Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Beetle |10:17 PM| This guy following me around, beetle-ish brow furrowed, with a piece of paper limp in his hand like a flaccid, useless dick is beginning to get on my nerves.
That's not exactly tough, since I'm walking around a construction site with a computer on my shoulder, a bunch of broken crap that needs to be fixed, and apparently a massive, possibly cancer-inducing magnetic field to be defeated.
The magnetic field is destroying the monitor I brought down from Austin to install, and I can almost feel my the iron being pulled out of my blood cells. It is present only at the middle of this desk. Move the monitor 2 feet in either direction and the red/green distortion vanishes. What the hell is this desk sitting on? An atomic reactor? A tiny black hole?
"So who, who fills this out? I don't understand." He says, weakly. I can't stand him.
Granted, I'm not exactly being captain confidently-in-charge. I'm still at the stage of employment where I'm not exactly sure of the organizational structure of this place, and I'm not taking a firm stance on who, exactly, his manager is, as I don't want to be caught in a mistake, and besides, shouldn't he know his own boss?
I've been trying to express that I just need him to go take it to whoever the hell his manager is, and have them approve the purchase of a nicer monitor than the one he has now. I myself have a purchasing authority of exactly 0 dollars and 0 cents. Once again I ask who he reports to, and he lists several names. Christ, who is his manager? That's all I care about. Correction: all that I'm supposed to care about. He walks off towards a managers office, and finds it closed, locked, empty. I can see him mill at this roadblock for a moment, turning slowly, like a dog whose water dish has suddenly vanished. Fuckshit McHelpless is once again incapable of acting on his own.
I do not want to be here. I want to go back to Austin, see the college counselor, and stop breathing in this guy's B.O. I can smell it ruining my clothes, despite the alkali dust being kicked up by all the concrete.
The reason I am posting this, really, is as an example of difference in personal initiative. The computer I'm installing is for a foreman (Let's call him Jack) was originally for someone else (Let's call him Joseph), who nobody seemed to know anymore or be able to find, which means that he had been fired. Jack came up to me and asked if he could have a computer. I told him "Have your manager fill out this form, and heck, I'll give you this one". Jack went, found his manager missing, went and found another manager, had them sign off on it, and came back to find me. I installed his computer in a matter of minutes. This is when I found the rip in the space/time continuum that seemed to exist only on the desk of Jack. We stole another man's desk who was on lunch. Let the lazy, food-eater contend with the ball crushing force of Tesla's ghost.
Fuckshit, on the other hand, had made one or two impotent efforts to figure out who in the hell his own boss is, and has once again returned to me.
Beetle |10:17 PM| This guy following me around, beetle-ish brow furrowed, with a piece of paper limp in his hand like a flaccid, useless dick is beginning to get on my nerves.
That's not exactly tough, since I'm walking around a construction site with a computer on my shoulder, a bunch of broken crap that needs to be fixed, and apparently a massive, possibly cancer-inducing magnetic field to be defeated.
The magnetic field is destroying the monitor I brought down from Austin to install, and I can almost feel my the iron being pulled out of my blood cells. It is present only at the middle of this desk. Move the monitor 2 feet in either direction and the red/green distortion vanishes. What the hell is this desk sitting on? An atomic reactor? A tiny black hole?
"So who, who fills this out? I don't understand." He says, weakly. I can't stand him.
Granted, I'm not exactly being captain confidently-in-charge. I'm still at the stage of employment where I'm not exactly sure of the organizational structure of this place, and I'm not taking a firm stance on who, exactly, his manager is, as I don't want to be caught in a mistake, and besides, shouldn't he know his own boss?
I've been trying to express that I just need him to go take it to whoever the hell his manager is, and have them approve the purchase of a nicer monitor than the one he has now. I myself have a purchasing authority of exactly 0 dollars and 0 cents. Once again I ask who he reports to, and he lists several names. Christ, who is his manager? That's all I care about. Correction: all that I'm supposed to care about. He walks off towards a managers office, and finds it closed, locked, empty. I can see him mill at this roadblock for a moment, turning slowly, like a dog whose water dish has suddenly vanished. Fuckshit McHelpless is once again incapable of acting on his own.
I do not want to be here. I want to go back to Austin, see the college counselor, and stop breathing in this guy's B.O. I can smell it ruining my clothes, despite the alkali dust being kicked up by all the concrete.
The reason I am posting this, really, is as an example of difference in personal initiative. The computer I'm installing is for a foreman (Let's call him Jack) was originally for someone else (Let's call him Joseph), who nobody seemed to know anymore or be able to find, which means that he had been fired. Jack came up to me and asked if he could have a computer. I told him "Have your manager fill out this form, and heck, I'll give you this one". Jack went, found his manager missing, went and found another manager, had them sign off on it, and came back to find me. I installed his computer in a matter of minutes. This is when I found the rip in the space/time continuum that seemed to exist only on the desk of Jack. We stole another man's desk who was on lunch. Let the lazy, food-eater contend with the ball crushing force of Tesla's ghost.
Fuckshit, on the other hand, had made one or two impotent efforts to figure out who in the hell his own boss is, and has once again returned to me.
0 Comments:
View My Stats
-->
