I find the best way to deal with condescending former managers is to internet stalk them and create something beautiful out of whatever it is I find online. In that theme, I bring you:
Category Archives: work
I really appreciate how Dunkin Donuts encourages their patrons to share various Dunkin-related stories. Historically it’s always worked out well for me (see here and here) and I’m glad that the organization cares so much about my welfare and general habits to inquire about #mydunkin.
My story involves being an office temp at a job where I get to watch the full-time employees enjoy perks such as the boss bringing in a cardboard gallon of Dunkin Donuts coffee for them. And after, when the full-time employees are throwing a party with a specific note on the door that says “FULL-TIME EMPLOYEES ONLY” I decided to take several of the unused Dunkin cups, go into the secret party room filled with food and paid sick leave, and filled them with mac n cheese. So I guess #mydunkin involves pilfering food and cups from my office superiors and hiding at my temporary desk while eating it.
Office vending machines are the prime area to communicate with the future robot leaders of this world (see: this, this, this, this – honestly this blog is basically pizza, cats, and my fear of the robot apocalypse coupled with leaving notes on vending machines).
And on that note, here is a hilarious update on that front:
That’s what happens when you screw with the robots, duder.
At first I was willing to deal with the office monster in extremely good humor. See ? I even came to the defense of the fridge monster because 1. That note was written by the hand of someone who gives too much of a fuck 2. Because fridge monster at that point had eaten two containers of hummus I left in there and I wasn’t really that bothered because 3. I used to be the fridge monster at my last job
But since I wrote my hilarious response to office bastardry, and I thought I had sorted out some solidarity with hungry co-worker and fellow thief; fridge monster seems to have taken sole and exclusive comfort in my lunch bag. With extreme consumption prejudice – they ate my leftovers. I’ve retaliated.
I don’t even know myself anymore. The hunted has become the hunter.
After an intellectually stimulating conversation with my dear friend we decided that you can only be one of the following: nice, hot, or talented. You can’t be all three, it’s not fair. Good qualities are too rare, and it’s unjust to hog all of them. PICK ONE.
Which is why this guy gets greeted with daily abuse by the writers’ room. Here are a few of the things that he gets to see about himself recently:
For more ha’s go visit the author of those missives here
You Life is starting a new segment (which I may or may not follow through with see: this, this, this, this, and this) that is tentatively called, “This Guy.” The guy who is the “this,” is my co-worker and general nice guy, Jim.
Fellow co-worker and comedian Dave has taken to starting each day by putting nice “This Guy” Jim in his place with a dose of humiliation and berating.
and, of course,
Nothing says, “we love working with you,” like a bout of degradation. Who is afraid of Spongebob? This guy.
For some more of Dave’s hilarity check out his website here
The best notes are passive aggressive notes at the work place. There is a secret thrill letting someone know how much you disapprove of their behavior. It must be doubly so when you address that disapproval to an inanimate object (sort of animate object? I mean…a vending machine does move, there’s some animation involved).
I would like to yell at the vending machine too, my concern and hatred regarding the robot apocalypse is well documented
Never let the machines win.
I had a glow-y feeling about employment for a very brief juncture. However, I think it can now be summed up by this crudely executed illustration:
This is my co-workers and myself. At the very end is a loaf of bread meant to graphically depict our slow march to the bread line.
(I’ll let you guess which one might be me).
(It’s the one screaming with their arms crossed)