UnpleasantlySexy

Boss Farts and Dragon-Babies

I’ve been stuck talking to my boss for most of the day, and boy, are my brains bored. See, my supervisor has decided that, in order to shed some of her nigh-overwhelming responsibility, I should take over the one task that she hates the most.

She also took two hours to explain how to do it, peppering the lecture with anecdotes about her medical condition(s), her son’s foo’ball games (she don’ like to pr’nounce the T’s, if she ain’ gotta), and, at least once, she wet-farted directly onto my leg. I am not a happy camper, and this sort of proximity-triggered flatulence isn't the funny kind.

Please understand, this is not a matter of "Sam is a sharp guy, let’s give him this college-degree-required task, and see how he handles it." This is a matter of, "Sam is the new guy, and in order to keep his job, he’ll have to do whatever I say, so I’m gonna go ahead and poop all over his desk (or, in this case, his leg) and see how he handles it."

So now I have to research a bunch of claims and fill in a spreadsheet that tracks what kind of claims they are and why they are where they’re at. Ahh...simple research...I can DO that!

But wait!

Instead of having a simple spreadsheet, this monstrosity is 5 screens wide, and chock-full of redundant goodness. Also, no one supervisor has the knowledge necessary to explain the entire process. This is not the formula for classic Coke. Gimme some answers, you fiends!

And, come tomorrow morning, the entire thing will be rendered irrelevant, because the computer system takes care of 99% of the issues present in the data, but none of the bosses has the cojones to say, "This is redundant and pointless."

If they did, we’d need fewer bosses, and we can’t have that, can we?

Oh, and…a woman just brought her baby into the office, so all work must come to a screeching halt while 17 women all giggle like idiots at the baby and its various accessories. Occasionally, a dude walks over, but he can’t break through the estro-shield, so he sits back down rather quickly. I’ve seen babies before. I know how they look…and how they sound…and how they just did "the most darling thing"...

Ecchhhh…it just unleashed a shriek of pterodactyl proportions.

Before anybody gives me crap about it, I’m certain that I will be sickeningly proud of any babies I might have in the future. However, I am just as certain that the people I work with can keep their pterodactyl baby stories, their pterodactyl baby photos, and their weird pterodactyl baby smells to themselves.

I have a spreadsheet to populate.



S