The smarmy fuck comes in smiling. Every single time. His little rubber band wrapped pony tail sticking out like a piece of shit from a fat girl’s ass. Just not right that visual image. But it’s what I see when I see him.
He’s the office IT guy. I hate the fact that they call them IT guys. There’s nothing ‘it’ about them. Maybe at some places, but here, it’s not even Jimmy Fallon-esque.
Today, he got yelled at. By me.
Some days you just know aren’t going to go well. Today, didn’t seem like one of those days. Even after having to sit in my car for 40 minutes just 5 minutes away from the office. Almost a full hour I lost. An hour I won’t get paid for. An hour in this wretched place where I never thought I’d end up, but somehow have. It should be enough to fuck with my head. But my head’s already fucked enough, so this town can’t do that to it.
Anyways. My boss is being a prick today. He’s reached the point I reached a long time ago. I left the damn company, but had to come back…Swallow that pride. It’ll just hurt for a little while.
But, the shit with the computer system being completely awful just makes me mad. Then, the little rat fucker IT guy decides he’s going to be condescending. And, like Floyd in True Romance that’s one thing I’m no good at taking. Which is, of course, ironic since I tend to do that to folks. I try not to, but it just happens….
“Hey, the feeds aren’t working,” I say.
“Oh yes they are,” turd tail replies.
“The last thing moved at 12:26. It’s 2:13.”
“You need to use the right feed,” turd gurgles.
“I’m USING the FUCKING right feed,” I belt out, feeling the lack of control and having no way to stop it. I regret it. It’s the first real instance of my temper since I came back to this rat-infested office many months ago, but not enough months yet.
He doesn’t reply.
Later on, an e-mail to my boss. Detailing how all the problems are “our” fault and not “his” fault.
I hate people that pass the buck. Refuse to take the blame for shit when it happens.
I fully take the blame for my lot in live. Yeah, it sucks, but I spent the money that put me in debt. I stayed at shitty jobs when I had other offers. And I own all that shit. I don’t go to the doctor or dentist. So when I die with no teeth, it’ll be my fault.
And when I fuck up at work, I say, “yep, that was me. Sorry.”
Oh well.
The turd disappeared and two minutes later, the feed started working again.
“Yep, guess it wasn’t broken,” I say loudly. It gets a grin or two. Really not worth it, but, sometimes it is.
Me and another guy at work, Mike, we start talking about stupid things. Bad cartoons, good cartoons, baffoons we work with, and then the greatest Web site of late … a place that shows death scenes from movies.
It gets us to thinking about great ways to off the folks who bug us.
The consensus between us, and then many others in the office is Omar. The shotgun wielding homo from “The Wire”.
“Omar’s coming!” becomes the days rallying call. As is the whistling of The Farmer and the Dell.
Before too long, new guy, Jake, starts to get annoyed with us. We are a bit repetitive. But at least he wasn’t here for the Meg standoffs. When anything that bugged us got a “Meg” followed by a “Pbbbt.”
Good times are had by all. At least just enough to stay sane. And that’s really all you can ask when you’re doing mindless drivel. Reading mindless written drivel from mindless drivel peddlers with pens and pads. Although, I’d bet they all just have digital recorders now. Who has the ability to take notes anymore. Just too damn tough to pay attention and write at the same time.
Fucking amateurs.
My newest quote for the office is “One day, I won’t be here anymore.”
It’s not the best attitude, all give you that. But it’s better than “I fucking hate this place!” Although, some would argue that the new slogan implies the old one, not that that has ever been my motto at this job.
The best thing I can do is tread water and dog paddle my way though the awfulness. Tomorrow night, I’ll fight another 10 o’clock deadline. Maybe I’ll miss it this time, just to do it. Add a little spice to life.
Fiction? Or not…You be the judge.
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