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Posts Tagged ‘staff’

sick-days-downsize
Like everywhere, we’ve had our fair share of layoff rumours. I’ve tried not to think about it, but this week, I saw 10 sure signs that downsizing is on its way…

1. We received a memo telling us how to contact The Employee Assistance Program.

2. Every time I go to the printer to pick up an order sheet, there’s a stack of resumes in the tray.

3. Lunchroom talk has switched from “Who will win Idol” to “How much seniority I have.”

4. I asked my boss Clark about scheduling my next performance review. He laughed and punched me on the shoulder.

5. The supply cabinet hasn’t been restocked and won’t be “for the foreseeable future.”

6. A skid of empty boxes arrived on our floor.

7. Everybody is actually working. And working hard.

8. At any given hour you can hear someone crying in a stall in the men’s room.

9. We were six chairs short at our staff meeting. Clark’s take? “That’ll sort itself out in time.”

10. We’ve been told that our summer vacation requests have been put on hold but we should go ahead and make any plans we like.

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sick-days-monster
9.15am: Mike enters my cube. He sits on my desk. He shows me a picture of his daughter. He calls her “My little angel.”

She looks around 17 and has a cigarette hanging from her mouth.

9.30am: Mike’s still talking about his daughter. Along with being his little angel, she’s also whip smart, funny as hell, a high school dropout and pregnant.

9.41am: Mike leaves. Apparently he has to take an El Grande Dumpo.

9.57am: I hear Mike yelling “Don’t go in the men’s room! I just dropped an El Dumpo Supremo!”

10.15am: Mike asks me if I want to go “power drinking” with him tonight.

I politely decline. We have the following conversation.

Mike: Come on!

Me: No thanks.

Mike: Come on!!

Me: Maybe some other –

Mike: Come on!!!

Me: Not tonight.

Mike: Puss-y!!!!

11.16am: Mike enters my cube. He tells me he used to do well with the ladies. He spares me no details.

11.58am: Mike says he’s going to get his coat and then “we’re having lunch together.”

12.pm – 1pm: I hide behind the bank of photocopiers and eat my lunch. No sign of Mike.

1.42pm: I watch Mike steal a handful of change from the coffee kitty. He sticks the coins in his pocket, scratches his balls and laughs.

2.57pm: Mike says, “There you are. Come on. I’m going for a smoke break.”

3.19pm: I don’t smoke. But now I smell like I do.

4.00pm: Email from Mike. It says we’ll start tonight’s power drinking at a place called Strippy McNudes.

4.43pm: I leave early. As the elevator doors close behind me, I hear Mike shout out “Puss-y!”

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sick-days-fridge
Today was my turn to clean out the small fridge next to the coffee machine.

It’s not a popular job.

I don’t even use the small fridge.

But according to my boss, Clark, everyone has to “do their part.”

Everyone except for Clark. He “manages” the fridge cleaning schedule. That means he won’t be putting on the rubber gloves and mask to do the job.

…So, I did my part.

It may be a small fridge, but it’s crammed with oddities and packs a wallop of stink.

I found…

1. An upper denture in a coffee mug.

2. A file folder stuffed with individually wrapped cheese slices.

3. A half eaten tuna sandwich and a half eaten egg salad sandwich mashed together and wrapped in Saran Wrap. My guess: Circa three months ago.

4. Anaphylactic Contraband – An open jar of Skippy Peanut Butter.

5. One snow globe, slightly cracked…

6. Something that was once some sort of dairy but is now a bio-hazard.

7. A chewed up wad of gum stuck inside in a fuzzy slipper.

8. An overturned bottle of cough syrup tipped into an open bowl of cereal.

9. Gravy.

10. A urine sample.

Nasty, nasty, nasty…

But at the very least, cleaning that thing confirmed what I thought: I made the right call not putting my food in it.

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