Delusions of catastrophe

Have you ever found yourself staring out the window looking at all of the cars below and you see one in particular that doesn't look quite right. Then before you can even begin to formulate hypotheses about the nature of this anomalous vehicle; it explodes! You find yourself flying to your feet barely believing the scene laid before you, flames coursing into the air and shrapnel riddled bodies spread across the lot. In that instant of complete exasperation moments before you shout for your colleagues to come running your neighbor lightly touches your shoulder and asks, "are you okay?" You begin to motion towards the window so they can see the carnage which has besieged your heretofore unremarkable workplace when something out of the corner of your eye catches your attention; the car, no longer in flames ambulatory personnel where once, moments before, laid the dead and wounded. Perplexed you compose yourself and say, "oh nothing, just a charlie horse," hoping this vain attempt to conceal your surprise will assuage the curiosity of your fellow office drone.

It seems that daydreaming about explosions and dead colleagues is not enough for some people. A few days ago the building in which we work was the target of a bomb threat. Not something terribly exciting considering the number of fire drills we are subjected to and former experience as a Security Manager for a similar company. This event was made all the more inane by the Managerial Harbingers of our Certain Doom walking calmly down the halls forcefully screaming, "this is not a drill." It occurs to me a more effective, if not certainly more entertaining, threat alert would be the same Managerial Harbingers of Certain Doom (MHCDs) to run down the aisles screaming with voices full of barely contained dread, "bend over, kiss yer ass g'bye, cause we're'll about ta die!" Because nothing says "End of Days" like poorly enunciated rhymes.

So the evacuation progressed as evacuations often do in the absence of immediate visual or sensory queues like dead bodies, or flaming corpses or people on fire soon to be dead and corpses. People slowly moved down stairwells to exits predefined in the evacuation plan no one has read. The heard of human cattle seemingly oblivious of the droning alarms and strobing klaxons were prodded forth by the helpful screams of their MHCDs. It was only then, many minutes later the building had been fully evacuated, this was signaled by the exit of the security staff who had, for the entire evacuation, been diligently visually monitoring their cell phones to make sure they did not miss any important text messages over the obtrusive commotion.

We waited outside for a little over an hour, loudly speculating as to the cause of the evacuation. Passing the time by incriminating our fellow coworkers with little to no conviction, and finally starting a pool to see who could accurately predict what precipitated the not so hasty evacuation. It turns out I lost the pool betting on the invasion of clown-midget-vampire-Eskimo-zombies... from outer space. As an aside, the building down the street was also evacuated, while they spray for clown-midget-vampire-Eskimo-zombies... from outer space.

With only 45 minutes of the work day remaining the MHCDs decided emergency services would not be finished in time for us to return to work so we were excused, with these final instructions: "Though the building is still likely to explode you are authorized to approach it to retrieve your vehicles."

A point well missed...

In a given day my responsibilities include the following:

1. Accurately answer questions via email.
2. When no emails are present, surf the web.
3. Should the web prove to be uninteresting, scotch tape my eyelids open and nap.
4. After napping avoid doing the following:

A. Starting fires.
B. Shouting obscenities.
C. Flinging poop.
D. Propositioning the hot chick in HR and getting suspended… again.
E. None of tne of the above.

People seem to misconstrue the meaning of “accurately” in aforementioned, completely non-fictitious, job duties; they seem to think accuracy means, “The answer I want to hear” not “The truth.” As a result of this exceedingly common misconception I get yelled at a lot.

An example of this misconception happened recently. I received an email from one of our large partners requesting network design assistance, now I’m a product specialist and in no way obligated to provide network designs to our partners, that’s why they get paid in big burlap bags with dollar signs on them and I get paid in expired frosty coupons from Wendy’s.

This partner wanted to create a configuration which would allow him to utilize internet connections at two separate sites, how this is accomplished isn’t important the important thing is this partner wanted to do this with equipment which is incapable of this function. I told him this and explained to him how to design his network to do this with existing equipment. This was last week.

This morning I received a new case from this partner attempting to reach a different engineer asking the nearly the same question. Providing the same, though rephrased, answer and politely explaining again how to configure his equipment to do what he wanted I sent off the return email. This partner must have been completely with out other work because five minutes later I received another response.

“You’ve completely missed the point,” then my oh so dense partner goes on to explain again in a different way that he wants this specific device to do something which is not only impossible because the product he wants can not perform this operation; but because no device in this category of products, industry wide, can do what he wants done.

My good partner, I am afraid it is you who has missed the point; you can not get me to confirm incorrect information so you have a basis on which to return products you, for total lack of your own research, incorrectly purchased in the first place. So the moral of the story, “no” does not mean try harder, it means “no and if you ask me again I will use a high-powered pneumatic staple gun to attach your scrotum to the back side of your head.

No intro needed.

This story deserves no intro:  I was on the phone with my husband outside the call floor when I was on my break one day.  There is a wall of windows that I was staring out, not really paying attention.  I saw Penguin and Bionic Nerd leaving the building.  I didnt really think anything of it, they always leave when I am on my break.  The next thing I see is Penguin drive his car over a mound of snow.  Of course, it got stuck on top of the mound of snow. (FYI:  It had snowed previously that week, and there was a mound of snow separating the parking stall, no other way to describe it.  Think of the mound of snow that a snow-plow leaves behind.)  Now this mound of snow that Penguin tried to drive his car over was not a small mound, not one that I would have tried.  OH, I neglected to mention, Penguin has a FORD TAURUS!!!!  Okay, Penguin, maybe if you have a four-wheeler, try driving over the mound of snow.  But a Ford TAURUS!?? Seriously.  Okay, back to me watching this out the wall of windows.  I quickly got off the phone, ran in the call floor and ran to Goodall to tell him its important to look out the window.  By this time, Penguin and Bionic Nerd are standing outside the car, inspecting the problem.  Then over the next hour, they try to push the car, shovel the car, will the car off the mound of snow.  Now, picture this:  two fat boys trying to free a Taurus off the mountain of snow.  I could not help but laugh.  In fact, almost all the people on the call floor had their noses and hands plastered to the windows.  Finally, I believe they shoveled their way out, but none the less my point is this.... Penguin, who knows everything about everything and is never wrong, finally went over the edge.  Too bad the mound of snow wasnt high enough that I could have pushed him off...... 

PhD in dumbassness

So I hope my colleagues will forgive me for posting stories on here relating to my current job rather than the good old call center. I stopped working there about 5 months ago and started a job closer to my school. I do still do tech support however and in fact my department is actually called the call center even though I usually am running around physically fixing computers rather than taking calls.

At my new job I do computer support for a group of individuals many of whom have PhDs though you wouldn't think so based on some of the problems I have had to help with and some of the questions I have had to answer. Everyone's heard the "is it plugged in?" tech support joke and can't believe anyone could really be that stupid. Well I'm here to confirm that yes people are that stupid. It happens a lot more often than you would think too. I would say probably at least once a week I am faced with cases like this. Often I will call the person requesting assistance and ask them exactly what is happening just in case the problem can be resolved over the phone. Sometimes this works but not in cases such as the one I am about to describe.

I got a case last week from one of our esteemed PhDers stating that he had been gone a few days and for some reason when he got back his computer would not turn on. My first thought was that it could possibly be a fried computer and he would need a new one. So I call him up and asked him the usual questions. "Did you check the power cord?" "Is it showing any lights or making any noises at all?" These were all met with the answer "I don't know I'm not a computer genius!" So I finally resolve to come take a look myself. I arrive to the office and go to the desk ignoring the blabber from the man telling me his complete ignorance when it comes to "computing stuff" and I push the power button. Computer fires right up.

Another instance occurred a little longer back. The main secretary office called us to tell us that their printers were all working yesterday but now today they aren't working. Me and a co-worker head down to investigate. We check the printers and they are all printing configuration pages fine but can't get any jobs over the network. Must be a connection problem right? That would make sense. We ask the head secretary if he checked the network cables already and he says yes. Doubting him I decided to check myself. Sure enough all of the printers are plugged in snug and tight to the switch. One tiny little problem though. The switch was not plugged into the wall. When asked how I fixed the problem I told the secretary that the switch just wasn't plugged in and was met with "we get network connection through the wall?"

Yes my friend this is why we prefer you frickin retarded faggots don't move shit around when you don't know what the piss you are doing. You would think one of the requirements to be a secretary would be "Must know what a computer is and know how to use it (including how to READ THE ERROR MESSAGE BEFORE CLOSING IT!)". Sorry that's a story for another day.

Slip of the tongue.

The other day I was in a jolly mood and decided to joke around with one of my co-workers. This co-worker (we will call him Shelly) had in the past been reprimanded for doing something that every person at my job does. Namely, playing video games. The sad part about this issue is that he is in a singularly bad position on the floor. Shelly is right outside of the big bosses door. His reprimand included being told that as the only person playing games on the floor, he is setting a bad example. Both of those statements were far from true, Shelly never complains, does his fair share of the work, and generally gets the games he plays from other co-workers.
I noticed that he was watching a demonstration video for a music player and, deciding to joke around with him, I walked up behind him and in a louder than it should have been voice said, "Jeez Shelly, you are tho only person that watches videos on the floor."
I was quite surprised to not instantly hear laughter when he turned around. Instead I heard a voice behind me. The voice said, "Who is watching Videos! Is that a video? Why are you watching videos? There are clients on the floor!"
Right behind me was one of the many Big Bosses of the floor. I had not noticed that she was there, and I had inadvertently gotten a decent co-worker in trouble for something that I myself do quite often.
Every one near by tried to cover for him. "No that wasn't a video." "We were just joking around." Even I tried to help. "I was just picking on him. I pick on him all the time. Why I even call him Shelly some times."
The Big Boss left and silence was once again my friend.
Later I went to apologise to him and explain that it was just a joke. Shelly admitted it would have been funny if he hadn't gotten caught because of it and that there were no hard feelings.

I need to pay more attention to who can hear me when I start talking.

We're the goddamn Internet!

Today I received a call from a customer. This is nothing new, it happens about 15 or so times a day. I open with my usual greeting and ask for his User ID. He informs me that he doesn't have one, but he just has a quick question. I explain that a few months back we began to require that everyone seeking assistance with our division register for a User ID. It was at this point that the customer decided to become entertaining, "Look, I just have a simple question. I've already spent 30 minutes navigating your phone tree!
(As an aside, if it takes you 30 minutes to navigate our phone tree, you have no business attempting to resell our equipment. The amount of brain damage you would have to have suffered to not be able to navigate our phone tree would have left you in an assisted care home.)
He continues, "Everyone I've talked to has been giving me surveys for sales and no answers!"
The line in which he came in indicates that at most he has spoken to one other person. We have a division within our company that handles routing the incoming calls. You say, "I need presales help on a wireless device." and they send your call off to my group.
Again, I inform him that we are REQUIRED to get a User ID. If he doesn't have one, the registration process can be completed in under 5 minutes. This further angers him, "I'm ready to have my client send back the equipment ordered from your company if you don't assist me on this!"
Again I tell him that, while that's unfortunate, I cannot help him without a user ID. He asks for my manager. Outside Voice was nowhere to be found, so I spoke to McFly. McFly understood the complaint and had me escalate it to one of our technical superiors, Rocket Science.
Rocket Science gets the call from me and proceeds to give the customer the same run down, "We MUST have a User ID from you, or at least an email!"
The customer shot back, "And become one of your marketing targets? NO! I'm not interested in giving you any of my information!"
"We WON'T send you ANY materials. We don't need to market. Our marketing is not done through the User registration site."
"I am going to have my customer send everything he ordered back to you!"
"That's unfortunate, but without a User ID or at least an Email, I can't help you," Rocket Science said cooly.
The customer had had enough, now he bared his teeth, "Look, I run a local ISP. I run SEVERAL websites. I deal with MANY investors! If you do not assist me without collecting my information your company name will NEVER be mentioned in a good light around my investors or clients!"
I was still on conference but had my headset muted. This proved to be a boon as I blurted out, "And why would we care? Maybe you missed it, but we're the goddamn Internet!"
Now, I need to come clean with you people. We're a large company. A VERY large company. We boast an annual revenue of $35 BILLION as of 2007. We're partnered with all of the largest telcos in the world. Our equipment makes up an estimated 70% of most of the physical infrastructure of what is considered "the Internet". What do all these numbers mean?*

WE DON'T CARE IF YOU TELL ALL YOUR FRIENDS NOT TO BUY FROM US.

Your paltry $5K will not even amount to a drop in the bucket. While you may turn your back, we'll keep selling our gear to the telcos that lease their lines to you to run your pissant, backwater ISP. Hell, one day you may lease a couple of T1s, maybe even a DS3! There's a very likely chance that you'll be leasing these from a provider that will issue you a gateway. Chances are, that gateway will be our product. So, Irate Customer, you can abandon us. That's fine. We won't abandon you.
Every ping you attempt will likely pass through something we had a hand in.
Every traceroute will touch something branded by my company.
Almost every packet of data you send anywhere will be forced to interact with our devices.

You can argue if we're moral. You can argue if we're just a greedy corporation. Both are equally valid questions and answers can be had for both sides of the argument.
The thing to remember is this: We don't need you, but you need us.

*It also means that you can't really name drop with us. Telling me, "This is a bid for a multi-million dollar company, if that makes any difference!" will only result in me informing you that no, indeed, it doesn't make a difference.

The Good, The Stinky and The Tarded

I have a couple of things that need to be pointed out; therefore this post will consist of two sections. Please be patient with me as my thoughts in-contiguously flow from one subject to another.

If you can’t be professional, be a professional Tard.

Some people spend years earning their diplomas and/or certifications, the documentation necessary to prove too many employers, whom are unaware paper can never be a dependable indicator of a persons worth, that a person is a Network Professional. Unfortunately some people think there are shortcuts available to gain an education they think will open doors to high paying jobs. These people go to technology schools holding class in the local high school gym or bank on educators using equipment with labels like IBM Mainframe Terminal Server and Commodore 64.

Here’s a tip, if you know the University requires multiple years to attain a degree, and Shifty the Diploma salesman tells you he can test you out in six weeks for a nominal fee, you might be a Dumb Ass.

Today I received an email from a customer requesting assistance updating the in and outward facing hardware at his company’s corporate headquarters. His email which started out articulate, I can only assume this was the result of a copy/paste from an email composed by some with possessing at least 60 more IQ points then this guy. However, as the email progress it began to digress into a lumpy pile of incoherent ramblings, poorly formed sentences and atrociously misspelled words. The majority of acronyms were misspelled; when you misspell an acronym it changes the meaning completely. For example when I say WAN you know I mean “Wide Area Network,” but when you misspell it thusly: NWA, you have just indicated both your poor taste in music and your raging incompetence as a Network Professional.

The point is thus: if you are going to email another professional in your field a list of requirements for research that very nearly constitutes said professional doing your job for you, have the common fucking decency to be clear and concise, and completely spell out the operation you are trying to perform; saying things like, “and the thing I is needed to load balance the webs stuff” (all misspellings and horrid grammar are direct quotes).

Good By Pigpen

Alas poor Pigpen we could smell you well. I thought I would be more elated to see Pigpen shuffled off the floor in disgrace but as it turns out, though I wont miss the aroma, I am now at a loss of comic content. Pigpen was a true source of humor, mostly at his expense without his knowledge but humor nonetheless.

So it is with forefinger and thumb firmly sealing my nostrils I wave farewell to my stinky, weed ravaged, tard-basket colleague; good by Pigpen may our paths never again converge.

Darwin who?

Humanity evolves, continually, whether it is part of the natural selection process, by some quirk of genetic mutation or even as the result of technological advancement we are different from the generation which preceded us.

Different isn’t always better.

Humanity prides its self for being the sole self invited occupant of the highest echelon of intelligence on this planet. We consider ourselves wise, with a greater awareness of the universe and smarter because unlike some of the creatures we consider lower then ourselves we don’t lick our privates in public… well most of us don’t at any rate. It is because of our self proclaimed status as “Smartest Thing Ever” and the fact that as I write this there is a man in a trench coat loitering outside this building’s main entrance chasing people about with a gate made haphazard by the wild hip gyrations he performs in the pursuit of his pray; I believe our species is becoming divergent.

Our species is splitting into two sub-species; who we shall name, for complete lack of wit on my part, Homo Tardiculus and Homo Smartypantzii. As Tardiculus devolves and Smartypantzii diverge we will begin to exhibit drastically different behavior patters. Where Smartypantzii continues to develop increasingly complex and meaningful linguistic capabilities, Tardiculus will gradually lose the ability to form coherent sentences, instead opting for simpler forms of auditory communication consisting of several partially inflected grunts and moans coupled with various hip thrusts and rude gestures.

Nowhere is this more apparent then my office. When the sweltering heat generated by the poorly maintained air conditioning system, which is routinely managed by a ragingly incompetent maintenance staff, is coupled with the various whistles, toots, grunts, moans and other sounds I am unable to describe with the English language the only missing element is overgrown foliage.

Some Monday mornings when I make the arduous journey from the elevator to my desk I must bring with me my trusty hunting spear for fear of being ravaged by the lightning quick Horn-tooting Bearnky (Ursus Tootleufigii) and his mate the dreaded Bitching Elephenoose (Loxodonta Loudmouthicus). These are not the only misshapen gentetic throw-backs that reside in my office, they are however the loudest. They are rivaled by Roadkill’s wheezing toots and Lurp Tard's manic heavy breathing. It seems that they all vie for the title of "King of the Wild" as when one starts with the jungle fever grunt-phony they all join in, growing louder and louder until all shreds of sanity are sapped from the floor.

The evolutionists believe in survival of the fittest, only if by "fit" you mean so annoying you cause all competitors to commit violent suicide thereby ensuring you're the sole surviving heir to the Earth, then yes, there are many incredibly "fit" people where I work.

More Money = More Better Good?

I was contacted this afternoon by a customer with a simple question, "What's the difference between your Enterprise class router and the Enterprise class router with Call Control?"

Simple enough. Maybe I wouldn't have called to confirm that the call control bundle has, well, CALL CONTROL while the regular does not... But ok, I'll bite.

"Well sir, the Enterprise Class router with Call Control features the ability to do Call Control. The regular bundle does not."

"So the Call control bundle has more features?"

"Well, yes. It has Call Control. Other than that it's the same."

"So it's better? More useful?"

"If you require Call Control, then yes, it's VERY useful. Do you require Call Control?"

"No, not at all."

"Then the Call Control bundle would just be a waste of money. You would be spending more to get a spare module that you wouldn't use at all. In the end it's useless hardware for you."

"But it has more features, right?"

"..........Yes, yes it does."

And people wonder why I drink in the morning...

Worst Case Scenario

Many people have plans for a worst case scenario. I for example have a 12 week program designed specifically to survive a zombie on slot.
Some people save money just in case there job goes under. Some stock pile food against Armageddon. Others keep a few extra pills from there prescription so that if everything goes south, they can just go south with it.
I do know one person though, who doesn't have a plan in case of a worst case scenario. His plan is to be the worst case scenario.
Not long ago, a discussion was had near me. And since it was in my general vicinity, the Noid was involved. He was asking if he could just leave early whenever he felt like it and our manager had told him no because that would constitute job abandonment since he would be leaving before his work was done. Noid wasn't content with this so he explained that he didn't need to be here the last 15 minutes since it was set aside as a clean up time and he had nothing to clean up. His manager then explained that he could just take away our clean up time since it seamed we didn't need it. This was a bit upsetting for most of the people in ear shot as we actually need this time to ensure that we don't get stuck at work by a last minute call. There was some complaints to the affect of smacking the Noid if he cost us our last 15 minutes of safety.
As anyone who has met the Noid knows, confrontation is not the easiest thing for him to handle. In an interesting moment of in site, he blurted out "Well, worst case scenario, I come in and shoot all of you." I then turned around and asked why the hell he would be shooting me. He answered that it was a general threat and that he would be selective of who he shot.
I could go on and on describing the following 15 minutes of how this conversation went and how management handled this. but I prefer to just end with this statement. It is common knowledge around work that Noid packs heat at all times. If I see him at work, I will start going home sick any time he gets upset.

Wolf and Winter Cold

I ended up cleaning part of the database today and came across an email address of leonidas@[company withheld].com
It was not long after that I imagined this exchange:

Subject: Earth and Water
From: messenger@persia.com
To: leonidas@[company withheld].com

Leonidas,

All King Xerxes asks is earth and water. Your position and the men that are below you may end up in a very bad position if you do not act quickly on this. We have a deadline here! Xerxes needs you to get everything together and respond in a timely manner. When you have your response ready be sure to attach the earthandwater document and CC your response to xerxes@persia.com. Be careful in how you word your response and how quickly you act on it. It could be your last email in your position!
-Persian Messenger

Subject: Re:Earth and Water
From: leonidas@[company withheld].com
To: messenger@persia.com

Persian,
THIS IS SPARTA!!!
-Leonidas

File Attached: kickedintoawell.exe


Yeah, I paraphrased the dialog. This idea was a weak one to begin with. I laughed anyway.

Secondhand smoke does not lead to secondhand coolness

I do not smoke. Never have. Don't ever want to. Why? Because I like not having heart disease, lung cancer, obesity, green skin, raspy voice, high blood pressure, etc, etc, etc.

That being said, I feel like my health has gone down considerably after three years of working at the Tard Center. Everyday I am forced to walk into the building past numerous (probably at least half of the people that actually work in the entire office building) people who are smoking on the sidewalk instead of over in the enclosed smoking shack. Now I have to admit that I sympathize somewhat with their not wanting to smoke in the shack seeing as how there is a giant enclose nuclear generator something-or-other literally inches away from the smoking shack, which has multiple signs and warning labels on it stating "Extremely Flammable!" That aside , I can't count the number of times I've wanted to pull the signs that read "No Smoking on the Sidewalk" out of the ground and use it to decapitate every moron on that sidewalk blowing smoke into my face as I try to hold my breath the entire way to the front door.

I really don't have anything against people who want to smoke. But really the fact that it has been clinically proven that second-hand smoke leads to just as much illness as first hand smoke does is not really good news to me and I prefer that if you do choose to smoke you at least have the decency not to kill everyone else around you. And seeing as how the fat security wenches just sit inside at their useless desk flirting with their useless white trash boyfriends all day aren't going to ever do anything about it the only alternative is either spree killing or gas mask. Unfortunately I don't have the balls for a spree killing nor the resources for the gas mask so I am pretty much screwed. Damn you inconsiderate smokers! Damn you all to hellfire!

WoW, just WoW.

One of the first people that I met when I began this job was a person we'll dub as "WoW Lady".
In this case, "WoW" stands for *flinch* World of Warcraft.
No offense to gamers (I'm not one myself) but I simply cannot stand hearing talk about WoW.
It bores and pains me.
Back on track. WoW Lady is first and foremost obsessed with WoW. Every third sentence out of her mouth is, "The other night my daughter and I were on Mal-Ganis..."
It's mind numbing.
To make matters worse WoW Lady suffered a stroke some time ago. This causes her speech to be slow, run together, slurred, and loud. That means that the above sentence sounds more like "THEOTHSER NIGHT MY DAUGHTERRN I WERE ON MAL-GANS..." This also makes her laugh sound more forced and deafening... like a 5 year old pretending to REALLY enjoy something. There's the short pause, followed by a boisterous "AHA HA HA HA HA HA HA"
It's a headache wrapped in an aneurysm.
The final nail in the coffin is that WoW Lady isn't the most "informed" person and tends to like to argue points that she has no real knowledge of.
Thinking about it, that's most of the employees...
Anyway. I do my very best to stay out of conversations about religion or politics here at work. With my mindset it would only lead to my incarceration.
WoW Lady has been the only person to successfully draw me into arguments about both topics.

WoW Lady used to sit behind me. I would listen to her slow trainwreck of a speech as she spoke to customers, "THANK YOUFER CALL ING [COMPANY NAME WITHHELD] RE SELLERS AAAAANNNNNNNDDDDDDD DLERS. HOWCN I HE LP YOU?"
The AND is what killed me. Rage would fill me each time.
A time came about when the people around me began to discuss Christian doctrine and theology.
This could obviously only lead to fun times. I faced forward and attempted to shut them out (no small task). The the ball dropped. The big one.
"THE WORST PART ISHAT THE JEWS CRUCIF IED 'IM."
......
Wait. Wait. Did WoW Lady just say that the Jews were the ones to crucify Jesus?
What the hell?!

I took a deep breath and steadied my nerves. This was going to hurt. "Wait wait wait. The Jews did not crucify Jesus. Jesus was crucified by the Romans as ordered by Pontius Pilate. There are those that argue that the Jews betrayed him but even then the argument tends to be viewed as antisemitic rhetoric."
WoW Lady didn't wait a heartbeat, she jumped down my throat, "THEJEWS WEhhRE THE ONES SS TH HAT KILLED JESUS!"
Luckily, we had a few theologically versed people nearby that certainly didn't want to see this go any farther. Even with other people of her faith telling her that it was not anyone of Judaic faith that nailed her messiah to the cross she still pushed back. I made it a point to go back to reading webcomics and ignoring the conversation for worry of becoming very angry.
If you're curious as to my religious beliefs, let me put it this way: I have none.

The political argument went something akin to "WE WOUhhLDN'T BEIN IRAQ IF CLINTN HAD GO-ONE IN AND FINISHhhED THE JOB."
The argument that she had presented for her standpoint lacked any human sense of logic. I may be misquoting it here. Suffice it to say that it made as much sense as, "If it weren't for Twinkies no one would be overweight." Ok, MAYBE I see what you're trying to say... but not really.
I pulled up my bootstraps and jumped right on in, attempting to point out what was questionable with the statement. Oddly, she went defensive, "I DO ON'T EVEN WANT TO AhhRGUE ABOUIT! I DID"T EVEN BRING IT UP!"
I ended up angry not just because she was poorly informed, but also because she dodged an argument that she provoked. My thirst for pointing out the flaws in someone's logic would not be slaked.

The complaints against her don't just end with her thoughts and speech. No, no. There is a distinct issue at hand here. She has been with the company for a few years. For those years she was focused on wireless technologies. Without getting too technical I will attempt to recount some of the simple but obvious mistakes she's made:
A) Not knowing what WPA is. Not the acronym. No, she didn't know what it was.
B) Not knowing that WPA is standard on SEVERAL products that she deals with
C) Not knowing that different countries have different channels on which a wireless access point can operate. Better put, she thought the FCC regulated the WHOLE WORLD.

On occasions when she was corrected on something that was a mistake (like when I informed her that, yes, the firewall that her customer was looking at CAN indeed act as a simple router) she would still go on to make the same mistake again (less than 48 hours later she informed another customer that the firewall I mentioned earlier couldn't do any routing).
Customers would complain about her nature and attitude. Everyday would have at least three calls in which she would interrupt and hassle the customer. "TOM! TOM! HEY! BEQUIET FER A SEC OND! IIIII'M TRYING TO EX PLAIhhN IT TO YOU!"
Inevitably these calls would end with her commenting that the caller was a jerk. She would then attempt to tell everyone around her why she felt he was "a jerk". It didn't take long before everyone learned that after WoW Lady says, "I HATE CUSTOMERS LIKE THAT," you don't ask why... unless of course you really enjoy hearing the same story several times a day at volumes that cause hemorrhaging.

Eventually WoW Lady was moved to a different technology focus and consequently a different part of the floor. This means that I no longer get drawn into arguments or seethe with anger at her handling of her job due to mere proximity.

Unfortunately she's loud enough that I can still hear here all the way over here.

Not [Now], Not [Here]

There are times when I get tapped to assign user IDs to the company they belong to in our database. Often this is simple. We grab the email address of the user and a quick glance results in, "Oh, I know this domain! It belongs to company XXXXXXXX. I can put him right here!"
Others are not as easy. There is an over abundance of people here that simply CANNOT SPELL.
My major gripe, however, is formatting.
When a user profile is added, the employee is supposed to make notes as to how they relate to us.
It's generally very simple. If the user works for a company partnered with us, they simply need to indicate the company name or the partner type. No big deal.
If the user provides an email address that isn't tied to a company or a private domain (these can be addresses like xxxx@gmail.com, @yahoo.com, @aol.com, etc.) then the note is simple:
"Not a partner."
It doesn't matter if the user tells you he's the Captain of Outer Space. Any of the open registration email addresses are not acknowledged as partners, period.
If the customer IS part of a partner company but we have yet to add their company to the database, then the note should read:
"Add Partner Organization" followed by basic information.
Simple enough, right?
Even with the simple if/then set up we have going, my "peers" continually fail to handle the basics.
Combing through the new user IDs I stumble across xxx@aol.com and xxx@yahoo.com with notes saying "Add Partner Organization: Idiot Steve's Super Computing Mega Warehouse".
NO! WRONG! BAD!
Not only have they failed to do the most basic of research, they didn't even follow the most simple of instructions.
Even with the notes a little bit jumbled, I can generally breeze through.
The real problem comes with people that have their own note formating:
"Customer says he's a partner and that his company is in the database but I couldn't find it so maybe he's not a partner. He did say that he had just gotten partner status so maybe he just needs to wait a bit longer to actually show up in the database. Or maybe I spelled it wrong but he says he KNOWS that he's a partner. One time I had someone else call in who said they were a partner..."
It goes on and on.
Generally the real kicker comes when I check the email address after reading their Dickensian notation:
xxxxxxx@yahoo.com

Mouth Shut, Eyes Front!

There are two circumstances in this world where you will find lines of men staring silently forward, the first is the military when drill is called you shut your face, stair straight forward and draw as little attention to yourself as possible. The second is the men's public restroom.

Implemented in the latter years of the 19^th century the men's lavatory is designed to facilitate the expulsion of bodily waste and as a forum for posting your bitchy ex-girlfriend's cell phone number for as many psychopathic stalkers to see as possible. This development in human excrement management was not intended in anyway for talking or making noises of any kind.

I have extremely unfortunate timing when it comes to restroom breaks at work. It seems that nearly every time I proceed that direction someone else in my immediate vicinity has the same idea. Thus it appears that I stalk my fellow employees to the rest room. Not being a silver lining kind of guy but nevertheless able to detect when a fortuitous circumstance presents itself, should I ever decide to begin a career as a creepy stalker of public restroom visitors I wont have to do much.

Today on a trip to the facilities I was preceded by White Trash. He entered the lavatory moments before I tossing me the same unsettled look my other fellow employees do when I nonchalantly, whistling all the while, trail them into the head. He entered the first stall and I approached the urinal. This is where I usually slip into a semi-controlled catatonic state intended to protect me from those people that are unfamiliar with men's restroom etiquette. This time before I could the strangest sound began to emanate from my urinating cohabitant of this public john. The noise increased in volume and strangeness until White Trash began sounding like a wounded wilder beast being humped by a rhythmically challenged sea lion. With an alacrity born of Thalassophobia I made a hasty retreat to my relatively sea-animal proof cubical.

White Trash seems to no longer be content in breaking the rules of polite society and professionalism now he assaults one of the most sacred rule sets of mankind, as was seen on the original Ten Commandments before they were revised to accommodate the unrelenting laziness of man; “Thou Shalt not talk or make animal nosies in the public restroom!”

Charlton Heston is spinning in his grave...

This is neither the time nor the place.

As many people who work for a living are aware, there is a time and a place for many things. But not, as the old saying goes, for everything.

Examples of things that could be appropriate are telling a person that you have pictures to send them. The wrong time to do this is just before you are arrested for child porn.
Asking someone to help you learn your new job is fine, but not when they were also a candidate for it.
I can not think of a single time that shouting "Bob's favorite sin is sodomy!" could ever be appropriate.
Complaining that you are over worked is a common activity, but choose your audience wisely. The person you whine to may be the person cleaning up your mess from the work you are avoiding.
Mentioning that it looks like you beat your wife in that picture may seem like a funny thing to say, but this may be a touchy subject even in the best of times.
The lunch room was not intended for flashing people you just met.
When someone has just admitted to finding out they have cancer, do not ask them if that is even a real disease.

There are many personal topics that should not be brought up in the work place. The number of abortions you have payed for is one. They fact that you would have euthanized your co-workers child is another. Anything that involves a turkey baster is borderline.

The restroom at work is generally considered to be no-mans land for any discussion. I understand that you enjoy your video games. My genitals do not. They don't even care. Your informing me of the new game you are buying, in fact, frightens them greatly. So please Pigpen, when you talk to someone, look around you. If it smells of excrement, this is not a good area to keep someone occupied.

In Case of Emergency

Thanks to my neighbor FC, you are now semi-familiar with Professor Pointless. I will refer to him for the sake of this post as “the Professor”. I sit very close to the Professor, closer than anyone regarding this Blog. I find that this is a rather unfortunate situation, as I am daily disgusted and horrified, confused and dazed as to the behaviors of the Professor.

The Professor is not one to follow many rules, but then again, I am not one either. However, I try my best to conceal the fact that I am not following rules. The Professor does not. He very much wants to make his presence known to the floor, however, quite frankly, none of us really care for him.

Let me start with one thing you will need to know to truly understand this post. We on the call floor have what I would like to refer to as an emergency phone and it is for, you may have already guessed, emergencies only. For example: I have the number for the emergency phone, but have never given it to anyone I know, since I highly doubt there will be such a dire emergency that my cell phone will not suffice. The Professor has a cell phone. I’ve heard the old man’s ring tone many times.

Today, was a regular work day. Until a co-worker comes barreling down the row with the emergency phone in his hand. I immediately turn to the Professor. He is on a call. It happens sometime when you work in a call center. He then promptly puts his customer on hold and answers the phone. The conversation went something like this:

The Professor: Hello son… I was going to call you when I got off work. I’m picking you up at 5:15… HAHA (I guess assumed son said something amusing)… Tell Samantha hello for me… Okay bye.

I realized that this was not an emergency at all, but a mere son trying to get a hold of his father. Sweet and nice, but this is not the true use of the emergency phone. Approximately 5 minutes pass when a different co-worker comes barreling down the row with the same phone and I think to myself “not again…” but sure enough there was another emergency that the Professor was needed. This time, however, the co-worker noticed he was still on the call and quickly took a message. Much to the dismay of the caller and to the Professor, I’m sure.

I am unsure why today, this act of complete disregard for the emergency phone really bugged the core of me. I will probably never know. All I hope for is that one day, there really will be an emergency that require the Professor, and since the Professor has called “emergency wolf” more times than I can count, someone will just merely take a message. I hope that someone can be me.

Where there's smoke there's fire!

Recently I experienced a lateral move in my company. This move requires me to know and do more and get paid the same, corporate America's finest paradigm of professional growth. This was not really a sacrifice as I would gladly trade phone time for all of the wage related apathy that my company cares to provide. The sacrifice: I'm now unionized. I have joined the local 323: Sleep Deprived Zombies United. My shift changed only 3 hours but now resides in the block of morning hours where I usually get the only three solid hours of sleep I manage to eek out of each day. As a result of the shift change, I'm tired and unfocused, couple this with my angry hate-filled personality and you have a dangerous cocktail resulting in conflict and woe.

I don't drink coffee in the morning or other wise, at least not for it's fatigue combating properties. Thusly walking the few feet between my car and the entrance to the building I'm usually subdued enough to let the other people pass without commenting on the ridicules thing they say or do. I spend the rest of my day envying this trance-like state and the idiot shield it is, I one day hope to master this condition to be able to call it on command, one day I'll say, "shields up" resulting in glassy eyes and a walking coma.

Several mornings ago however, as I marched toward the building entrance, barely able to control my drool reflex. I noticed something that even my befuddled brain could recognize as idiotic behavior; a woman, standing next to her car, smoking. Now you may say that smoking is not a crime nor is it even unusual, but there's more; this woman enjoying her morning fix was at least 30 months pregnant either that or she had a regulation size basketball with life like navel style air valve tucked under her tank top.

I missed a step and nearly stumbled when I saw this, I wasn't quite sure if I should say something or just pretend it was just a hallucination generated by my oxygen and sleep starved brain. But being in the cantankerous state I was with little, and by little I mean no, reservations for the feelings of others I offered a polite suggestion to the pregnant smoking woman; I yelled, "what's wrong with you? Don't you know you shouldn't be smoking?" I figured that I would be met with a simple dignified "fuck off" but to my surprise I was offered a multi-syllabic response, the pregnant smoking woman returned, "I have to smoke here, I can't smoke in the car my daughter's in there!" I looked and sure enough there was a toddler in the back seat chewing on the upholstery. I was floored, I couldn't believe what was happening, the world had truly gone mad. Probably for the first time in my life I was too stunned to offer witty remarks or psyche slashing advise, I simply picked my jaw up off the pavement and stumbled into the building. I have yet to see this woman out side waiting for whom ever she had been waiting for that morning, perhaps she was smoking in bed and though judicious use of justice-filled fire deepened the gene pool.

Can you hear me now?

We have three middle management types that cover our project. McFly (Goodall's manager), Outside Voice (Dudette's and my manager), and the newest manager that we don't have a witty name for yet (Dozen's manager).
While McFly and the newest manager are both rather skilled, Outside Voice merits discussion.
Outside Voice is called that due to the nature in which she speaks. That is to say, loudly. Lets say she is approached about an issue by upper management. Now, she has a few choices on how to get the word out. Email makes sense but many of the phone agents don't check it often enough. A memo would work but there's quite a bit of clerical work there. What solution does she use?
She stands up and proceeds to yell down the aisles to inform everyone.
"IF YOU HAVEN'T COMPLETED YOUR MANDATORY PASSWORD RESET BY 3PM TODAY YOU'RE GOING TO BE LOCKED OUT OF YOUR COMPUTER TOMORROW!"

Ears bleed, eyes water, stomachs churn. This is nothing new. It happens everyday. Sometimes it's across the floor, sometimes it's RIGHT NEXT TO YOUR HEAD. This doesn't make her a bad manager, no. There are other things that make her a bad manager. This just makes her a bit obnoxious. Overall, OV is a pleasant if somewhat dim individual. She cares about her team but doesn't always understand how to help them. Case in point. When the network went down and crippled our call floor she wanted us to continue to log the calls.
"JUST USE THE TOOL AND CHECK THEM AGAINST THE DATABASE."
"I can't. The network is down. I can't SEE the database," I informed her.
"THE DATABASE IS LOCAL, IT'S NOT OUT ON THE INTERNET."
I remember feeling a headache coming on at this point, "I know that. We're cut off from even the local network. We can't see the database, the access server, or any part of our network for that matter. Not even the gateway. Nothing can be pinged, seen or reached!"
"THE DATABASE IS CONNECTED TO THESE SYSTEMS. IT'S PART OF OUR NETWORK."

This goes on for a bit of time. Let me remind you that we're a consulting group for IT solutions. I talk to people on a daily basis about firewalls, routers, switches, servers, VoIP solutions, etc. Outside Voice has been a manager for this call floor for YEARS. She knows what a router is/does, she knows what a firewall is/does, she knows what a server is. Somehow this still doesn't seem to register with her.
Sadly, I was warned of this at the beginning of my time with the company. An old agent of hers told me, "Outside Voice is like a loud, angry bull. She's confused and thinks she may have an answer. The easiest thing to do is get out of her way and she'll forget about the issue."
Truer words were never spoken. It has been best practice that when she says to you, "I NEED YOU TO DO THIS IN THIS MANNER THAT NO LOGICAL PERSON WOULD DO IT," that you simply say, "Ok, Outside Voice," and go back to what you were doing.
As she is a bit dim, you would assume that she's a decent manager. How else could she maintain her position for so long? Yeah... she's not so hot at that either. Planning, teaching, and organizing are not her strong points.
"FIELDTRIP, I NEED YOU TO GO TO THE MEETING ABOUT NEW SECURITY TECHNOLOGY TODAY AT 5."
"Um... I can't. There's a meeting about the new quality forms that I'm supposed to go to at 4."
"THE QUALITY MEETING IS AT 2"
"And at noon and at 4. I'm already slated for 4. YOU were the one that put me there because Dudette and 2 others are set to go to the other one. I assume you don't want to empty out the phones while the meetings happen."
"WE'LL HAVE SOME PEOPLE AT THE QUALITY MEETING AT 4 AND SOME PEOPLE AT THE SECURITY MEETING AT 5."
"With how long these meetings take, that still means that you'll have almost EVERYONE at a meeting at the same time, doesn't it?"
"NOT EVERYONE WILL BE AT THE QUALITY MEETING. SOME WILL BE AT THE SECURITY MEETING."
"Ok, Outside Voice, I'll go to the security meeting at 5."
"GOOD."
A period of about 30 minutes pass.
"I JUST LOOKED AT THE EMAIL ABOUT THE MEETINGS, IF YOU GO TO THE SECURITY MEETING AT 5 WE WON'T HAVE ENOUGH PEOPLE ON THE PHONES AFTER THE 4 O'CLOCK QUALITY MEETING. I NEED YOU TO ONLY GO TO THE 4 O'CLOCK MEETING."
"Ok"
I spent the rest of the afternoon sobbing in frustration. Even in the meeting.

A lesson in social graces.

Towards the end of the row of cubicles that I work in sits a man we have dubbed "Professor Pointless."
The Prof. means well, but misses social cues. He's not mentally inferior, rather he's rather sharp. He simply fails to notice that the topics he cares to discuss hold no interest for those around him. When the parties being spoken towards grow weary of conversing with the Prof. the usual indications of wanting to end the conversation come into play. Monosyllabic responses, looking away, pretending to work, commenting that they have places to be, etc. These actions signal to any socially acclimated person that the time for talk has reached it's end. For Professor Pointless it merely means that he must rally and truly delve into the meat of the topic he's sharing with everyone.
While the Professor will often strike up a conversation and dive in with gusto, more often than not he takes it upon himself to muscle into a conversation happening around him and divert it elsewhere. Like the shake of a rattlesnake's tail, or the low growl of an angry dog, dreaded is the phrase, "Now wait a minute..." As soon as these words are past his lips, all involved are doomed to a ride of senseless prattle. While conversing on the delicious (VERY DELICIOUS) nature of bourbon with a coworker that had formerly been a bartender, Professor Pointless (a man who does not drink and never has) decided to interject. "Now wait a minute..." Dammit...here it comes.

"So, you don't garden or farm, but you support drinking bourbon?" asked the Prof. I replied that I did indeed support drinking and enjoying bourbon.
The Professor proceeded to stretch as far as he could to turn this conversation to something of no consequence, "But you yourself have said that not only do you not like corn, the primary ingredient, but that you DO NOT garden nor would you care to! How could you say that and still like bourbon?"
"Well," I said, "bourbon consists of a very processed form of corn. I don't care to ingest corn in kernel form and I don't garden as it holds no interest for me. I do poorly with plants and don't like to work with soil and seed."
The Professor saw a chink no one else would logically think to exploit, "If you were to garden AND grow a small batch of corn, you could, in theory, make your own batch of bourbon. You've already said single barrel bourbons maintain the most robust and even flavors. If you did this you could drink something you brewed to your specifications!"
Allow me to step away from the dialog here and explain an immediate issue. Brewing is a difficult process requiring skill, equipment, time, and patience. I have none of these things. Furthermore, in the state in which I live private brewing is VERY frowned upon. Not only would I be making a fool's attempt to develop a finely crafted spirit but I would be doing it in an unsafe and illegal manner. The likelihood of me being able to make bourbon out of a small crop of corn grown by my hands is nonexistent. Professor Pointless would have been more realistic in his predictions if he had said, "Maybe your corn stalks will grow tall enough to reach a castle in the sky where you will find a sleeping giant and you can steal his golden harp."
After staring at the Prof. for several seconds with my jaw on the floor, I attempted to explain the issues with what he had just said. In response to my argument he made an astute observation, "You have to admit, corn and large scale crops of the like are a big driving force in part of our economy."
Having been caught completely off guard I hastily agreed. There was a gleam in his eye. I had just handed him the conversation... shit.
Professor Pointless took a deep breath through his wide nostrils and began to tell us about commerce and the economic practices of western Europe. This in turn went into a rant on the faltering nature of the American dollar. Now, these are certainly interesting and important conversations to have at some point. Let us not forget that this was at work and started as a conversation with a different coworker on the merits of the finest of American spirits.
There was no hope of salvaging this conversation. I began to employ the usual escape techniques. Sigh, single word response, look away, yawn, check email, etc. Nothing had an effect. A quick check of the clock indicated an upcoming lunch break. Here stood my chance! I stood and made a comment that I had to meet someone for lunch and that I hated to cut our conversation short but I really must be going.
Professor Pointless nodded and went to say "Enjoy your lunch." Actually, I assume that's what he went to say. Instead, he said "Oh! One more thing..." and continued talking. I stared in shock as he rambled on. My numbed mental state barely caught the only hope I had, he had paused to ask me a question!
Without even knowing what had been said I responded with, "Oh, yes, indeed. To be certain. I am afraid I absolutely MUST use the restroom however. Lets continue this conversation when I return." I spun on my heel and fled as quick as my booted feet could carry me.

This would happen time and again. Each time the conversation would be swayed to Prof Pointless and his areas of skill and knowledge. He is an intelligent man... he's just not aware of his own nature.
After many hijacked conversations with coworkers I finally went mostly silent. My already alienating nature became that much more icy and distant. What at-work conversations I had took place over messengers. Unless a technical question concerning our job was presented to me I did not speak to those around me. Now instead of having my conversations pushed aside for a lesson, I could listen to other coworkers experience it.
While White Trash conversed with others about collecting retro gaming systems Professor Pointless readied his salvo of conversation killers. Both ears open and eyes glued to the screen, I waited for that test shot. It would catch White Trash off guard. He would stumble, trip, twirl and wind up pulled into a conversation about the nature of tobacco and squash as staple crops in colonial America. Professor Pointless would attempt to teach and White Trash would remain confused and uninformed.
I didn't have to speak. I wasn't being spoken to. The conversation was sure to be a circle of failure. I smiled. If I had the capacity, I would have wept with joy.

Big Tard Hunter

Every time you decide to pull your partially catatonic somewhat zombie like ass out of bed and face your sure to be apocalyptic day you have to concede that you may have to share the rooms you occupy and air you breath with people that by law shouldn't be allowed to do either. Unless of course those rooms are small, lined floor to ceiling and wall to wall with razor sharp fixtures and filled with noxious gases sure to to cause death or at least human vegetation. Roadkill falls into this category of people.

In an office environment, even one as lax in dress and behavior standards as a call center there are still certain rules and guidelines one must follow in order to keep one's job. Roadkill can not seem to grasp these very basic concepts. He sits between me and the bank of short cubes occupied by our management staff. This positioning allows me to overhear the near constant stream of angrily shouted "counseling" coming from the managers and equally constant disregard he returns. Roadkill is efficient in a full spectrum of failures including the professional; like the inability to document his work and even extends to the personal, like the inability to wear clean clothing and not get hit by cars.

Today Roadkill found a new way to completely disregard common sense, throw caution to the wind and try to get him self fired. While conversing with fellow tards he feigned offence and informed his fellow conversationalists that he would kill them for their beliefs. Now I was doing my very best to ignore the subject of their conversation as I am severely allergic to inanity so I don't know what elicited this disagreement but had I known I'm sure I could have let a single death threat slide, after all condoning threats of wanton destruction would eliminate half of the fun I have trying to get the building a long weekend. No, Roadkill could not leave it at a single quietly muttered promise of personal violence he had to continue, slowly at first, then as no objections came they became more frequent and louder to ice this tard-flavored cake. Soon he is talking loud enough for three rows, including the managers to hear, understand and object. To my dismay no one did and this idiocy continued unabated. Soon he quieted down upon assurance if he did not the solution would involve a HR Ninja strike force, tranquilizer gun and judicious use of the phrase "tag em' and bag em'."

I must say that this solution does intrigue me, perhaps one day when society finally realizes that the tard population has grown to a dangerous size Open Season will be announced and I can begin a new life as a Big Tard Hunter.

Conflict Resolution for Dummies

I guess I will start with a stupid customer story. I got a call one day from a lady telling me that she would like to purchase a particular LAN protocol. I was somewhat confused at first and realized she was serious so I explained to her that we did not sell the protocols or features separately but that she would have to purchase a switch to meet her needs. The conversation followed somewhat like this:

LADY: I already have a switch, I need to purchase [protocol]
ME: You can't purchase that as I already explained. Now if you already have a switch then I might be able to tell you if it supports [protocol] or if there is an upgrade available for it. Can you tell me what kind of switch it is?
LADY: Its a TCP/IP switch
ME: (Scan memory for reference "TCP/IP: The Internet protocol suite is the set of communication protocols that implement the protocol stack on which the internet and most commercial networks run.") Um... ok ma'am do you know who the manufacturer is?
LADY: Oh its proprietary.
ME: Um well ma'am we only support our company's products here so if your switch is not manufactured by our company then I can't help you.
LADY: (Frustrated now) I just need to purchase [protocol] and you're saying you won't help me! Let me talk to your supervisor!
ME: (not wanting to make a huge deal out of this) Ok I apologize ma'am let me find a part number for you.

I then gave her the part number for a switch from our company that supported the protocol she wanted and she was happy.

They are all out to get me.

Today's edition of "I Don't Think that Word Means What You Think it Means" is brought to you by the Noid.

As many people have learned, in this our current economic environment, it is very difficult to actually get fired. Being annoying is not enough. Being perpetually late is not enough. Not knowing your phone from a screw driver is not enough. Although the last example does make for some interesting conversations with your doctor.

I have met a man who is able to push the limits of acceptable work place behavior. I do not speak of the person who shout out "Kevin's favorite sin is sodomy" across to office. I do not speak of the woman who asks of you are in an open marriage. I speak of the Noid.

The Noid is in no way a quiet man. Nor is he small, nor is he timid. He is loud, large, and obnoxious. He has only limited social skills, mostly centered around online video games. He does however know what he is talking about while he is on a phone. This is the rare case where I will speak of someone who is only left in there job because they do there job well.

When he is off the phone. He likes to talk. Mostly he talks about how everyone is out to get him. Endlessly he speaks of the outrages against him.How every move he makes is scrutinized. That every sound he makes is recorded. The Noid will endlessly complain about how hard it is to be in his position with all of the problems being forced onto him.

He likes to joke that he must be paranoid. since he thinks that everyone is out to get him. Paranoia means you have delusions of persecution. If you cause the persecution, it isn't paranoia.

One of the larger complaints of the Noid is that he was told to tell a manager when he was going to unscheduled break. He decided that this means yelling at the manager every time he used his time card. Show up to work? Yell at the manager. Take your first break? Yell at the manager. Come back from break? Yell at the manager. Go to lunch? Yell at the manager.come back from break? Yell at the manager. go to the scheduled meeting? Yell at the manager. Etc.

When the Noid asked if there was anything he could do to work towards being a manager, he was told that he could work on his attitude. For this he responds by shouting that he isn't complaining. Not directly in response of course. No this is what he does once he has told his story. "I was told that I am not allowed to complain anymore. It brings down moral. Everyone else is allowed to complain but me. And that is just stupid. I mean, I am not complaining now. Hear that boss? I am not complaining!"

Some have even told him what is wrong with this. "You may want to lay low for a while, you are pissing off the higher ups. letting them know when you aren't complaining really doesn't help your case." "O, but it does!" responded the Noid. "I am going to do exactly what they told me to do. That way they can't do anything about it."

Little does he know, what he is doing is not exactly what they told him to do. No one told him to be a prick. No one told him to shout out his every action. And yes, they are watching you. Every time you yell, every time you complain about complaining, every time you accuse them of being out to get you, you anger them a little more. You aren't letting them ignore you.

Here is to you Noid. Going that extra mile to get your ass fired.

Tard Science Part 1: The Theory of Relative Idiocy

Many times I found my self wondering if there is an all encompassing source of stupidity in the universe. Dedicating innumerable hours to this quandary I’ve come up with the following theory:

ABSTRACT

The Theory of Relative Idiocy concludes that stupidity is a physical substance and thusly has mass and mass provides stupidity gravitation influence on the matter, gas and energies surrounding it. This mass also allows large quantities of stupidity to effect the constants of space and time intersecting said stupidity though out the universe. Furthermore molecular stupidity (ID₁₀T) exhibits characteristics of magnetism repelling normal matter and attracting more stupidity.

SECTION 1: The effect of cumulative stupidity on its self.

As stupidity accumulates due to its inherent attraction to its self the mass it exhibits increases as it does so it rapidly accelerates the accumulation of stupid-matter, this process is known as a Comic-Con. As Comic-Cons are allowed to naturally progress several independent bodies of stupidity coalesce this process generates a unique sound that can only be described as the angry screeching of post lobotomy test monkeys.

Eventually stupidity reaches a critical mass; the sheer gravity generated by the compressing stupidity causes it to collapse in on its self thus creating a Big Stupid Singularity. Once a Big Stupid Singularity is formed stupid-matter loses it magnetic properties and begins to suck in matter of all types, there are several classifications of Big Stupid Singularities the most common examples are: Evangelists, Politicians, Cult Leaders, people that argue on the Internet, etc.

As Big Stupid Singularities suck in more stupid-matter and other things like gullible people their mass and gravitational pull increases drawing Big Stupid Singularities together. Eventually they will be locked into each others orbit, swirling ever closer to an inevitably collision. When two or more Big Stupid Singularities of sufficient size collide a new phenomenon is created: a Super-massive Asshole.

SECTION 2: The Pinnacle of Stupidity: Super-massive Assholes.

Super-massive Assholes are subject to the same classifications as Big Stupid Singularities however Super-massive Assholes also transcend classification they are the individuals within these groups that stand out in a way that resembles the complete destruction of everything and everyone you love.

Super-Massive Assholes represent the conclusion of our species, as we slowly spiral into the galactic blender of stupidity that they are time will begin to dilate and our excruciating death will be infinitely slow. This is why consequently talking to a retard seems to last forever.

IN CONCLUSION

So then next time you find your self in the presence of someone that is in danger of collapsing into a Big Stupid Singularity, do your self and everyone else in the galaxy a favor and beat them with the business end of a chain saw, it wont counter the damage already done but it will slow our inevitable end and probably, if you’re anything like me; make you feel so much better.

Also Post Lobotomy Test Monkeys would be an awesome name for a punk band.

My name is Goodall, Tardalogist you stole my crack pipe, prepare to die!

None of us are immune to tard behavior. We all do those things that sound like a brighter ideas in our heads, but tard behavior is more like breathing it's involuntary it just happens. This is sometimes due to below line IQ and other times the result of poor hand eye coordination. For me this is evidenced by the general caliber of my wardrobe: dark colors mostly brown and blue, these are the best for hiding food stains.

I am frequently out on the weekends with friends we visit fine dining establishments like Applebee's and TGI Fridays. After consuming what food didn't make it on my shirt we pass the patrons still waiting to be seated on our way out of the building in search of a high pressure hose or carwash. To assuage the questioning stares of these obviously disgusted people I clap excitedly and say a little louder then necessary, "go for a riiiiide yay!" Disgusted scowls are replaced with smiles and some times cheers for the "slow person," this tactic usually dissipates the distain for a grown man still unable to successfully feed himself. At one of these performances my friends were congratulated for dedicating their lives to caring for the victims of Downs Syndrome, this earned them a free meal; unwilling to maintain the illusion from visit to visit we are occasionally required to rotate the franchises we visit.

My tard behavior doesn't end there, sadly and even more to my distress it seems there is a never ending stream of low functioning events in my life. Today I discovered just how deep my caffeine addiction runs. My desk never lacks the presence of a bottle of Pepsi's finest distribution of the sweet ambrosia known as Mountain Dew. The constant presence of this drink staves off certain things: coma-like sleep, thirst and physical fitness. The unfortunate side effect of constant flow of Mountain Dew into my blood stream is that I must occasionally escape the soul-crushing weight of my tard infested work environment to visit the rest room. Today while on one of these required sojourns a coworker thinking he’s wittier then he actually is thought it would be a good idea to hide my caffeine. When I returned I realized that something was terribly wrong. It took a few moments to detect the conspicuous absence of my life sustaining fat-juice so without compunction loudly questioned, "who the fuck took my soda!"

I then spent the next ten minutes interrogating my neighbors about this crime attempting to identify the culprit. This proved to be fruitless, so I changed my tactic. Rather then promising death to everyone I modified my threat and promised death only to the man guilty of denying me my fix. Thusly fingers were pointed! Before delivering the promised death blow it occurred to me that this behavior might be a little irrational. Ultimately this thought process proved to only anger me further as I am not irrational damnit. I did eventually force my self to calm down which is when I realized I'd just acted as though someone had stolen my crack pipe. So I've decided I need to quit, next week I go on the gum.

Pigpen says, "Hey dude!"

Working in the networking industry there is an expectation of professionalism. This is more then just an expectation here it is a requirement. Many new employees are counseled on this when they fail to use proper language on the phone. Now don't get me wrong this isn't to say we are expected to adhere to the standards of a synthetic of a voice response system but there are certain things that will not be allowed to slide.

Pigpen is a fellow phone jockey, what he lacks in intelligence he makes up for in aroma so strong that he has his own set of cartoon-esque stink lines which follow him about. Pigpen embodies a biological anomaly as he has been artificially aged approximately three decades from continued exposure to pot clouds so dense it could be sold to little pot-heads as “potton candy.” Pigpen takes every opportunity he can to point out just how damaged the thought and speech centers of his brain have become and the exact marijuana and alcohol cocktail necessary recreate the degradation, in case anyone wants to join him in his self-induced walking oblivion.

This afternoon I overhear Pigpen providing his usual absolutely incorrect information to the customer, so I send him an IM to correct his mistake and he says to the caller, "hold up noz, I'm gettin' new infoz." I have no clue what "noz," if indeed I am spelling it correctly, means but I am fairly certain that it is a word only crack-jacked surfer bums can understand. His usage of "unconventional" language continues throughout the call as does the stream of incorrect information. When the call comes to its conclusion rather then ending it with the standard salutation he says, "laterz bra!" Every time Pigpen answers the phone my company's client loses business.

Shortly after Pigpen finishes his call I get and IM from Fieldtrip who consequently is on a cross country fieldtrip of his own; our conversation is as follows:

Fieldtrip: Hey what's up?

Goodall: Nada, but Pigpen isn't going to be here when you get back.

Fieldtrip: Terminus?

Goodall: Negative, on a COMPLETELY unrelated note, I need to you alibi me.

Fieldtrip: I'll testify that on the date and time in question you an I were on the other side of town rescuing the puppies of the elderly-infirmed from their once beautiful old folks home run by a multi-denomination habit of nuns, whom we also rescued from said burning building.

Now I'm not a violent person, but somewhere in some cold, snow covered, backwater town on the boarder of Minnesota and Hell there's a wood chipper hungry for Pigpen and his fellow tards.

Whisky Tango

White Trash.
You've heard the term. You know what it means.
Have you ever spoken to someone fitting this title? Conversed for longer than it takes them to say "Welcome to Wal-Mart," to you?
I tend to avoid these people. In the semi-technical role I provide, I tend not to have to deal with many of them.
On occasions someone will mistakenly contact us, "I just bought this here juke-box offa Ebay and y'all didn't send me no CDs!"
"Sir, this is a company specializing in large scale IT solutions..."
"Wut-the-hell does EYE TEA mean?"

Anyway, I'm getting off track. Miracle of miracles, we have a poor soul trapped in a world in which we discuss things beyond NASCAR and chewing tobacco.
Yes, I have a White Trash co-worker. A quick note: White Trash (or WT) will mean the co-worker. When not capitalized then the term white trash will refer to the state of being and the people that comprise it.

I have so many pseudo-stories of WT, but nothing that merits a full post.
Essentially, I have many bricks of humor that I will use to build a wall.

First and foremost, WT openly admits to being brain damaged.
In his words, he "Went through the windshield one time and they had to take out part of my brain."
I have not reviewed his medical records, nor am I a medical practitioner. I have no reason to doubt his brain is not intact. Hell, that's not even the part that I'm focused on. What bothers me here is the fact that this is his excuse for EVERYTHING.
"WT, you just gave the client incorrect info!"
"Sorry, I'm missing part of my brain. Ya'see, one time I went through the windshield..."

"WT, you CANNOT state to a customer that you have no idea what you're doing and that they should work with another company!"
"Man...yeah. I wouldn'ta were it not for one time I went through the windshield..."

"WT, you just pissed yourself while trying to read the label on that can of soda!"
"Missing part of my brain makes doing 2 things hard for me..."

I can understand when someone has a disability. Be it a learning disability, be it
a physical handicap. This is normal. Sometimes you have to work in specific ways with stroke victims or others that have been impaired.
On the other hand, you have some people that seem to think that their injury gives them the freedom to do as they please. It's never ending the things this guy attempts to get away with!

"I need to be out of work at 3PM today. I'm supposed to buy this guy's puppy."
"Um...no. WT, you know your schedule, why would you think it's ok to just decide to schedule something during your working hours?"
"Well, I was talkin' to this guy last night and he says he HAS-TA get rid-a this puppy TODAY. So I says, yeah, I can get over there and all. With that dog bein' on the line all my work info went out my mind! See, I lost part of my brain...."

*Ahem* Yeah. It's like that. And by "like that" I mean it's like a big gulp with a NASCAR driver on it filled with Natural Light beer and chewing tobacco.

This man is a string of stupid being dragged behind a short bus.
While speaking to a senior technical assistant, a man who is very well versed not only in the technical arts but also no slouch when it comes to vocabulary, WT was heard to remark, "I hear what you're saying, but I'm finding some 'CONFLICTING' information. See, conflicting is when you have one thing that says somethin' and then you have somethin' else that says somethin'. That's what you're doin' now, you're conflictin' the information I got."

I sit next to Dudette. She lost her grip here. She can generally go a whole day without laughing out loud at this guy. This had her rolling.
Truly, WT has a wide vocabulary.

Later that week, WT was again consulting the senior tech. This is normal. He consults a senior tech everytime he has a case.
After speaking with the senior tech for hours to determine that PoE (Power over Ethernet) means that electricity (e.g., POWER) is provided to a device over the network cable (e.g., ETHERNET), WT was heard to remark to a co-worker:
"In six months time, I'm going to have [the senior tech] job."

I can only assume that in six months he will have completed his remidial reading course at the adult learning annex. The concept of him being a senior tech is as baffling as the concept of a dog explaining Euclidean geometry to me... while it's flying the shuttle. Truly, were WT to ever be capable of being a senior tech, the end of days would surely be upon us.

All banter aside, WT really has done the best job in summing himself up.
A co-worker says to him, "Did you ever read Where the Red Fern Grows?"
"No, I don't read."

Yes. That's correct. He doesn't read.
Color me shocked!
He went on to state that he CAN read, but chooses not to.
I remain skeptical.

It's a Fowl, actually!

Welcome to today's installment of "I Don't Think that Word Means What You Think it Means."

If you are near the man called Penguin, you will often hear strange stories and riddles. I remember one in particular from when I was a boy.
I was staring blankly off into space, when a man, much like you or I, found that a skeleton had been found. In his excitement, he made a fatal mistake. He made known his discovery.
"Wow! That's cool. They found a new dinosaur skeleton near by," he said.
This news drew interest from those around him, but most notably from Penguin.
"Do you know what the closest living relative to a T-Rex is?" Asked Penguin.
"No," said the man. "But I bet it is a bird of some kind."
"You are wrong!" Exclaimed Penguin. With a look of satisfaction in his eyes, he continued. "It is a chicken."
Many of us, having some remote idea as to what a chicken was, found a flaw in this statement. I forget who first pointed out this flaw, but I recall it being some kind of ape.
"A chicken is a bird." the ape stated with a great deal of confidence.
"No," retorted Penguin. "It is a fowl actually."
Stunned silence permeated the room. Once again Penguin had demonstrated his superior knowledge.
But wait! What is that you say? Fowl is another word for bird? How dare you doubt the word of Penguin? How could anyone doubt Penguin? This is how:
"But, fowl is another word for bird," responded the man. That very same man who dared speak of the bones that began this fearful conversation.
Penguin, not willing to let those less informed than he fall prey to false words, knew exactly what to say to this.
"No it's not. Because a penguin is a fowl and it's not a bird."
Sensing a pattern to the exchange, the ape felt it was safe to venture a guess. A guess founded on nothing but it's own intuition.
"Yes it is."
Once again silence. How could this be? Had someone actually found a flaw in the great Penguins expansive knowledge? At the time, it seemed that way.
"Well, if you want to get technical about it." Once again Penguin had found the one thing he could have said to defend his position.
Chastened, the ape sat in it's chair, clearly defeated.

Snowing in the Office

One might be thinking that snowing in the office is impossible. That one is wrong. I am here to prove that snowing in the office is indeed possible. Picture, if you will, a row of cubicles. Each cubicle being only about 4 and a half feet wide. Think of how well acquainted one might get with the neighbors. I am sitting at my cubicle, most likely surfing the internet and I look to my side. Due to one of my neighbors love for winter, it is snowing all over the back of the seat.
My point here is this: if you are going to be working is close quarters (in this case VERY close quarters), please regard the simple, yet fantastic rules of hygiene. Let me elaborate on this. Wake up in the morning, shower, wash hair - during this you will shampoo and rinse, and if desired condition. Rinse and repeat if desired. Doing this simple yet effective step in the morning will surely prevent winter snow from reaching the cubicles of others who hate winter!
Do you think I could make my point by leaving some Selsen Blue on his desk?

Employee Appreciation Day

All year long we wait with enormous anticipation for one day: Employee Appreciation Day. EA Day exists for our employer to offer minor gifts in the shape of candy or small trinkets provided to them by our clients to be given out for no particular reason. Their hope is that we are some how placated for the lack of less important items, from a corporate stand point like: sufficient pay, a work environment not infested with tards, and a sense of fulfillment and success.

On EA day we are given tokens of faux gratitude in conjunction with paper placards informing us of things like our names, our tards sometimes forget, and the reason for which we are being recognized. Some of these reasons include:

· Thank you for showing up to work for a whole consecutive 5 days.

· Thank you for not drooling on your keyboard, if you refuse to work we appreciate that you at least do not cause irrespirable damage to our equipment.

· Thank you for not flinging poop at passing managers and corporate guests.

It doesn't matter if the only productive action one performs in a given day is the continued beating of their own pulse, they receive one of these placards. Placards which are reminiscent of the trophies aspiring young tards receive at events like little league or Boy Scout awards ceremonies. Everyone gets one so no one feels left out even if your trophy says, "Last place with a first place smile!" This consequently is a real award I received when my Pinewood Derby racecar flew of the guided track and burst into flames. Enough coats of lacquer evidently will cause spontaneous combustion.

I would blame the managers for this festival of mediocrity but it really isn't their fault. Corporate compliance requires that our direct management staff offer us this cheap simulacrum of gratitude. So we celebrate yet another EA Day with great gusto and as I write this I'm hanging in my cubical a paper placard proclaiming, "Thank you for coming to work with clothes on!"

And Hell followed with them...

It has begun!