The Badass of the Week.

-- This Is the Worst Meeting Ever --
Update 9 February 2007 by Amazing Ben

Note:  The following was written by me during a particularly uninteresting meeting I had to attend at work earlier this week.  Since I spent the longest two hours of my life writing this ridiculous shit in my crappy spiral notebook, I decided to type the notes out and use them as my update this week.

This meeting has only been going on for fifteen minutes and it's already so boring that I am going to kill myself.

First off, the stupid bullshit these dumb bitches are talking about has absolutely nothing to do with my job and is about as useful to me as a basket of tampons, yet for some ridiculous reason I will never comprehend I received about fifty thousand emails this week reminding me that this bullshit is "mandatory for all staff members" and if I don't go I will be "summarily executed by the highly-trained commando squad that lives in the air conditioning ductwork of your building".  So here I am, sitting at this stupid particleboard IKEA-reject meeting table, my eyes glazed over in a look that's probably not dissimilar to that of a man who has spent the last twelve hours either listening to a seminar on the proper procedure for filling out TPS reports or who just watched all of the Star Wars prequels straight through.  Much to my chagrin, however, it appears that everyone else around me is furiously scribbling in their crappy ten-cent spiral notebooks, so I feel as though I should write something so that I don't look like the total slacker jackass that I am.  Since I have no intention of writing down anything related to the details of the meeting (and if I had the capacity to do so I would probably find some way to physically burn the memory of it out of my brain), I've decided to put together a list of all the reasons why this meeting is making me want to jam small pointy things into my eyes and pull out my pubic hair with a pair of old plastic salad tongs.

For starters, every single person I work with falls, without exception, into one of these three categories:

  1. Chicks between the ages of twenty-five and thirty-five, some of whom are cool and some of whom are bubbleheaded 'tards, but all of whom are taking night classes and working on their Master's degrees or some shit and don't really give a crap about anything related to this job.

  2. Fucking old people who remind you every five minutes that they've "been working at this institution for over one hundred years" and spend every fifteen seconds raising their hands and saying stupid inane shit like, "why do we have to do all this bullshit online on the World-Wide-Entering-The-Net?  Back in '72 we did everything by hand using six sheets of carbon paper and a three-inch long broken-off piece of meteorite and that always seemed to work out well for us and we kept our doors unlocked at night and the milkman came around and gave us magical ice cream that turned into purple reindeers whenever it rained on a Thursday.  Now if you'll excuse me I'll be in the back room listening to a phonograph and soiling myself."

  3. Me.

I can handle the 50% of chicks who are at competent but uninterested, and I can obviously handle Me.  It's really just the so-called "Lifers" who really get to me.  The worst thing about these old-timers is that they feel like they need to be talking all the fucking time, even when they have no motherfucking clue what the fucking fuck is going on.  Now I've only been here for like three years, and I already feel like I know everything there is to know about my job.  I mean, it's not like we're motherfucking brain surgeons or something here.  It is totally inconceivable that these people who have been working here for fifteen or so years don't understand the procedure, so when they ask questions I always assume that they're either the most completely fucking retarded people on the entire surface of the Earth, or they're asking questions just to hear themselves speak.  Either way, it's unacceptable.  I'll make it simple for you:  If you're so stupid that you can't remember the procedure for something you've done about a billion times, you need to go ahead and stick your head in the oven and bake at 325 for about an hour and a half because you are useless and have nothing even the slightest bit beneficial to contribute to a single member the human race.  If it's that you just love the sound of your voice more than you apparently love ingesting raw cholesterol, fatty, then you are even more deserving of the wrath and hatred of everyone sitting in this room - because for every stupid fucking long-winded pointless question you ask, you're prolonging this god-forsaken meeting and contributing to the suffering and mental anguish of about thirty people who are just looking for one good reason to shank you in the kidneys with a ball-point pen the next time they pass you in the hallway.

I mean honestly.  WHY would you raise your hand and be like, "BUUUUHHHH when you say materials are due to your office by March 1st, does that mean that they're due by 5PM on March 1st or that they're do before the start of business on March 1st, by which I mean do you want them on March 1st or by the end of the day on February 28th?  Because I remember there was a big mix-up about this a couple years back where Debbie, the girl who used to have your job before you, well... not the girl that had the job directly before you, but the girl that had it before that girl, she blah blah blah blah I'm fucking useless".  I mean, these bitches start by asking a simple question and then turn it into a goddamned thirty-minute dissertation about the history of the motherfucking university and ramble on about god-knows-what and I just want to fucking choke them.

Then, when they've finished asking their fatuous irrelevant "question", they don't even wait to hear the answer before going off on another tangent about the fucking state of the university or how much their office sucks or something.  HEY JACKASS - NOBODY FUCKING CARES.

When they finally finish their asinine diatribe, they tend to be quiet for about thirty seconds before interrupting the presenter in mid-sentence to ask for clarification as to what "there will be no substitutions" actually means, or just to say something like, "BUUUHHHH I was busy eating my own face and then I passed out for about ten seconds... can you repeat everything that you just said?"

Now that you sort of understand the evils of these people, consider that I am in a room with about fifteen of these individuals right now.  Then you can throw in the 50% of the 25-35 year-old chicks who are so completely vacuous that if you connected them to an EEG Machine you could get a competent physician to pronounce them legally and functionally deceased, and you've got a recipe for awesome.  It's like high school Algebra class all over again -- "Um, I don't get it!  Hee hee!"

"Tee hee!  But I don't get it!"
"What don't you get about 'shut the fuck up'"?

Oh - and there's one more thing I would love to clarify for you dolts:

The Internet is a world-wide network of computers and websites and shit.  It is the home of Google and Porn.

The Intranet, for all intents and purposes, is the "private internet" that can only be accessed by computers on the local area network.  This is the home of almost everything you do that is work-related.  Please stop using these two terms interchangeably, because you sound like a fucking dumbass and your ignorance grates on my very soul.

The only thing worse than my esteemed colleagues are the presenters.  Every single one of these meetings goes exactly the same way every single year - three jerks sit at the head of the table, and they tell you all the same crap they told you last year, 100% of which you already know.  The best part is that most of these asshats are in their first year with the company, and are trying to explain shit to people who have several years experience on them.  They pass out an informational packet that contains line-by-line descriptions of everything you have to do for the project, spelled out so simplistically that you could probably hand it to an mentally-disabled gopher and he'd still possess the intellectual capacity to complete the operation exactly as instructed, and then the department intern proceeds to read the fucking thing to you line-by-line, stumbling every five or six words, generally proceeding at a pace so excruciatingly slow that you feel as if she could seriously fall asleep mid-sentence.  Then, when she's done butchering a paragraph or so and demonstrating her ability to read at about a fourth-grade level, she will then "summarize" the section by repeating everything she just read back to you, usually by using identical language and phrasing to the shit she just read.  When she's done with her beautiful translation from "Plain Fucking English" to "Plain Fucking English Plus the Word 'Like' About Fifteen Thousand Times", she passes it off to her supervisor, who further expounds upon the ideas by going off on a tangent about something completely unrelated.  Here's an example.

Intern (Reading):

Once the ten ... uh... seventy-dash-Q form has been filed ... er... filled on -- I mean out -- uh... I lost my place again, sorry... oh!  Once the ten-seventy-dash-Q form is filed out you must write your Department Code in the upper-left ... I mean upper-right... -hand corner and bring this packet to our office in Room 200.  (Try to imagine this being delivered in that irritating high-pitched voice some bimbos have where everything they say sounds like a question)


OK, so like what this means is like, first you do the 1070-Q form, you know?  Then, like once you've done it, you've gotta like write your Department Code in the upper-left corner, OK?  Oh, wait, I mean the upper-RIGHT hand corner.  Don't get those mixed up OK?  Hee hee hee!  Then, you just have to like bring this packet to our office in Room 200.  You guys got that?


Uh, yeah guys, you definitely need to remember to write your Department Code in the upper-right corner once you've completed those 1070-Qs.  Once you've done that you guys can just bring it on down to Room 200, but definitely remember to write that Department Code!  Some times people will forget to write that and then they'll bring it down and we'll have no idea where it came from.  Then I fucking have to do all this stupid bullshit blah blah blah I hate my life goddamnit blah blah blah...

(Five minutes pass)

....And then the fucking monkey grabs my hat and starts running off with it, and I'm like "come back here you goddamn monkey!" but the fucking jerk zookeepers are still laughing and now I can't find my bicycle...

(Another two minutes pass)

...but defnitely write that Department Code down or I'm really just going to lose it and go all Falling Down on everyone.

I hate this place so bad.

The only good thing is that they've got all the refreshments you could ever possibly hope to consume.  You could seriously use this room as a fallout shelter if you had to.  I wonder if anyone's noticed that I'm about to go back for my fourth soda and like my 100th chocolate chip cookie?


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