Baboon Pirates

Scribbles and Scrawls from an unrepentant swashbuckling primate.

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Location: Texas, United States

Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Bad Times Ahead

Continual Crisis...

Pharmaceutical-grade Weirdness is in abundance at my place of employment. I've actually had to keep the nose to the grindstone the past couple of days, and my blogging has suffered as a result.

I got dispatched to The Man's großer Flughafen yesterday morning to conduct some training. Since Baron Richthofen and his Merry Men reside on the opposite side of The Man's Realm, it involved getting up before the roosters did in order to get there by 7:15 a.m. I am just not suited for early mornings, and it pretty much threw off my whole day, and is now working on effing up my week as I attempt to catch up with everything.

It's always fun to know you're doing some emergency behavioural training to stave off a possible lawsuit. When you're handed a class roster with a name circled in red with a notation "Make sure he stays for the entire class!" you can be pretty sure that you've spotted the miscreant...

In other exciting news, they're gutting our department. A whole chunk of folks are getting handed off to another area, and taking with them the few people worth socializing with. Another person resigned, and her departure will lower the charisma factor of the staff by about 200%. Sigh. I'm told it's a money deal, but I've also noticed our ex-pimp Oberstleutnant has staked out the nice corner office recently vacated by that section's manager, so I imagine he had a hand in their departure.

Oh, it gets worse. Instead of hiring a brand new person (unstained by ennui or corruption) for a hole in our section, the powers-that-be have deigned to give us one of the bitter old harridans from the Admin area. Sometimes bitter old harridans can be fun, especially if you're a grumpy reclusive curmudgeon, but not this one. She's big as an ox with an ass two axehandles wide, and has a voice like Wolfman Jack. Oh, and she's a germ freak and had her sense of humor surgically removed at puberty. That ought to make meetings ever so nice to attend!

I think tonight might be a drinking night... I smell a whiff of single malt scotch in my immediate future.