Browsed by
Tag: Anger/Rage/Fury

…Now Reap the Whirlwind

…Now Reap the Whirlwind

So back in the days when this was published on LiveJournal (the archives are still here… visible only to me, because sorry… young me was insufferable), I ranted a lot about work. It’s not a smart thing to do, and I stopped.

Until today.

*Clears throat*

Dear lower-level technician: The call that I took this morning that you had previously worked on was an absolute disaster. The advice and steps that the office said that you gave them were, at best, completely and utterly wrong and something that anyone with an ounce of logic in their head would never have suggested. At worst, they would have led to a lawsuit that the company would have no defense against.

I resolved the issue that you had exacerbated and groveled to calm an angry customer. Because I didn’t want this to happen again but I had liked you, lower-level technician, I opted to let your Team Lead know what went on, how the issue was resolved, and to give you coaching—which, readers, is NOT disciplinary action, and more of a gentle “hey, don’t do this in the future, do this instead”— and let my incredulity that this would have actually happened on a tech call slide off of my back. My call notes stated that the customer told me that you had told them this. At no point did I say that you specifically had done this thing.

To respond the way you did, personally attacking me ON THE CUSTOMER’S ACCOUNT NOTES PAGE, written in indelible ink, proclaiming your innocence and giving a “but so-and-so told me to do this, I just didn’t put it in the notes, for realsies” defense, and bringing up other issues that would be a stretch to even call tangential… is not the way to react to this. An IM would have been fine. An e-mail would have been fine. Talking to me face-to-face about the issue would have been great. Not that.

So congratulations, asshole. You’ve managed to jump headfirst into a prime spot on my shitlist. Your prize for this is a formal report of employee misconduct, a full review of both the call and recorded remote assistance session where you allegedly wrecked the customer’s… ah… situation (can’t be too specific, due to legal regulations)… and the lost of all of the trust that I had ever given you to do the most rudimentary of things. You’ve also gained extreme scrutiny from me on every last little thing that you do incorrectly that reaches me, and believe you me, anything that you do out of line… goes straight to your boss.

I hope with all my strength that you get caught red-handed telling this customer the things that they claim that you told them and doing the things that they allege you have done, and I hope that they throw the fucking book at you.

Edit, one day later:

Shockingly, after the formal report, the person in question approached me and gave a formal apology.  The notes were manually deleted, and a completely unnecessary but appreciated compliment about my lovely lavender fishin’ shirt was thrown in for good measure.  I’ll take that as a win. 

There’s A Reason Why People With Anger Management Issues Are Seeing You, You Morons

There’s A Reason Why People With Anger Management Issues Are Seeing You, You Morons

Here’s a tip to all of the counselors, psychologists, psychiatrists, and social workers who deal with patients that have anger issues (like m’self… there’s a reason why Anger/Rage/Fury is the biggest tag in my cloud) DO NOT TELL THEM THAT THEY HAVE AN APPOINTMENT AT ONE O’CLOCK AND THEN FAIL TO COME OUT OF YOUR OFFICE FOR HALF AN HOUR.

I’m back at work now, angry that I have wasted an hour between the drive there and back and half an hour in the waiting room… and this isn’t the first time that this has happened.

WHY DO ALL OF THE DOCTORS HERE THINK THAT YOUR TIME IS WORTHLESS? Out of the doctors that I’ve seen here, a grand total of ONE of them has seen me on time (Dr. Dhar, you get a cookie). The others have been late ranging between ten minutes (annoying but understandable) and FOUR HOURS (Needless to say, I’m not gonna be going back to HIM again).

Bastards! All of them!

I say again, Utah… WHAT THE HELL?

I say again, Utah… WHAT THE HELL?

When it rains, it pours.

Now on top of the asinine alcohol legislation, we get a brilliant proposal from a state representative from the last place in Utah that I lived, American Fork.

“Oh, great”, you’re probably thinking. Spin’s pissed off again and in a ranty mood.

YOU’RE FREAKING RIGHT I AM. Get this… this rocket scientist wants to tax caffeine, particularly in cold drinks.

Again, this is a HUGE bleed between Church and State. “Hey, guys! Let’s restrict the rights of others because of something that’s not even WRITTEN in the book of scripture that most of us follow but some say is implied, whether those who don’t believe want it or not!”

Don’t even get me started on the whole Hot Chocolate thing, either. (It’s a sore spot, and one of the things that I struggled with most when I was an active member of the LDS church.)

Every time I read something like this, the more I grow to resent my home.

What the HELL, Utah? Seriously?

What the HELL, Utah? Seriously?

I love my home state of Utah. I love the mountains. I love the lack of humidity. I love some of the places to hang out in Salt Lake. I love my friends. I love the Utah Jazz. I love some of the people.

What I do NOT love, however, were the liquor laws and what I REALLY don’t have any sort of love in my shriveled little heart for are the great bulk of the politicians in Utah.

I was reading the Salt Lake Tribune and saw an article that made me smile– “Private clubs on verge of extinction”.

Y’see, in Utah there are no real bars. Instead, there are private clubs– establishments that anywhere else would be a bar, but in Utah require a membership. If you don’t have a membership, you have to get a sponsorship from someone else. Generally, someone at the bar’s willing to sponsor anyone for a week-long membership… but it’s an additional cost to Utah’s already expensive (and slightly watered down) booze.

The article explains that the clubs would be done away with in favor of an ID scanner. Records would be kept on hand for a week. I’m sure it’ll be expensive for restaurants, but it’s a decent compromise.

I’m also not gonna bitch about the harsher penalties for drunk driving– I’m always in favor of harsh punishments if you’re caught driving under the influence of anything.

However… there’s one provision that is completely and totally illogical.

I shall quote…

New restaurants would need a separate area for mixing drinks, away from the view of children. Existing restaurants would be grandfathered, but might qualify for $30,000 in assistance if they chose to renovate to conceal the mixing of drinks.

What in the blue hell? I read about a stand-alone version of the bill at my good friend Kri5is’s Blog but I didn’t figure that it would get past the Senate. The bastard John Valentine basically forced it into the private club bill. One step forward, two steps back. I’m also going to echo my friend’s concern on this– having to build a separate section is going to KILL the expansion of chain restaurants in Utah… and probably a fair amount of homegrown restaurants, too.

Why is Utah’s legislature trying, yet again, to be the Morality Police? Is it going to RUIN our precious little snowflakes to see someone mixing a martini or pouring a shot? Have parents, in all of these years of NOT having a massive wall protecting us from the evil Alco-Rays, had a child see a bartender mix a Tom Collins and then seen their children come home, find the nearest hobo to buy them a fifth of Baron von Rothschild (vodka proudly distilled in OREGON… probably in a used cast-iron bathtub) and then proceed to get massively hammered? Didn’t think so.

Y’know what I’m gonna do? I’m going to go home after work. I’m going to sit down and crack open a Magic Hat #9 (“Not Quite Pale Ale”) and bask in its malty goodness. Then I’m gonna wait for KLynne to get home and ask her if she wants to go to Taco Mac, where I can get a sammich or some hot wings and enjoy one of 108 beers (and that’s just on tap) without getting hassle from the Morality Po-Po.

We Hates The Utilities

We Hates The Utilities

Y’all (that’s what they say here) wanna know what’s ridiculous?

How much I have to pay for my damn gas bill.

For the month of February, we owe $154, which is ridiculous as it is.

Now do you want to know what’s REALLY ridiculous?

We owe $154 WHEN THE HIGHEST OUR DAMN THERMOSTAT IS SET TO IS 64 DEGREES.

I used to like Natural Gas, but the next place we move is gonna have electric EVERYTHING.

Beaten down again

Beaten down again

I just got *this close* to walking out of my job.

The only thing stopping me were two of my coworkers standing in front of my car.

I don’t care if I have to work two full-time shit jobs to make ends meet.  I have to get out of here, and I have to let go of the fear of change.

RAGE ACTIVATED

RAGE ACTIVATED

Let me tell you how my day has been going.

I got a call transferred to me from a guy in Sales back at my old job. It’s a sales person from that group’s parent company. Let’s call them Schmenry Shmine. This call was not for anything tech-related… this is a guy who’s pushing gauze, gloves, toothpaste, and all of the other common-use stuff in a dental office.

He wants me to give him the part number to and put in an order for a camera hanger.

Guess what? I AM IN TECHNICAL SUPPORT. I don’t sell things, I don’t have part numbers, I don’t even think the part he wants is even sold seperately. I tell him that I don’t have access to this, but I would be more than happy to get him to a regional sales manager who has a part list.

He says “I don’t want a goddamn manager, I want to be put on the line with someone who can give me that and sell it to me immediately. Come on, let’s do it for Team Schei– er… Schmein.”

News Flash:
I don’t work for Schmenry Shmine.

Schmenry Shmine is the company that repeatedly gave me the shaft for the last two years I was with them, continually pulling asshole move on me after asshole move.

I have no loyalty for Team Shmine.

In fact, I would dance a freaking JIG if Schmenry Shmine and all of their subsidiaries were forced out of business and the CEO, Board of Directors, and in fact everyone down the chain to the guy who used to run the Support team and dissolved the Quality Control department were left penniless giving handjobs for whiskey money.

THAT is how I feel about Team Shmine.

He got ten minutes in the Penalty Box and a phone number for his zone manager. DAMN do I hate people.

Gaaaak.

Gaaaak.

To whomever shat on the floor in the first stall of the first floor men’s room at Northwinds Pointe, the building where I work…

If I find out who you are and it’s still there…

I’m rubbing your nose in it and then hitting you repeatedly in the back of the head not with a newspaper, but my fist.

This is not Kindergarten. You should have learned proper control of your bowels by now, and above all, you should have had the common courtesy to clean up after yourself.

Cocksmith.

That is all.

(I wish I was joking about this.)

National D&D Day

National D&D Day

Alex and I decided on Thursday that we were going to join in the celebration of National Dungeons and Dragons day. We went to one of Alex’s regular haunts, a comic shop in Douglasville or Doraville or some damn city in Georgia that’s slightly southeast of Alpharetta and the name starts with a D (I think?) known as the Dragon’s Hoard. Within there were a bunch of HeroClix (which made me glad that I don’t play that anymore… it’s $10 for a single booster now), more comics than one could read in a lifetime, and a definite LACK of personal hygiene. Seriously… it’s called Speed-Stick. It’s not expensive (blatant lyric theft DONE).

We were playing a premade D&D campaign… mild bit of storytelling at the first, pre-assigned, pre-written characters, and random groups thrown together for the sheer joy of playing (and hopefully bringing more people into the RPG geek fold). As part of our swag we got an official D&D miniature of our character, a golf pencil, a 20-sided die (woo!), and a chance at winning SWANK PRIZES like a book written by Gary Gygax, one of the originiators of Dungeons and Dragons and a true Alpha Geek.

We showed up early and I killed time by talking about WOW with a few random people, browsing the comics, ignoring the manga (not hard, I’m not an Anime/Manga kind of guy, generally), buying some Pocky (now THAT I won’t ignore, sesame + chocolate = crazy delicious) and very nearly buying a copy of the Dungeons and Dragons Player’s Handbook (Version 3.5) but holding off since Version 4.0 is coming out in June and our D&D campaign is on hold anyway. After all were present and accounted for we had our groups organized. Mine consisted of a motley crew…

  1. Me, the hero of the story. I was playing a Halfling fighter/rouge named Nivag Gallowlee whose forte was using throwing axes and whose motivation for being on the journey was to help liberate some treasure from… well, wherever treasure can be liberated. I was also chaotic good, so that meant that I had to have damn good justification for wanting to loot the sarcophagus of a long-dead ancestor of one of the other party members.
  2. A guy who was probably late thirties or early forties who seemed a professional type, playing… the same Halfling fighter/rouge that I was (we had two more people than the scenario called for, so we had a few duplicates). He got the character’s original name, Gavin Gallowlee.
  3. Said guy’s sixth-grade daughter, who had never played D&D in a real-life setting… only an interactive DVD game. She was playing as an Elven sorceress who was there because someone in the group rescued her. She was definitely a True Believer in the geek lifestyle.
  4. A girl who was probably my age, maybe a little bit younger, playing as a Human fighter whose motivation was… something. I don’t know. Probably not as simple as “killing things and taking their stuff.” Stupid good alignments. She was wearing the traditional “Do not meddle in the affairs of dragons for you are crunchy and taste good with ketchup” shirt, which is a little geekier than I tend to go… but then again, I was in a Red versus Blue shirt, so I should shut my damn mouth.
  5. Her husband, who was only watching things with a somewhat bemused and bored expression on his face.
  6. The Dungeon Master, a portly gentleman known as… Pete. He had a massive collection of D&D figurines and had obviously been DMing since Version 1.
  7. A guy whose name I don’t remember, probably in his mid to late thirties, who had the perpetual look of a frightened rodent on his face (and the teeth to match). He was, however, pretty cool and the winner of the Gygax book. He was a Dwarven paladin of Moradin and one of the de facto leaders of the party.
  8. A dude named Shaun who was about to DM. He reminded me enough of Landon/Curtis (a former coworker and a current friend, for those of you who don’t know) that I had to catch myself and not call him that… but he had the same random long fingernails, same color of hair, same beard, and same closely-cropped haircut. It was a little unsettling. He was playing as the other Dwarven Paladin and one of the heirs to Frostsilver, the place where we went. He killed off his character by a heroic (read: stupid) leap onto a flying creature over a near-bottomless pit because of…
  9. The most annoying sonofabitch that I’ve had the displeasure of meeting in a long time and the kind of greasy-haired holier-than-thou PRICK that gives geeks and nerds a bad name. He was wearing a Hitchhiker’s Guide shirt, constantly sniffling, and cornered me, telling me about his character in a Vampire game that he was playing… and his character in a D&D campaign… and another one, and another one, and SHUT UP I DON’T FUCKING CARE ABOUT YOUR STUPID-ASS WERE-SKUNK NINJA. Er… yeah. He was a Dwarven Cleric, brother to the paladins, and a complete waste of space. DON’T USE ALL OF YOUR SPELLS BEFORE THE FINAL BATTLE, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. SOME OF US AREN’T WEARING FULL PLATE.

Er… yeah. I’m done now.

The adventure was simple hack ‘n slash, and we generally had a good time except for the fact that Prickboy wanted to run everyone’s character. He was constantly reaching over the table, re-arranging the party in the way that HE thought would be best, telling us how to run our characters, and arguing rules with the DM. Now, I’m all for clarifying rules with the DM when you’ve been gaming together for a while… but with a DM that you’ve never run with before? That’s just being childish, unless you are ABSOLUTELY SURE that an error has been made on something that is a matter of life or death… not a matter of one round of combat and one potential missed point of damage. That wasn’t the worst part, though…

This asshole TOOK THE CHARACTER SHEET OUT OF THE LITTLE GIRL’S HAND when she wanted to cast Magic Missile against an Ice Mephit because he was “sure that she could do SOMETHING better.”

The youngling looked crushed, her Dad looked furious, and everyone else was just stunned. The DM finally said “Let her play her own character”.

Then he did it AGAIN. At this point, I was ready to leap across the table and beat him stoutly with my fists and forehead (since he was also whining about my throwing my axes rather than using them as melee weapons… even though I do more damage throwing them from a 30 foot range) and I’m sure that the little girl’s father would’ve gladly joined in.

Asshole guy left during the final battle (classy), we defeated the evil, and all was good with the world again… but DAMN, do I want to kick that guy’s ass.

War.

War.

Last night, I had a near death experience.

I was relaxing at home after a long day, getting my WOW on when suddenly… without warning… I see movement in front of me.

Movement that isn’t on the screen.

I look closer… THERE IS THE BIGGEST COCKROACH THAT I’VE SEEN IN MY LIFE RIGHT IN FRONT OF ME.

This thing is AT LEAST two and a half inches long, if not three. It waved its large antennae at me.

This is not “Joe’s Apartment”. I’m not one of the Men In Black and this little bastard presumably wasn’t controlling a larger body. Sylar wasn’t brought down in a sewer near my house, and presumably, none of my neighbors is named Gregor Samsa (and yes, I’ll give you a couple of Literature Geek points if you get that reference).

Anyway, I did the most sensible thing (no, not shitting myself)… I got up, slowly but shakily, walked at a brisk pace to the cabinet under the sink, grab the refreshingly “spring-scented” Black Flag (so it smells like someone fumigated a fracking pine tree), and sprayed that sum’bitch for a few seconds.

AND IT STILL WAS ABLE TO RUN AWAY.

I thought that I had lost it under my bed, but it got into the hall (and by this time, it wasn’t doing so well). Rather than squishing it (because that’d be too much cleanup and even in a poisoned, spasming everywhere state it probably could’ve still run from me) I ran to the coat closet, broke out the vacuum, and sucked the little bastard up. Let’s see your chitinous shell withstand the fury of the Dyson, you little vermin. Still, I had issues getting to sleep last night. I’m normally FINE with vermin… hell, I spent two years living in a basement that had a sizable population of spiders, and the only ones that freaked me out were the black widows and hobo spiders (and that’s just because I know that they can cause me significant harm)… but cockroaches have ALWAYS freaked me out.

Anyway, where does this leave me? I’ve been fastidious (OK, at least for me) about keeping this place clean. I have a garbage can whose lid closes, and I’ve already doused the points of ingress with an even more powerful insecticide (one that claims to last for six months, even) minus my AC/heat vents. I don’t see any cracks anywhere. I keep my taps turned off. This is the only one that I’ve seen so far, but if there’s one there are bound to be more. I’ve heard that the most effective natural predator for the roach is the house centipede, but that seems like a “bringing cane toads to Australia” type solution.

If this is war, I’ll bring the fight to them, true… but I didn’t want to fight.

Urge To Kill Rising…

Urge To Kill Rising…

Dear world:

It’s been a while since you’ve had a post full of anger and bitterness here. Well… I’m back.

Yesterday, my copy of Windows XP that I had ordered online showed up. This would normally be a reason to celebrate, and I did… until I opened it.

I didn’t get an OEM copy of XP like I had ordered (as I had just bought a new PC)… I got a Volume License Edition for education. The CD itself is a legitimate Microsoft CD… but it was illegally sold to me. The CD states that not only it’s not for retail OR OEM distribution, but, in clear terms, that it is NOT FOR RESALE. Of course, this really helps me because I get my upgrade stuff today. I try to go legit and THIS is what I get? Sonofabitch.

To add fuel to the flame, I came to work and read an E-mail on one of the monitors that I did. I’m not naming names of either the person in question nor the department they work in nor the manager who sent me the E-mail…

But this person got a 100%. Best score you can get without REALLY impressing the QC team, or going the extra mile for the customer, or whatever. Unfortunately, this person’s manager doesn’t think that’s nearly enough. In fact, this person’s manager complained that I didn’t give their technician a 101%. Remember the rant that I wrote a while back? Yeah. It’s that same person.

The only thing that’s keeping me from going outside and breaking my hand on one of the columns out front again is the fact that I’ve been taking great care to breathe evenly and deeply and looking at the picture of Angela and I in my cube to remind myself that there are more important things in life than taking out my anger on inanimate objects.

A Shitty Situation. (Heh.)

A Shitty Situation. (Heh.)

First… Happy Halloween, everyone. May you get candy or tail, whichever one you want more.

Secondly… I hate people. Here at work, we have an annual tradition of letting employees take their kids trick-or-treat. This I have no problem with. What I do have a problem with is the lady who was changing her kid’s diaper… in the break room. But not only was she doing this, but she was doing it on one of the break room tables… without the aid of a cloth, liner, or even a bit of newspaper to put the kid on. But no, she topped that by throwing the kid’s shitty diaper into one of the break room garbages… thus guaranteeing that the poor saps downstairs will be inhaling that lovely fragrance known as eau de couches de bebe emmerdant (Probably not translated properly. Don’t care.)

That lady needs to Delta in a Foxtrot.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel? Still A Train.

The Light At The End Of The Tunnel? Still A Train.

It’s official… I have until End Of Quarter to make a decision regarding my job.

Option A is to keep my current title, but all that I would do is sit and monitor calls all day. Which, as all of you know, I abhor. It’s like watching paint dry but without all of the excitement. However, it would be a springboard toward getting a TL position (eventually… if one ever opens up in the two departments where I’d feel comfortable being a TL… maybe) and I’d still kind of be seen as management.

Option B is to have my fat ass busted back down to being a technician. Now, all of you know how hard that I’ve worked to move up from being one of the techs (and no offense to them). I’d probably have a higher tech level by default than the one that I left as, but still… that would mean taking calls again. And eventually having the “Oh, and by the way, we’re forcing you to cross-train on Core. And by the way, we’re going to flex you over to Core all the time, and there isn’t shit that you can do about it but whine, knowing that the situation will never change.” It’ll also drop my shot at EVER getting promoted again, as it shows that I”m not a “Team Player” and that I’m “willing to roll with what Management has planned” and that I’m a “Negative Influence” and that I “don’t bathe” and I “scare children” and I “have food stuck in my teeth”.

Option C is to find a new job… but I’ve got the same dilemma as everyone else who is seeking bigger and brighter things… I can’t find anywhere else that would pay me anything close to what I’m earning right now, and I can’t afford to lose my insurance.

Option D isn’t even an option. I’m not going there again.

I don’t know. To completely rephrase a bit of Les Miserables for my own nefarious purposes…

If I do nothing, I am condemned… if I go back, I am damned…