Not so much ‘funny ha ha’ as ‘funny kill yourself’

30 04 10

Apparently being out of work or working in a crazy place is now funny.

Today has been a dramatic day so I will leave you with a few of my previous musings on my own crazy workplace and work interactions.

Parking saga continues

Tips for surviving my workplace

Fever blisters and coffee mugs

Clients – the foulest of the foul

1096 days and still going

A wonderful weekend to you all, I shall be eating oysters tomorrow.

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Tips for Surviving my Workplace

30 04 10
A new employee has started at my company this morning.
Because I recall what it was like to start here – a place where everybody may know your name but won’t speak to you for a couple of months – I have decided to write a list of guidelines, so to speak, to bear in mind when working for this organisation:
1) Introduce yourself to everyone in the office because no-one will take you around and help you out in this regard.
2) Do not use the mug with the picture of the roses or you will face the wrath of the mug-monster woman.
3) People in the office WILL phone you at your desk while they are at their desks. Yes, this is despite your being in adequate proximity for a conversation held at a normal volume. Embrace this.
4) Staff may mysteriously disappear/die. Accept this.
5) People will walk in and leave without saying hello or goodbye. Try not to take this personally. Perhaps this is how they treat their families and friends too.
6) Certain staff member/s have a licence to be incredibly rude, impatient and holier-than-thou with others. Accept this.
7) Most of your colleagues don’t really want to know about you. Mostly they just want to be able to tell you about themselves, so learn to tune out – play the Gummi Bears tune in your head while they speak to you.
8) Get used to eavesdropping by colleagues – this may be because you have a life outside the office.
9) Come to expect a level of sexual harassment and inappropriate remarks by an older male who believes he’s funnier than he is.
10) Expect double standards when it comes to Internet access and censorship. Remember this: he who holds the password is the only one allowed to view Facebook.
P.S. Welcome! Hope your stay here is marvellous and fulfilling. Just try not to behave too much like a well-rounded, emotionally intelligent human being.

Parking Saga Continues.

30 04 10


A short while ago, a colleague who only decided to start speaking to me in sentences longer than 10 words about two months ago, informed me that she’s parked in front of me in our basement garage. I blogged about the trials experienced in parking management a while ago, so will not repeat myself, but feel free to look here if you’re interested.

Anyway, the manner in which this woman determined that it was me she parked behind was grating, bearing in mind we’ve been parking in the same lot for over a year, and there are only about 14 of us who drive at my workplace:

Quiet Colleague: (Q.C): Do you drive a big, white car?

Me: *picturing massive stretch limo covering entire parking lot*: I drive a white Opel Astra.

Q.C *looks a bit confused*…um, well are you parked next to A?

Me: Yes

Q.C: Then I’m parked behind you.

Me: Marvelous, how splendid of you to do so! (not really)

Now, I understand that many, many cars look very similar. I’ve always thought the old Audi TT looks remarkably like a grown up VW Beetle. It’s not really necessary to know the intricate differences between brands, unless you are a car salesmen/car journo, or are seeking a vehicle with good enough suspension to accommodate an eve at the drive-in. But if you’re going to park someone in, perhaps it’s prudent to take a few notes on the said car so that one can warn the impeded driver of her predicament: look at the big, shiny badge on the back of the car next to the big, shiny letters which spell out the car’s name. Or perhaps even jot down the number plate- or just remember the first three letters?

This woman, and the two conversations I had this morning with a furniture place and the people responsible for stealing from me each month (the lot who collects my complex’s levies) respectively, have ensured that this Tuesday is passing at the speed of snail. Misery Index rating of 7.


Fever Blisters and Coffee Mugs

30 04 10

My colleague is sporting a moustache of fever blisters. If fever blisters were trees, she’d have an entire forest just above her lip. It’s gross. I’m finding it difficult to look at her, and when I do I seem to zone right in on those angry welts.

I feel bad for her. Having never experienced the trauma of a fever blister before, I can’t say I empathise with the pain and embarrassment of it all. It’s a particularly hideous version of the body’s saying “f*&k you!” And it seems that once you have a fever blister once…just once….you are forever more prone to them when your immune system goes wacko. Like the way one keeps on stubbing that same toe repeatedly, or how if you sit next to a fat, stinky bastard on a plane, chances are you will again and again.

And, because I am prone to being a germophobe at times, I couldn’t help noticing that my colleague was drinking her coffee from a mug that I like to use here at the office. My favourite pink mug. And, because I suspect our dishwasher David, who doubles as our car washer (for a fee) is as haphazard about washing dishes as he is about maintaining general office hygiene standards, my love affair with that pink coffee mug has abruptly ended.

Ja, I don’t think I’ll be able to drink out of that mug again unless I know it’s been thoroughly disinfected. That means *shudder* that I may have to wash it myself. And whatever other mugs my colleague’s mugg has touched. Curse! My mug-washing time is sure to impinge heavily on my Internet surfing time. There must be another way…

Polystyrene cups?
A personal mugg, like another absurd colleague of mine?


Names of the day and a horse

29 04 10

I came across two marvellous names today, beginning with an ANC MP called Hargreaves Magana, who was filmed speaking in Parliament about something unimportant and trivial (perhaps?), and Boitumelo McCallum, who was unfortunately killed by her boyfriend, apparently, in New York.

This is thought to be the world’s smallest horse and is utterly adorable.

P.S. Don’t say you didn’t know what you were going to get from me today after reading that headline.


Too much caffeine and sugar

28 04 10

I started my day with a doughnut for breakfast, had a sandwich and a KitKat for lunch, drank four mugs of tea/coffee while at work and have an Aero bar in my bag for later. And the sad thing is that I would not have got through this day without those lovely chemicals.

My concentration is down to the most pitiful of levels – I don’t bother ending salutations with the person’s name and end up just kind of staring at them for a bit before being distracted by something else.

Today I noticed that I have appropriated a ruler that once belonged to a ‘Gwenda’. In the four years I have been at this workplace, I have never even heard mention of a Gwenda. What kind of name is Gwenda anyway? Is it oochie-koochie baby talk for Glenda? I’d like to hit this mythological Gwenda with her ruler.

Right, I am off to wreak havoc in the traffic now, see y’all.


The weekend that was

26 04 10

The movie ‘Date Night’ was loads of fun and included two of the loveliest movie lines I’ve heard in a while.

The first was something you might want to use while on a date with someone you don’t fancy and who you don’t mind informing just that: " I need to go home now as I have to wash my arms."

The second was uttered during Steve Carell and Tina Fey’s ‘sexy’ pole dancing routine. One of them (can’t remember which) announced that he/she was performing the ‘sex robot’ dance, a decidedly unsexy move. A marvellous image!

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Prior to nodding off on Friday night, as I performed the semi-obsessive-compulsive act of frantically flicking channels, I came across televised boxing. My love of that sport hovers somewhere between my goodwill toward the Department of Home Affairs and my affection for my boss. However, what I did notice was one of the best names I’ve ever come across – a black boxing referee called Thabo Spamfoot. Even better than the Hassen Hoosen I found last week.

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Musician Jonas Gwangwa is going to be awarded a National Order award by President Zuma. He appeared on Morning Live this morning whereupon TV presenter Vuyo Mbuli insightfully asked him, "How did you hear you were going to be given a National Order?"

Gwangwa replied, "I got an email".

A fitting response to a stupid question.

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I cannot believe we are still being bombarded with inane advertising proclaiming that an advertised food product is made from ‘real ingredients’. I would find it far more interesting if these marketing failures would proclaim, instead, that their soup, for example, was *not* made from tar, sawdust and garlic burps collected in an empty pickled onion jar.

Nothing will convince me that there is anything real about packet soup, apart from the real paper encasing the powder.