Articulated Vulgarities

Memo to All Employees

Roughly two months ago we had new phone systems installed at our office.  There's nothing particularly better about them, except for the managers who can now actually monitor whether our lines are open to receive calls versus our old system when they simply pretended they could.  There is one employee, however, who has been unable to grasp the concept of logging in.

The process itself is not that complicated.  You hit a clearly labeled "Log In" button, enter your (admittedly long) seven digit extension, then your four digit password.  Because he is old and confused by everything, this eludes him and has become a constant source of amusement for the rest of us.  Honestly, watching and listening to him wrestle with his phone (and losing), which makes a very distinct sound indicating failure and inviting mockery, has become one of our favorite parts of the day.  My neighbor has taken to excitedly exclaiming "Yes!" whenever he hears the noise.

The best part is that it's not only a daily occurrence, it happens twice a day - once in the morning, and once after lunch.  In an excellent display of senility, he manages to forget the process in the four hours between when he punches in for work, and out for lunch.  The experience peaked today when he surreptitiously invited D-Rex over to help him, and even their combined efforts failed to best the phone.  It has gotten so entertaining that I want to start sneaking over to his desk every time he steps away and log him out, just so I can force the process to repeat itself for my own amusement. 

Sadly, the fun will soon come to an end, as apparently the single-celled amoebas we employ have filed numerous complaints about the new phone systems.  This has sent a firestorm of change through the company, as it attempts to streamline its day-to-day operations.

These are memos we've received this week demonstrating our new committment to efficiency:

From: [Corporate HQ]
To: All Employees
Date: Monday, April 02, 2012; 10:03:43 AM (-EST)
Subject: New Phones

Memo to all employees:

It has been brought to our attention that many employees are experiencing difficulties with the new Avaya phone systems.  Since installation took place in the [location redacted] facility several weeks ago, we have received numerous complaints that the phones are too complicated to operate effectively.

In the interest of expediting our process flows and to better serve our customers and clients, we will be installing a newer, more simplified phone system in the coming weeks.  It is our hope this system will allow our employees to work faster and more efficiently, without the complexities of punching numbers in the same sequential order every day.  Please see the attached diagram below.

Attached file:

Managers: Please print and post this notice in a common area for the benefit of employees without access to e-mail.

Thank you.

From: [Corporate HQ]
To: All Employees
Date: Monday, April 02, 2012, 02:35:12 PM (-EST)
Subject: Further Streamlining

Memo to all employees:

In our ongoing efforts to streamline our business and make it easier for employees to do their jobs with maximum efficiency, it has come to our attention that the calculators we are using may be too complex for some, particularly those who have an aversion to anything even remotely technological. 

We understand that older employees view technology as a confusing, frustrating, and yes, frightening experience.  While technology has inarguably been a boon for humanity at large, older generations view it as a hindrance and rather than part ways with those who've provided decades of dedicated service and replacing them with people willing to adapt and learn, we will cater to their wishes.

In response, we will be collecting all current calculators and replacing them with the following:

Hopefully the multitude of colors will not be too confusing, but if you find you have difficulty operating your abacus, please contact us and we will attempt to replace it with a more monochrome (that means "one color") version.  

Managers: Please print and post this notice in a common area for the benefit of employees without access to e-mail.

Thank you.

Oddly enough, this next notice was passed out on a pre-printed piece of paper...

From: [Corporate HQ]
To: All Employees
Date: Tuesday, April 03, 2012; 9:35:01 AM (-EST)
Subject: Previous Memos

Memo to all employees:

It has come to our attention that many of you did not receive the last two memos as they were sent by a form of communication colloquially known as "e-mail" (short for "electronic mail") and you could not figure out how to open these messages.  Indeed, many of you expressed frustration in how to turn your computers on in the first place and instead filed these complaints by way of hastily-scrawled post-it notes stuck to the HR manager's door.  At least three people also appear to have written them in feces, and one of you in what appears to be blood.

In response, we have decided to do away with computers - or as you may know them, "magic word boxes" - and go back to keeping track of everything using paper and loads and loads of physical files.  We'll need to buy more filing cabinets, but since we're getting rid of the computers, we can just put them on your desk where the computers used to be. 

We will be printing and passing out copies of our previous two memos on paper, and we're pleased to announce we will be offering employees a variety of writing utensils to ensure the feces incidents never happen again.  Those of you who feel comfortable using pencils or pens may continue to use them, though we do advise that you do not eat them.  Those who are deemed unfit to wield sharp objects will be given crayons or, if requested, a piece of coal.  Again, we must stress, please do not eat these.  Whatever your preference, we ask that you refrain (that means "stop") from writing on the walls.

Managers: Please ensure employees do not eat this memo.

Thank you.

Lastly, we received this memo today:

From: [Corporate HQ]
To: All Employees
Date: Wednesday, April 04, 2012; 3:41:20 PM (-EST)
Subject: Jesus H. Fucking Goddamn Christ!

Memo to all employees:

It has come to our attention that the complaints we received written in feces were the result of slack-jawed trogladytes unable to wipe their own asses without twelve-step instructions.  Some of you bravely and tragically expressed shame upon admission that you were never taught that producing waste is a natural function of the body.

While we do not condone the use of feces as a means of communication, we do understand that some of you were not privy to the same education any civilized human being would receive.  As a result, we will be providing counseling, reading materials, and request that all employees attend a mandatory seminar on how to properly expel, dispose of, and properly clean bodily waste.  This is costing us thousands of dollars, a fact which we resent greatly and will slowly and subtly punish you for over a long period of time so as not to make it too obvious to anyone who might actually have cognitive reasoning skills superior to those of a goldfish.

You will receive your training manual (see the pretty picture below) in the next couple of days.  We would ask that you read it, but we realize now that is probably a futile request as it would most likely result in you tearing the pages out and using them to wipe your buttocks with. 

Please note, the apple picture above does not poop.  It's part of the waste cycle.  This will all be explained in the training seminar. 

Managers: Those of you who can read, please relay the gist of this memo to those who can't.

Thank you.

A Small Plot of Land

Back when we were going through the horrible ordeal of making Deborah's burial arrangements, we encountered a woman who works for the cemetery that could be considered more than a little obnoxious.

She has this sort of passive-aggressive attitude, was constantly bumbling information we'd just given her, lost Deborah's file entirely (despite have been called the day before to have it ready), and most egregiously, continuously tried to force her family to decide who was going to get the final plot they owned next to their parents and Deborah.

Now, I'm not sure what the first thing that strikes you about this is.  It could be the insensitivity of trying to make a family who has just lost someone even consider the possibility of losing someone else.  We all know it's inevitable, but at a time like that, you really don't want to be reminded, "Oh, hey, you're gonna die too someday, so you might want to get those affairs in order now.  Let's look at headstones for you!"  This is not a cheery event, ma'am.  This is not a shopping spree.  This is not an event where you make pragmatic decisions about the future.  You're trying to hold it together long enough to get through the present.

The callousness runs even deeper.  What she's essentially doing is what a salesman at Best Buy does when you buy a TV.  "Oh, you'll need these $150 cables to get the best picture out of it, and you'll want our service plan while you're at it."  She is trying to sell you additional products and services that are not needed.  Is someone else going to buy that plot from Deborah's deceased parents?  What's the rush?  It's not a hot development property, is it?  Do a family a squirrels want to buy the land to build a little squirrel condo, and the only way to prevent that is to have it earmarked for a future death in the family?  Let them decide who gets it when the time comes, hopefully many, many, many years down the road.  The land isn't going anywhere.  Stop wringing your hands in anticipation and trying to profit off of a grieving family, you ghoulish bitch.

There's also the obvious fact that nobody knows who is going to get the final plot because, well, NOBODY ELSE HAS DIED.  I'm sure they would like to keep it that way.  I know I'd prefer that.  I don't know if this lady has watched one too many movies where someone is told the day of their death and goes on a life-affirming quest to fulfill their bucket list and she believes that's how things really work, or if she's just an idiot (probably the latter), but it's kinda tough to decide who's going to get a cemetery plot without some kind of preternatural foresight. 

What kind of response do they usually get to that question (as I assume it's common business practice)?  "Oh, I'll take that last plot.  I don't plan on living past 45.  Ya know what?  Put me down for August 13th, 2023 at abouuuut... 10:45?  That work for you guys?"  Does she often work with families that contain at least one murderer, who picks the other ones off at very specific times?  "Yes, my father will need that plot soon... very soon..."

My recommendation was to tell her, "If you ask again, we're going to put you in that plot."  As thick as she is, I question whether she'd even perceive it as a threat or if she'd scratch her head and mutter, "but I'm not family" (probably the latter). 

I understand that, however morbid it may be, they are still a business, but show a little tact (not to mention common sense).  Making funeral arrangements is not fun, and it's not cheap.  Certainly not enough of either to make any rational family say, "You know, let's buy two headstones.  We'll save the second one for a rainy day!"  Your sales pitch is unnecessary, Crypt Keeper, and a friendly demeanor does little to mask the fact that it's a pretty insensitive thing to mention, especially coming from a place you'd expect to be a little more sensitive to that fact.  It's like a priest asking, "Hey, do you just wanna hold your own funeral now while we're here?  How and when exactly do you plan to die?" 

This is also the same woman who:

• Questioned the poem I wrote for her headstone.  Apparently she thought she was part of the decision-making process and chimed in to correct my wording.  I curtly informed her that I meant precisely what I wrote.
• Questioned putting Deborah's and my initials on it because, "People won't know who that is."  Because obviously my first thought was, "Gee, I hope all the people who stroll through the cemetery for fun understand every facet of her headstone."  Do you get a lot of sight-seers in the cemetary, ma'am?
• Didn't call Deborah's sister for months, despite needing her approval to re-order the original headstone they messed up in the first place.  I guess she thought since it was wrong originally that we would just forgo having a marker for Deborah entirely, since she needed approval to correct their own mistake.

This woman's gross incompetence has led me to believe she is actually a zombie, risen from one of the graves there, and is masquerading as an employee.  She demonstrates all the traits of a zombie - she's relentless, and very clearly braindead, and she does kinda look like she's rotting. 

The moral of this story is never bury anybody in Roseland Park Cemetery.  Way to make it as smooth and painless an experience as possible!

A Helpful Guide to Loading a Printer

Our office printers are... less than adequate, shall we say?  I understand that mechanical devices will break down and require regular maintenance, but the amount of time ours spend in an unusable state seems excessive.  For example, one of our two large printers - the ones we use the most - was down for nearly three full months due to constant paper jams.  It was down so long, I decided to tape this sign to it.

When the printer was eventually serviced, it soon broke down again, this time due to a part breaking clean off - a part that, apparently, is no longer made because our printers are so archaic and were most likely bought off the back of a box truck with no license plate in a dark Detroit alley for $20.  That resulted in this sign being posted, which remains there to this day.

I have now taken to calling that printer "D-Rex" because it never works.  One would surmise that our printers are just old and are ready to give up the ghost, but one would be wrong.  Thankfully, our resident printer expert - a geriatric, incredibly cranky old woman (because old people are the best technicians) - has given us the instructions we lacked to continue using our printers, presumably until the end of days.  She taught us the secret, and I'm going to share it with all of you now:

Concavity.

You might be wondering, "What does that mean, Matt?"  I will tell you, readers.

It turns out the problem with the printers was a simple matter of user error.  It wasn't that they were old, worn down pieces of machinery; the problem was we were loading the paper wrong! 

As it was explained to us, paper has a very subtle, imperceptable concavity and if it's loaded the wrong way, the printer's sensor will not detect it correctly and this causes paper jams.  Only amateurs would think paper is the same on all sides.  Our printer expert worked for IBM, so she knows about the concavity.  It's the secret Big Paper doesn't want you to know about.

One might wonder why, if there's some sort of curvature in paper that is undetectable to the human eye, paper reams are not marked "THIS SIDE UP" to ensure the end user loads it properly.  This is all part of the big corporate scam to force people into buying more paper.  Big Paper wants your printer to jam.  They want you to waste as much paper as possible so you're left with no other option but to buy more.  Those clever, devilish bastards!

One might also wonder how I've managed to load my desktop printer at home correctly and it hasn't faced a single jam in the three years I've owned it.  I suppose a lot of it has to do with pure luck, along with this helpful diagram.

Now that we know about the concavity of paper, we know that whenever our printers jam, all we have to do is just flip the paper upside down.  We just have to hope the concavity sensors in the printer don't break, because I hear those are expensive to replace.

We're Onto You, Human Resources!

What you are about to read may be the most shocking cover-up in history.  I'm in the process of alerting the media, and when the news breaks the ramifications of it will be felt the world over.  This conspiracy makes the corporate fraud committed by financial institutions look like child's play by comparison.  I hope to hell you're sitting down and not prone to fainting, because this is earth-shattering news, and only D-Rex and her crack team of investigators could have uncovered such a dastardly plot!

There are cheaper benefits providers than the one my company uses!

Our yearly benefit (re-)enrollment packages were sent out yesterday evening, and the firestorm began this morning.  Every year we go through the same cycle: People want better benefits, but if the prices go up, they want cheaper benefits.  Nobody seems to possess the simple, practical logic that the two things don't go hand-in-hand.  If you want coverage from a leading provider, it's going to cost you.  Healthcare is not cheap. 

But today it was uncovered that there are cheaper providers than the Blue Care Network and now they're ready to bring down the company for trying to hide this information from the employees!  I didn't even know there were other providers, let alone cheaper ones!  Did you guys know about this?  How long has this cover-up been going on?  If we aren't happy with the plans offered, we could simply opt out of them and choose to find our own coverage, but our company never told us this!  They tried to hide it with a more expensive plan from one of the nation's leading providers!  After all, one healthcare provider is just as good as another, right?  There can't possibly be any other reason for a cost discrepency other than a giant conspiracy.  Those bastards!

The suggestion - and I swear to God this is a real thing that came out of someone's mouth - was to let the employees look over the various plans from all the different providers when the time comes.  In other words, instead of letting the HR people who spend countless hours researching these things do their jobs, they want to leave it up to a committee of imbeciles who don't even read the summarized information HR sends out in the first place.

Yeah, that wouldn't be a giant clusterfuck.  I'm sure several hundred employees across numerous sites throughout the United States, each with different needs, would come to a quick agreement upon thoroughly reviewing a wealth of information.  I can't imagine anyone skipping to the cost breakdown and simply choosing the cheapest one without regard to what it actually covers.  That would be idiotic, and I think it's clear we don't hire idiots.  By the way, did I ever tell you about the employee who thought Michigan was an island because it's surrounded on three sides by water?

Of course, the suggestion was for "all employees to look over the plans," but really, it's about one employee - D-Rex.  D-Rex thinks our benefit plans are chosen specifically to spite her.  This morning she announced that it would cost her an extra $1,000 just to continue working here due to the increase in costs.  How dare HR not take into account how these benefits might affect her and only her?!  You heartless bastards!

This is just another in a long line of atrocities committed by our company upon its employees.  Thank goodness we have D-Rex - someone who is brave enough to get to the bottom of this conspiracy and stand up to tyranny!  I don't know how deep this goes or how it will change the healthcare industry, not to mention our company, but I'm sure it's going to be big news.  The lid has been blown off, and if your company offers you benefits it's a good bet there are other options for you too!  Revolt, brothers and sisters!  Rise against your oppressors and tell them you don't need their healthcare!  You'll find your own through hours of research and effort. 

Or, you know, you'll inevitably sign the Goddamn enrollment form and repeat the cycle of complaining next year.

There's a Reason It's Called the S.O.S.

The Secretary of State is a horrifying, wholly awful place.

What is it about the S.O.S. that makes it the hangout for the trashiest members of society?  I can't explain it, but I have never gone in there without immediately breaking into a cold sweat and thinking, I may not make it out of here alive!

There are several things you can always count on at the Secretary of State.  The first is the incredibly long wait.  It doesn't matter what time you go.  Expect to wait.  If you think you're slick and you're going to waltz in there ten minutes before they close, take them by surprise, and walk out, think again.  About 70 other people had the same idea, and they are all sitting in those cheap plastic chairs with exasperated looks on their faces.

In the interest of being fair, I'm going to defend the S.O.S. employees.  Having worked retail for eight long years prior to my current job, I can assure you with a high degree of certainty that 99 times out of 100, the long line is not the fault of an incompetent employee, but the idiot customer at the front of it.  Either they don't speak English, or they're trying to pay with 4,500 rusty pennies, or they are unprepared for whatever it is they're doing there, or they're complaining about the long wait.

I love the people who think they should be exempt from waiting because they were too lazy to renew their licenses until the last day.  That's my favorite.  It's not as if there are any other options available to you, such as online renewal or handy do-it-yourself touchscreen kiosks.  Oh wait, I'm sorry, those are available options.  Shut up and sit down, asshole.  It's not the employee's fault you're a procrastinator.  I think they should institute a policy of telling customers who believe they should be bumped to the front of the line to write a 2,000 word essay on why they should be moved ahead, mostly because I'm curious how many idiots would actually do it.

Also dependable: Foreign Guy.  I suppose it could be Foreign Lady too, but neither of them speak a word of English and they're applying for a driver's license.  And they'll get one, too, because what I learned from tonight's visit is that the questions they ask you at the DMV don't really mean anything.  It doesn't matter how many you get wrong, they'll keep asking until you get enough right to pass.  Failed the eye test?  Eh, no biggie.  You don't really need to see that well while driving.  As long as you can make out the large blurry objects moving around you are cars, you're good to go. 

Perhaps the strangest thing you can count on is sweatpants.  Sweatpants are big at the DMV, in more ways than one.  I guess people figure they're going to be there a while, so they may as well be comfortable, but in the whole of recorded history there has never been a larger collection of dirty, stained, frayed, and tattered sweatpants than at any given time in the Secretary of State.  It's almost like a required uniform.  I feel like I'm being ostracized by the Swamp People that occupy that place for "wearin' them fancy blue jeans and collared shirts."  I'm sorry, but my NASCAR shirt is currently being used to plug an oil leak under my car.

Then there's that person that always wants to talk to you.  Why?  Why must you torment me?  I don't care how long you've been waiting, or about your foot infection, or your views on the current President and how the wait is all his fault.  Please let me wait in relative peace and quiet.  You aren't the only person in the world, or even in the room, being made to wait and you are not that important.  Also, would it kill you to shower once in a while?  Cologne or perfume is not the same as soap, and they do not mask your hideous body odor.  Instead, it mingles with your stank (yes, that's right, "stank") and forms a noxious compound that could be used in chemical warfare.

As I sat there in my own chair, watching the gargantuan woman in front of me impatiently rocking back and forth in hers, wondering just how much longer it could hold out before snapping and sending her spilling backwards on top of me, crushing me to death, I knew the true meaning of fear.  I survived tonight's trip to the S.O.S., but I'm a changed man.  When you look death straight in the eye and only narrowly escape, well... an experience like that changes you forever. 

Wilford Brimley is Stalking Me

Leave it to me to find something to make fun of at a funeral.

During Deborah's viewing, one of her sisters called me over to meet someone.  He was a short, rotund little man with a bushy white handlebar moustache who bore a striking resemblance to actor-cum-"diabeetus"-spokesperson Wilford Brimley.

I assumed he was some distant relative who'd driven a long distance to be there, but as it turns out he was the man in the other funeral parlor.  He'd lost his wife of 30-something years, and he introduced himself by saying, "You don't know me, but we have something in common..."

We chatted for a bit and he walked towards the front of the room to pay his respects; a kind gesture.  I agreed to come to his parlor to do the same.  I now realize that was a mistake; a mistake which may well haunt me for the rest of my days.

After several minutes, one of my family members entered Mr. Brimley's parlor and said they needed me, but Wilford would not let his prey go so easily.  "Wait, uh, let me get your number," he said.  "I have to get back to my family," I replied and began to walk away.  He would not be dissuaded.  Following me, he said, "Well, let me give you my number."  "Later," I said, "I have to get back to my family."  Unperturbed, he stopped me and shoved a business card into my hand as I desperately tried to get away.

Finally returning to our parlor, expecting to be introduced to another person of importance, Deborah's sister asked, "Did I rescue you?"  She did not, in fact, need me; I needed her to escape the clutches of Wilford Brimley!

Later that same night I learned, to my horror, that no one escapes Wilford Brimley so easily.

After the viewing, only myself, my brother, and several friends remained.  We had cleaned up the room and I was just getting ready to say goodbye to Deborah when Wilford rudely comes storming in to get my number.  Not thinking, I foolishly gave him my real number.  I later realized my mistake and, to compensate, programmed his number into my phone under "IGNORE!"

The next day, only hours after laying Deborah to rest, my phone rings and "IGNORE!" appears on my screen.  "Are you kidding me?!" I say to myself.  A minute later, my voicemail notification goes off.  Wilford says he wants to see how it went and compare experiences.  "See how it went?"  How do you think it went?!  I just buried my beloved girlfriend!  What do you expect me to say?!  "Oh, it was the best time of my life!  You know what I really wanna do?  I wanna discuss it and relive it all over again!"

Naturally, I did not call him back.  But that does not stop Wilford Brimley.

He called again, days later as I was returning from taking my cats to their vet appointment.  I let it go to voicemail once again and deleted it without listening.  But that does not stop Wilford Brimley.

He called again, days later as I was hanging out with friends.  This time, I sent it straight to voicemail.  Seconds later, a second number from the same area code calls!  Neither of them left a message, but I'd be willing to bet he called back on another line, trying to trick me into answering my phone! 

Look, dude, I understand that you're lonely, and I'm sorry.  I sympathize - I really do.  I understand how that feels, but that doesn't mean I want to be friends with you.  I'm dealing with my own grief; I don't need yours added on top of it.  If you need to talk to someone, there are grief counselors.  I do not care to relive the worst experience of my life with a complete stranger.  Take a hint and leave me alone.

I thought he had gotten the hint after the double-call.  All was well for a few weeks.  I thought wrong.  Nothing stops Wilford Brimley.

Last night, "IGNORE!" popped up on my phone again.  Once again, he left a voicemail that was immediately deleted.  I have now come to the conclusion that Wilford Brimley is to me what Kahn was to Captain James T. Kirk.  He is my arch-nemesis, and he cannot be stopped.  Not even by "diabeetus."

 
BRIMLEEEEEEEEEEEEEY!

There's stupid and then there's this guy

Wow.

I cannot believe there is anyone on Earth dumb enough to fall for these scams. 

Perhaps I'm being insensitive, but seriously - this guy has got to be the dumbest person on Earth.  At NO POINT did it seem even the LEAST bit suspicious to him?

He wasn't tipped off by the original e-mail that stated a man of absolutely no relation to him wanted to leave him an inheritance just because he had the same last name.  Not only was he not suspicious, he actually said "It sounded all good."

I'm sorry, but I cannot feel sorry for someone who is this oblivious.  After constantly being asked for more and more money, it never occurred to him that it was a scan until he was asked for $12,500 to bribe airport officials.  I don't part with $5 as easily as he handed over $150,000. 

John Rempel isn't entirely to blame.  No one in his family who willingly handed over absurd sums of money ever thought to question the reasons either. 

Mr. Rempel, I'd like to take this opportunity to make a business proposal to you.  You see, I own this bridge in Brooklyn...