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Posts Tagged ‘what fresh hell is this?’

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 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 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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Otto sick day gas horror
Otto continues to be unwell. (That’s the understatement of the year.)

He called in sick again.

As is always the case, an Otto-free zone means everyone’s getting a lot more work done. Plus, the weirdo quotient is lower.

This morning we needed to get a file from his filing cabinet. No one wanted to go near it. We all figured it was probably booby trapped – or possessed.

I drew the short straw…

I started in his top drawer. That was okay. A stapler, nine boxes of business cards and a flier from a sperm bank. Weird, but not the sort of thing that leaves you unhinged.

The middle drawer was stranger. Much stranger. A copy of my personal file, a kazoo, a pair of underpants, an I Love Lucy Pez dispenser, and a mini chainsaw.

It was in the bottom drawer that I hit the mother-lode of freakiness. I found the files, thankfully, but also…

A Wonder Woman action figure

A gas mask

A bunch of photocopies of someone’s ass (Otto’s, I’m guessing)

A plastic bag of chattering teeth

A carton of Yak Milk

A book about “American Elves”

A stuffed and mounted hamster

Pencil sketches of Clark

And what looked suspiciously like a human toe

I’m never going back in there again. Ever. I have to call our EAP now. Plus, I need a long shower and about five years of therapy.

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