to be reminded of.

I heard one girl say to Naline. “You’ve been here 20 years? Oh my god, you’ve been doing this job since before I was born.”

Naline went home early. She looked like she’d been crying.

The only upside is that they seem genuinely afraid of us. Horrified, really.

But even then I suspect that has more to do with the fact that they’re getting their first glimpse of what might be waiting for them.

In some ways, I suppose we’re providing a valuable lesson. It’s almost like a “scared straight” exercise. Stay in school, kids, or you too could end up being 40 and having Otto ask you to “sniff” his lunch.

It should be a “bitchin” summer.

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