Beating Out a Saucy Conga Rhythm
I swear, this post will have nothing to do with bathrooms, Black Betty, or the filthy whore who is Andy.
Andy may actually be mentioned.
Robots who travel into the past to kill Andy also will not be mentioned, but robots who travel into the past to kill other heads of state may and probably will be mentioned.
This sort of thing happens all the time.
Like this Halloween, for example. My good friend the Coal-Powered Robotic Abe Lincoln Who Was Sent into the Past to Kill and Destroy the True Abe Lincoln With a Modern-Day Automatic Pistol tells me he'll be around. Will he be drinking out of the skull of the true Lincoln? He might be! That wacky robotic bastard! Will he use the ex-President's bleached femurs to beat out a saucy conga rhythm? Who knows!
. . .
This is the most hated event at any job. You do not want this to happen. If this happens it sets a precedent and you may as well place your head in the supply closet door now and slam and slam and slam until bitter unkind consciousness bleeds from your ears.
The thing in question is when you've completed all your work and your boss congratulates you and then says, "Hmm, I guess you'll need a project," and then crosses her arm and touched her chin and stares and hums and thinks while she tries so hard to come up with some busy work for you, some busy work that is so integral to the organization's success that it takes her thirty seconds to come up with it.
This hasn't happened for a while.
You learn never to finish any project until the last minute.
. . .
Today we're supposed to call Metro shopping centers and find out how much they pay their shopping cart attendants. One of our counselors thinks her client is being underpaid in the competitive field of Shopping Cart Retrieval, and is actually concerned and curious about the wage market:
It might be interesting to find out what the other Target stores pay. I’d like to see how this client’s current level of pay compares to similar positions with other employers in the Metro area.
Damn.
Andy may actually be mentioned.
Robots who travel into the past to kill Andy also will not be mentioned, but robots who travel into the past to kill other heads of state may and probably will be mentioned.
This sort of thing happens all the time.
Like this Halloween, for example. My good friend the Coal-Powered Robotic Abe Lincoln Who Was Sent into the Past to Kill and Destroy the True Abe Lincoln With a Modern-Day Automatic Pistol tells me he'll be around. Will he be drinking out of the skull of the true Lincoln? He might be! That wacky robotic bastard! Will he use the ex-President's bleached femurs to beat out a saucy conga rhythm? Who knows!
. . .
This is the most hated event at any job. You do not want this to happen. If this happens it sets a precedent and you may as well place your head in the supply closet door now and slam and slam and slam until bitter unkind consciousness bleeds from your ears.
The thing in question is when you've completed all your work and your boss congratulates you and then says, "Hmm, I guess you'll need a project," and then crosses her arm and touched her chin and stares and hums and thinks while she tries so hard to come up with some busy work for you, some busy work that is so integral to the organization's success that it takes her thirty seconds to come up with it.
This hasn't happened for a while.
You learn never to finish any project until the last minute.
. . .
Today we're supposed to call Metro shopping centers and find out how much they pay their shopping cart attendants. One of our counselors thinks her client is being underpaid in the competitive field of Shopping Cart Retrieval, and is actually concerned and curious about the wage market:
It might be interesting to find out what the other Target stores pay. I’d like to see how this client’s current level of pay compares to similar positions with other employers in the Metro area.
Damn.
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