My One Weekly Moment of Joy at Work CRUSHED

By Tresckow

As I've probably subtly written at one point or another, I work with the collective. Morale is a thing of the past. And, for the most part, the powers that be are OK with that. Of course, I'm just speaking from my own personal view point and observations. But, when you start seeing employees quietly sobbing in their offices or make hangman's nooses during their breaks, something's up.

This is the new power tie.

There are those that do their best to make work life bearable. I can't fault this group of office saints that attempt to alleviate the pain but throwing a birthday party with cake, or celebrate the first day of Spring with cake, or throw a shindig for someone's engagement... with cake. Cake.

Not everything revolves around cake (although it should).

Once in a while, a staff member with some semblance of authority will pull together a golf outing or ping pong tournament. I have little use for either. I tried ping pong once and couldn't contend with competition; who was obviously on performance enhancing drugs. I suck at golf, but the part where you can drink on the green keeps bringing me back. But, the one event I look forward to, despite the fact that I never win, is our Trivial Pursuit tournament.

Shut up! Don't judge me!

Let me explain something. I hate games. I mean I hate games like the Polish hated the Nazis in '42. I think they are a complete, irrelevant waste of time; pointless. If board games had a face, I would shove it in the sheet cake shown above. I would. Don't tempt me, damn it. But, for some reason, I keep coming back for these Trivial Pursuit tournaments. I've never won. Ever. In fact, the whole thing pisses me off to no end. It's totally random and you are the victim of the douchbaggery of Chance.

Chance hates us all.

But, despite whatever team I'm on, I never win the coveted Trivial Pursuit Championship trophy (damn it). I keep coming back. It ended up being the one hour a week I could spend in the office without suppressing the urge to set fire to it. Plus, the chances for my team this year actually look good. So, I'm actually psyched about it this time around.

You didn't think this had a happy ending did you?

Naturally, in order to keep morale low, someone scheduled a meeting right over Trivial Pursuit. Oh, did I mention that this was my lunch hour? No? All these little "don't kill yourself, work better" activities take place over lunch as to not interfere with normal work hours. That works most of the time. Until someone schedules a meeting right over your lunch hour. What's that I hear? Screeching brakes? Ah yes, that the fun bus coming to a complete friggin stop.

Is it too much to ask NOT to be totally immersed in a pool of interoffice work bullshit? Can't we continue to spin our wheels at a time OTHER than my lunch hour? I'm sure we could reach indecision later in the day? DAMN IT!

Now, don't get me wrong. I am grateful that I have a job in this turbulent economic environment. Of course, that could change too. Nothing is for certain. The phrase"re-allocating resources"is being thrown around way too much. I'd bet my pitiful tax refund (when I eventually file a return) that there will be people re-allocated right out the door. Shouldn't they, at least, get the chance to play Trivial Pursuit before they get kicked to the curb?

A Thank You to the Dillhole That Parked in My Freshly Shoveled Parking Spot

By Tresckow

It snowed on Monday. That was great. I needed a day off from the collective (that's a code word for "the office" for you non Borg fans...if there are any). I had my doubts that the snow was coming at all. I mean, after all, I live in one of the shittiest environments in the country.

Yeah, something like this, but worse.

But it snowed, even if only six inches. Six inches of snow doesn't mean much to me. I went to school within one of the Great Lake snow belts. Six inches of snow was laughable. Seriously. If you called off or work or missed a class for six inches of snow you better have had one of your feet amputated with a potato peeler.

Above: Still no excuse.

Six inches of snow is enough to get this state's panties in a bunch. Six inches of snow. I'm just wondering how many more times during this article I can type that phrase.

I spent about an hour or so shoveling out a perfect rectangular section in the street for my car. It was beautiful. I would have taken a picture of it, but I had no idea where my camera was at the time. I even shoveled the parking spot for my neighbor. I rock! After a job well done I went back into the house to a nice warm glass of Irish whiskey. What? Isn't that usually the drink of choice on a cold day? Philistines.

I've been known to partake in a jug of whiskey WHILE shoveling.

I went to work the next day, after finding out that "snow trauma" wasn't a good enough excuse to take another day off. After a long day with the other drones (see.. another Borg reference.. are you following yet?) I came home to have another tall glass of tasty Irish whiskey or, as I like to call it, "escape from the real world water." But what do I find when I pull in front of my abode? A dillhole has parked into my perfectly shoveled space.

I have no idea who this band is, but they obviously rock.

I guess what really cooked my bacon was the fact that this jackhole ignored the surrounding spots, snow filled and otherwise. I guess the "reserved" sign and skull and crossbones placard left some room for confusion. It must have been like God, himself, freed the space of snow just for him. It truly was a miracle!

That poor, damn cat.

The cherry on this smelly crap layered sundae was the fact that this asshat doesn't even live in the neighborhood. Suppressing my undeniable urge to encase his shitty Mitsubishi in a white, icy snow coffin, I simply cursed his vehicle every time I looked out the window. Sure, in retrospect, I probably should have done something all gangsta like. But, that sort of thing doesn't normally fly in real world "suburbia."

Although, some ideas did come to mind.

So, I'd like to thank that Mitsubishi driving chucklehead. I wrenched my back, lost feeling in my feet, and shoveled my ass off for you to steal my parking spot. Thank you for your kindness. Thank you for your decency. Thank you for being a total douche bag. I can't promise that the next time I see your car I won't jam gum in the locks, Clerks style.

Am I the only person that doesn't think Rosario Dawson (Clerks II) is that hot? I'd take Eliza Dushku over her any day.

Six inches of snow...

The shortest post ever

By Tresckow

I've got nothing. Stop bugging me.

NO MEANS NO! I don't want to buy the crap you're peddling!

By Tresckow

I will reach through this phone and strangle you!

It never fails. Even in this turd burger of an economy, there are hundreds if not thousands of crap pushing (not a gay joke) sales people desperately trying to sell you junk you don't have a need for; let alone the money to buy. They're everywhere; on the phone, spam in your email, going door to door with their damn little boxes of cookies that have been so reduced in size thin mint might as well be a Junior Mint. But, I digress...

Pretty much the actual size of a
Girl Scouts of America Thin Mint cookie

I understand that they have a job to do. Their job is to find as many people to buy their products as possible. I get how the capitalist system works. But, this time tested system takes a very ugly turn when the salesman REFUSES TO BELIEVE you don't want their product.

Just like in cases of date rape and window shopping at an Audi dealer, no means no. That's right, I said no. I may be insane for not wanting to part with my cash in these desperate times in the US, but dude, I don't want what you're selling. Accept it. Move on.

The best call screener of all time.

Some sales people are gracious about it. "OK, sir, please keep us in mind when you're ready to purchase colostomy bags." I can deal with that. They know when to quit. The realize that with this failed sale there may be a successful one in the next call. Or the next one. Or the next one. Or the next one. Or the......

Yesterday, I had this asshat outright REFUSE to take no for an answer. This was in a professional capacity, so unlike my normal response of "Shove a cactus up your ass and spin" I had to react in a more... um... professional manner. Oh, but my inner monologue was raging.

"If I could just schedule a conference with you and show you what our service can do..." Again, at the office, cant slam the phone down or tell him how I saw his mother with three guys and a midget in the bus station bathroom. I had to be... professional. But even professionals get tired of dealing with shit. Next thing I know, I got this meeting appointment in my email. I've heard of hard sells, but this is basically sales rape. No means no.

So, I figure I'll just humor him. Lead him on. And then like my high school crush, wait until the last minute to not put out. I guess, in lieu of being left alone, I'll settle giving him the proverbial salesman blue balls. Now, I just want him to question his life and contemplate throwing himself in front of a bus. Not to die. No, that would be cruel. I just want him to be a vegetable for the rest of his life.

See? Even potatoes can be happy, in their own simple way.

An Extra Special Look Into a Rather Sleepless Night of a Diagnosed Insomniac

By Tresckow

Insomnia is great!

No, really.

How else would one experience the frustration of being awake and wired at 3 in the morning? You people who fall right to sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow don’t know what you’re missing.

There are a great many theories and medical explanations as to why insomnia occurs. It could be a shortage or over abundance of certain chemicals in the brain. It could be emotional issues. It could be stress. I like to think that it’s a knee slapping practical joke put on by the Sandman. That magic sleep dust carrying douche.

Not this Sandman.

But what happens when one is enduring the night while sleep has given him the finger? The easiest way to explain it is to track it:

1:00 AM

Realized it was 1 AM and I was still on the computer. Cursed taking two prescription medicines that keep me awake while they fight it out in my internal Thunderdome. I get frustrated, but try not to over think it. After all, thinking too much contributes to insomnia. I’m sure the Sandman is just running late. Right?

2:00 AM

I decide to go to bed and tough it out. I mean, come on! Who’s boss here? I am, damn it! I silently walk into the bedroom, only tripping over one cat. I fall into bed. Nope. Nothing. The Sandman asshole hasn’t hit my doorstep yet. Maybe he’s late. I do my best to clear my head of white noise. Oh, but wait, that makes it even worse. All of a sudden a tune from Bel Biv Devo pops into my head. Bel Biv Devo? Really? Are you kidding me? I hate them more than ever now. Yo! Sandman? You stuck in traffic?

You FUCKERS!

3:30 AM

I eventually get Bel Biv Devo out of my head; only to be replaced by some crappy top 40s song I inadvertently heard on the way home from work. Oh how I hate “modern” rock. It’s the equivalent of what Volkswagen did to the Beetle in the 90s…. made it look bad and suck. So I try to think about something else. Damn it! I shouldn’t be thinking at all. It’s friggin almost 4 in the morning! I suddenly want something bad to happen to the Sandman.

4:00 AM

My cats are acting like assholes. This is about the time. How can a sweet kitty prevent a grown man from sleeping? Especially when he’s soooooooo cute??

I must break you.

This little guy is hungry for some breakfast; an hour early. How does he express this hunger? He friggin poll vaults on the bed. Every two minutes he launches himself on the bed and uses the human beings on top as some sort of living, breathing pommel horse. He’s done this for years. He won’t stop. He’ll never stop. He will annoy. It’s what he does. It’s all he does! If I see the Sandman now, I’m going to kill him.

And I won't use any wimpy bullshit Peter Parker techniques, either.

5:00 AM

I relent and get my sorry ass out of bed to feed the cats; ungrateful bastards. I’m WIDE awake now. So, I get back on the computer to mess around with this blog. Yup, that’s the most constructive thing I can come up with. I tool around on Facebook… blah blah blah. It occurs to me that I might as well just stay up, since I have to get up in a little over two hours. But NO! Screw that Sandman son of a bitch. I don’t need him.

5:30 AM

Back in bed. Drifting off once in a while. Luckily, whenever I do someone (animal or human) is there to snap me out of it. I start wishing it was Friday. The disappointment that it is only Wednesday pisses me off. And that does wonders for my insomnia. Excellent! Now I’m pissed that it’s not Friday. Whoohooo!

That smug son-of-a-bitch knows it's Wednesday.

6:00 – 7:00 AM

Manage to catch sleep in 10 minute chunks. It’s sort of like losing consciousness when you’re drunk. Not when you’re REALLY drunk; that’s just vomiting and passing out (not necessarily in that order, mind you). I get into that comfy stage.. that blissful realm between being awake and falling asleep. You know…that realm you’re supposed to be in within FIVE HOURS of going to bed! Sandman, if I ever get a hold of you, get a car battery and anally electrocute you!

Guess where the other clamp is going?

7:45 AM

My alarm goes off. What? Are you shitting me? I just fell asleep like ten minutes ago!

7:46 AM

Email work and tell them I’m going to be late. Then I go back to bed.