Monday, December 10, 2007

Greyskull Returns

Holy Hell Chiefs suck
Denver forgot to use lube
O the tears, the shame!


None of these stories are going to be in order, and I don't really give a shit. Remembering stuff in order is HARD!

The first of MANY...

So Greyskull took over, and our old manager went to head up some other lucky group... some of my colleagues tried to make the best of a shitty situation, instead of doing like the Stevester and keeping it real to da core. I knew from day one that she was going to be a piece of crap, and I have never been very good at hiding my emotions or pretending I like someone if I do not, which in the past made me well suited for a job in customer service at Gateway. I cannot pretend I am someone I am not, I cannot pretend I am happy when I am not, and this for some reason translated to Greyskull that I was a problem child, who had only to be brought to her loving bosom or shown what was under her leather skirt of Doom in order to fly the straight and narrow.

So it was, Stevester running the phones like a madman, minding my own business, and Greyskull comes thundering up the hallway, probably fresh from dropping a couple of mud monkeys as the thunder does not quite rattle my chair, and peeks over my cube wall.

"You got a minute?" It's funny because she sounds so nice, we would soon learn that was how she was able to consume so many kitten's souls, by luring them with her smile that hid the voracious appetite of Satan's minions and complete incompetence. Well fuck it I would soon learn...

I mosey on into her office, completely unaware that I was walking into the den of Evil, the smell of lotion barely masking the rotten carcasses of kittens and other assorted forest creatures she kept under her desk at any given time, no telltale blood trails because she never left any moisture or hope behind. I sit down and cross my arms, which is normal for me because I am a little embarrassed over my fucking b-cup mantits and do that as a way to ward off any purple nurples or titty twisters that may try to infiltrate my k-rat training.

"Well I noticed that you do not talk much and so I figured I would take the first steps toward building a relationship with you,' -she gargled out, tiny kitten screams attempting to escape but not even coming close- 'and learn a little more about what it is you do here. I don't want you to think about me as a 'big manager type' (which is funny because I simply thought of her as a waste of space up until that point) but more as a friend or a coworker that you can bring all of your problems to when you have them." At this she settled back on her throne, the smell of burning mayonnaise penetrating my pores and very being. I noticed she had stopped talking, and that was apparently waiting for a response. Time to stop daydreaming about some of the hot chicks in records.

And yet at this point I had no idea what she wanted me to say. It was apparent from her expectant glare that she wanted something, maybe to eat me or at least gnaw on my leg or something, but it was not obvious what. So I sat there and glared back.

"Nothing to say?' Her smile got bigger, and it was apparent she could fit a whole turkey in there sideways. I must point out at this junction that she was sounding more and more condescending as the conversation went on, and it was pissing me off. While I like slacking off like any man does, this was not an acceptable diversion.

"Nope." I couldn't think of anything else to say, and instantly hated myself for letting this wildebeest of evil get to me like she had.

"Well see that's what I'm talking about. Look at your body language. Your arms are crossed, your legs are crossed, and you're leaning back in your chair, and all of these are indications that you are angry or annoyed." OK I guess body language is accurate. But I ask you, gentle reader, who gets called into Management and skips in there and sits with a huge IQ-lowering grin on their face, gently upturning it to catch all the shit that flies out of management's ass as they gently suckle the sphincters of anyone they think will promote them? Well besides Flanders and Crazy Santa...

I inform her that is the way I sit, and that I wouldn't mind going back to work. She then informs me that she can sign me up for a class on communication if I would like, as my attitude is causing a disruption for those around me. At that point McCool and Terrorist are the only other occupants in my cube quad, so I wonder which one of those bitches whined. I would soon learn that Greyskull made shit up whenever her mouth opened.

Part II tomorrow, then back to Smeagol & Erica's saga of failure

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