Dear Office Hotty

Alternate Title: An Open Letter To The Freaking Moron Who Keeps Turning On The Freaking Air Conditioner In The Middle Of Freaking JanuaryFebruary

Dear Moronic Office Worker,

I humbly request that you remove most, if not all, of your parkas, scarves, beanies, gloves, thermal sock cozies, etc. because obviously you are dying from heat. You poor thing.

I mean, why else would you be turning on the air conditioner in the middle of winter?

Yes, it doesn't feel like winter yet in SoCal. Yes, it was rather sunny and warm last week. And yes, even though the weather turned a bit colder over the weekend its still not cold enough to warrant major heater usage.

But you know what?

It's still freaking JanuaryFebruary so stop with the a/c use already! It's cold enough in here without the a/c. It doesn't need to be colder.

If you want cold, go to the mountains. I think I saw snow up there. Somewhere. When the smog cleared enough for me to see that there were actual mountains just a few miles away.

So please, for the love of all that is warm and fuzzy, stop turning on the a/c in my office.

I thank you. My fingers thank you. And my nipples thank you.

That is all.

Signed,
Lisa

On a brighter (if not warmer) note, Mr. Desk Neighbor brought in a CD of big band music and we're listening to it now. Sweet! Is there a better way to 'swing' through the first day back at work after the weekend (besides alcohol that is)? I think not.

*munch munch* mmmmm... dandelions... *munch munch*

Today is Day 5 of the Week Long Training Marathon From Hell.

Actually, it hasn't been that bad. Coworker Jack is an awesome teacher.

*blows the teacher an air kiss across the room and tries to earn brownie points*

He'd be just a bit better though if he learned how to keep his unruly students (i.e. everyone but me, of course) in line and keep them on topic so they stop whining about all of our problems that exist, that have existed for YEARS and will CONTINUE to exist even in this new work environment we're learning.

It's probably unavoidable, the whining, what with the never ending frustration with the way things run and the daunting task of having to learn new habits and work flows and a new computer system.

But still, I'm at the point where if one of these guys whines about so-and-so doing/not doing such-and-such and why doesn't Management do this or that I'm hitting them with my 500+ page training manual until they cry. Anything to keep us on topic so we're not here until 7 tonight.

I mean seriously, if they want to whine they should do it on their own time. They can get a blog and whine to someone who cares. :)

Mr Imaginary Blog Reader, you do care right? *sniffle*

The training was supposed to be 8 hours long, for a week straight. That was going to be bad enough, but when Monday showed up, and we (the three of us in my department) were busy learning how to do our new jobs instead of waiting on the edge of the diving board ready to dive through a series of flaming hoops, The Boss decided we should stay here for 12 hours and cram in a couple of hours to keep up with our normal work load.

If I'd known ahead of time, that would have been one thing - I'd been planning to come in an hour early and catch up a bit anyways - but to spring that on us at the last moment kind of sucks.

"By the way, instead of being here from 7:30am to 4:00pm you'll be coming in at 5:30am and leaving at 5:30pm. Starting today. Have a nice Monday!"

I'm used to long days anyways for school, but at least then the day is broken up between work and school. Being here at work, for 12 hours straight, (most of which is spent in a small room, full of heat generating computers, that the boss's boss didn't feel needed to be air conditioned!) is a drag. But after today its over!

And at least we'll be able to put our training to use right away while its all fresh in our heads and... oh wait, that's right, we won't even be using the new system until May.

/sigh

I could go on and on about this, and I might later. I haven't had time to post any of my whinings because I've been busy trying to pay attention. (And when I don't post here I vent to the HB, poor guy, and get it all out of my system). But my mind has finally snapped. It broke the gate and is out wandering in the pasture, eating dandelions. So I might be posting more today. We'll see. Depends on if I run out of dandelions to munch on.

How I've Spent My Friday (So Far)

1. Woke up early (before the alarm! oh the injustice!) so I finished watching the tivo'd episode of Veronica Mars that was so lame it took awhile to watch because I had to watch it in 15 minute chunks of time so that the lameness didn't totally kill me. I used to <3 that show so much, but after the episodes so far this season, and seeing the clips for next week... I just don't think I know who you are any more Veronica. What happened? I thought we were going to be BFF's!!! I'm sorry to say this Veronica, but I think you need to go to Suckiness Therepy. Check yourself into an open 24 hour Suckiness Clinic. Let a doctor check that out for you. Please. Come back to me V!

2. Came to work. And then the inevitable happened. I did some work. I know, I know, but I couldn't help it. I tried to avoid it but I'm going to be in a week long 8hr-a-day training marathon next week so I didn't want my desk to get too messy with reminder notes.

3. Started a game of tag with some girlfriends via email. It didn't last very long, but soon the conversation turned to dodgeball. Which inspired the following brilliant piece of pixel artwork.



And yes, the caption/title needs some work. Something snappier.

4. Decided to eat some leftover pork ribs from a vendor sponsored lunch-apalooza two days ago. Only problem is there's no microwave back here. So I set it on the back end of my monitor. Have you ever felt the back of your computer monitor before? Bitch gets hot back there. But, apparently, not hot enough to heat cold leftovers. After a half hour of warming I moved it to the coffee pot burners. Tried that for about 2 minutes before I got bored - and hungry - and decided to eat it lukewarm. A temperature which lasted for maybe 3 minutes before it turned cold again. Sigh. My ghetto cooking skillz are not up to parr it seems.

5. Played on the internet. And read this post which gave me a huge case of the warm-n-fuzzies. Everyone could use a case or two of those right? Right. So go over to Fauve's site (which is called "... so I stabbed him in the head with a fork", one of the greatest blog title's I've ever seen and the main reason I ventured over there in the first place), read this post, then read her entire catalog of archives (not that many months worth, don't worry), and then read this post again. Instant warm fuzzies! Seriously.

6. [ Insert the rest of the evening here --- which will more than likely include playing video games with The HB and/or going out to dinner at Claim Jumpers. For which I have a $50 dollar gift certificate. Yeehaw! ]

Turns out I won a bunch of money. Oh, and I'm a clone.

First off, let me just say this: it's raining!!!! Yipee!!!!!

Okay. Now that that's out of the way, on with the point of this post.

(That was a bit of subliminal hinting, because there really isn't much of a point, but if I say there is, you'll believe it, right?)

So I get this cute little piece of spam in my college email inbox the other day. I usually ignore the spam, delete the spam, and wish the spam a happy journey when the system gets around to flushing them away, but this time... this time I decided to read the email. You know, just in case I actually did win a million dollars without really trying.

Hey, it could happen.

It's all about believing.

And I, if anything, am a believer.

I couldn't leave her if I tried. Just me and the Monkees.

Wasn't Davy just the dreamiest? *sigh*

Okay, back on point... (*hint hint*)

Turns out, according to the spam friendly award notification, I've won an award. If I didn't figure that out by the subject line ("AWARD NOTIFICATION, FINAL NOTICE"), they made sure I saw it immediately in the body of the email.

FROM: THE DESK OF THE VICE PRESIDENT
MR.PAUL MARK.(ACADEMIC AWARD PROMOTION)
PRIZE AWARD DEPT.

ATTN: WINNER.

RE: AWARD NOTIFICATION, FINAL NOTICE.

We are pleased to inform you, that as a result of our RECENT AWARD PROMOTION DRAWS HELD 2006...

The bolded words were bolded by me. The annoying ALL CAPS is their doing.

So yea me, I won an award! And its worth, get this:

(FIVE HUNDRED THOUSAND US DOLLARS)

I didn't have to fill out a form or write an essay or anything. Best. Contest. EVER!

Their program just randomly selected email addresses:

from all search engines and web sites,from Asia, Australia, NewZealand, Europe, North and South America, Middle East and Africa, as part of our International Promotions Program.

I don't know how my college email address landed in a search engine or a website since I never give it out and only use it to check for school work and campus crime alerts and roommate wanted ads and last quarter's text book sales. Oh, and award spams. Maybe my college email address is listed on the college website somewhere? Hmm... maybe. Or maybe this program of MR.PAUL MARK's is super psychic and knew my email wanted to be out there, running rampant on websites and whatnot, if only it didn't have a boring, unfun, unattentive master who played with her other emails more, neglecting its poor little college email butt.

Good thing MR.PAUL MARK was around to give my email addy a lil' lovin'. Because dude, I won 500 G's!

Woot-asaurus-rex!

I'd also like to give a big shout out to the sponsors of the AWARD. The "eminent personalities like the Sultan of Brunei Igwe of ibo's and oba of yoruba other corporate organizations". Yeah, you peeps know who you are, even though I don't. Though I think Ibo's And Oba sounds like a great folks-y funk rock band name. No?

The next part of the email states the following, and since its freaking all capped again, it must be important for me to take note of:

THIS IS TO IMPROVE THE LEVEL OF EDUCATION WORLDWIDE AND ALSO HELP THE DISABLED IN UNIVERSITIES AND TO ENCOURAGE THE USE OF INTERNET AND COMPUTERS WORLDWIDE.

Is MR.PAUL MARK calling me disabled? No really, I think he is. I think I'm winning this award because the level of my education needs to be improved (which, okay, I guess could be useful) and because I'm disabled and need help (which, uh, ouch!).

And, obviously, I don't spend enough time on the internet. Which is so true. I think $500,000 will help increase my internet time substantially. This MR.PAUL MARK dude really knows how to make a girl's day.

All I have to do to claim my AWARD is contact my claims agent, my "accredited" (read: "we legit, biotches!"), who, I kid you not, is named: Rev (Dr) Martin Johnson. I mean really, can you get any more legit than a Rev (Dr)? Seriously. Can you? Maybe if he had "Former President" in his title. Or "Former Oprah Book of the Month Club Author". Then he'd really sound accredited.

I really want to call the number they list. But not like, from my phone or anything where they can charge a buttload for the call, not that I believe MR.PAUL MARK or the Rev (Dr) Martin Johnson would do anything like that. I'm just cautious. And curious.

After the phone number and the email addresses there's a list of information I need to be able to supply.

1. Name in full
   
2. Address
   
3. Nationality
   
4. Age
   
5. Occupation
   
6. Phone/Fax
   
7. Batch Number
   
8. Serial Number

My eyes flitted over the list quickly, looking for the catch (sorry Paul and Martin, I'm just paranoid like that) and stopped at "Serial Number". A-ha! I thought. That must mean they want my ssn, the bastards! I knew it!

Then my eyes traveled up a bit and saw the phrase "Batch Number". And I thought, What the fuck? Do they think I grew in the lab in a little petri dish? I mean really, I'm not that disabled. Sheesh.

The rest of the email is written in bad grammar and is really hard to understand. But it appears to be mainly legal mumbo jumbo about percentage fees I have to pay out of my winnings because my winnings are currently being insured for some reason or another. That's just swell.

And, upon further inspection of the email, (as I wrote this up, not because I was wondering if I should call the number now or when I get home, really!) I found the batch number and serial number the email was talking about. Darn, guess I'm not a clone after all. Turns out my prize is connected to some batch drawing, with serial numbers and reference numbers and ticket numbers and holy cow could they make that any more complicated? Each number series looks like a swiss bank account security code. Like I can keep all those numbers straight! Pffffft!

Guess I won't be contacting my special accredited claims agent Rev (Dr) Martin Johnson after all. If only they'd made it as easy as winning the damn thing in the first place. Hellooo-ooo, I'm DISABLED, remember?

Bestest Spamage Ever

Now, don't judge me (too much) but I found this in my Inbox and it, quite honestly, made my day.



I mean, how sweet is that!

Awwwwwh.

Memory Flatulencitus

One of the side effects of being tired is forgetfulness.

Sudden and Complete Memory Flatulence.

Translated into street terms: brain farts.

It all started yesterday, this tale of nothingness, as so many tales of nothingness are want to do. Yesterday, my co-workers did not approve of my music selections. I have a pretty eclectic taste so you'd think I'd be able to DJ for the masses. Only problem is, I only have a few songs saved on my computer. And while I keep meaning to bring in a bunch of different CD's... well... that's all still in the "meaning" stage of development.

So the guys didn't like the music I was playing. This was, I must say, quite baffling. How anyone could not approve of tunes from the musical Les Miserables, one of the longest running shows on Broadway, I do not know. The music is powerful. Beautiful. Inspiring. Fun. And shit, if I listen to the whole thing the whole way through I have to keep myself from crying sometimes. There's some deep moving shit in that music!

Anywhoo... as the guys complained, and talk of other musicals came up, Coworker Jack started singing "a spoonful of sugar..." He apparently only knows that one line, as that's all he felt compelled to sing, so I felt it was imperative that I bring in my Mary Poppins soundtrack CD with extreme immediacy. I offered to bring in my Singing In The Rain and Seven Brides For Seven Brothers CD's as well.

Let me tell you, those boys never giggled with so much anticipatory glee.

While I thought of all the soundtracks I could bring in, Mary Poppins was still "tip of the top" priority. Partly to exercise that spoonful song out of my head, but mainly because its just a darn fun CD. So, like I do whenever there's something important for me to remember, I took a pen and wrote myself a note. On the back of my hand. There's no way I can forget to see my hand!

So last night, I see the note, and think, "I should get up, get the CD, and put it in my bag before I forget." This thought was quickly followed up by, "Meh, I'll do it in the morning. I've still got the note on my hand!"

Another side effect of tiredness? Laziness.

But I digress...

So this morning, as I'm getting ready for work in a haze of sleepiness that defies the laws of gravity, I see the note scribbled on the back of my hand. And I think, "Remember CD! Remember CD! Remember CD! Go get it nowwwwww!!!!"

First, I finished tying my shoe.

And then I brain farted.

Pffffffffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttt.... ttt.

I'm at work, with the note still on my hand. But no CD. Waaaah.

Guess its Les Mis time again. :)

When Office Morons Attack

Okay, vent time. I have to vent or I'll explode like some kind of exploding thing and no one is here to hear me. Well, Mr. Desk Neighbor came back to his desk half way through typing this all out, so I vented to him. Several cuss words were used. The back story behind the email conversation, which he was copied on, was explained, and then the email was shown. And he didn't seem effected by the other person's idiocy. He didn't seem shocked. Or dismayed. Or outraged. He didn't join me in burning her name in effigy.

So he's dumb. So I'm finishing my vent via typing.

At my Place Of Employment, the way we buy things is this: someone requests an item by filling out a form on the computer. Sometimes I fill it out for them. Then its approved by a supervisor. Then I turn it into a purchase order (p.o.). Then I place the order. In a perfect world (re: some place other than my P.O.E.) that's how it usually works. I don't do everything (thank god) because we have a checks and balances system going on. I can't approve orders and I can't receive orders. This keeps me from buying a yacht or a jet or a pony with the company's money. Darn.

(Off topic a bit... but what kind of dumb ass spelling is 'yacht' anyways. Silly ancient English (or whoever invented that word) people.)

So I get an email this morning from the lady that pays the bills. She has an invoice for something that was ordered outside of the system, so now we need to backtrack and create a p.o. for our records. Happens all the time.

From: Office Queen
Lisa, please issue po for this attached file. thanks

The attached file was a copy of the invoice with an amount scribbled up at the top. The amount didn't seem to match what's listed on the invoice, so I called her up for clarification. Turns out I'm an idiot and didn't see that the attached file had several pages. Oops. But during this phone call she asks if I've received the packing slips for the items on the invoice.

Now, I receive some receipts because some items do get charged to my account (which is how, I guess, I really could buy myself a pony... and then ride it as I flee the country so they can't find me and ask me about the weird Ponies-R-Us charge to my corporate card). But more often than not, the receipts go to the Office Queen. So I am puzzled by her question. Why in the world would I have them? I tell her I don't have them and she mumbles something about nagging the person who did the ordering in the first place. Cool. Fine. Talk to you later.

By the time I get back to the req in the computer to update the price, its already been approved. Sweet. So I adjust the price (ya, not a perfect checks and balances system) then do my thing, a little computer magic, and voila! It's now a purchase order! Then, like I do every time we have an After The Fact p.o., I send an email to the guy who receives, asking him to please receive the items so we can pay the bills, and I copy the Office Queen so she's all updated and stuff.

I get back the following email reply...

From: Office Queen
Lisa, I thought need to be approve first ?

(Yes, I copy and pasted that. No editing whatsoever was involved.)

I first thought to reply as such: Well, duh, how else did I get a p.o. number? I didn't exactly pull it out of my ass.

But I responded like this instead...

From: Desk Drone
It was approved. That's how I was able to make it into a PO.

And I'm thinking that settles that.

From: Office Queen
Do you have all the receipts to support that amount I gave you ?

I first thought to reply as such: Huh??? I just told you over the phone I didn't have the receipts!!! Are you mental?!?!?!?!?

My response, though, was this:

From: Desk Drone
I have not received any of those receipts. If I did, I would have given them to you

Do I sound catty in my replies? I really tried not to be. I tried to sound simple and direct. Just stating the facts ma'am. But in my head it sounds catty.

Meorrrrrrrrw.

Then the Office Queen calls me and we have the following verbal conversation:

OQ: So-and-so was going to give them to you.
Me: Why would he give me the receipts?
OQ: Who else would he give them to?
Me: Youuuuu. (I really tried to not use my Talking-To-A-5-Year-Old-Voice but she frustrates me and I just couldn't help myself.) You're the one who collects them.
OQ: Who made the req?
Me: I did... (Which has NOTHING to do with anything!) ...but you're the one who pays the invoices. You need them. I only collect receipts for orders I put on my card. Riiiiiiight?
OQ: Yeah, but person who's going to receive them needs to have them.
Me: *thinking: oh... my... gawd... *
Me: Then the receipts need to go to The Guy Who Receives Things. Because he's receiving the order. Not me.
Me: And two plus two equals foooouuuuuuuur. (no, I didn't say that)
OQ: Okay. (To the guy standing next to her) Give them to The Guy Who Recieves Things then.
Me: Okay bye.

Holy frustration batman. That conversation didn't need to happen. This is not the first time an issue like this has come up. We've been doing this job for years. This is not a new concept!

Grrrrrrrrrr.

Then the conversation turns to emails again.

From: Office Queen
Let me ask you what is the approval amount on the req. ?

Okay, again, I'm confused. I don't understand what this has to do with the price of tea in Malawi. The price is what we discussed during our first phone conversation of the day. The number scribbled at the top. You clarified it for me. I got it. Clarification received and fixed so look at the damn computer yourself and figure it the frell out.

I'm tempted to ignore the email, but I respond, and try and sound helpful and professional.

From: Desk Drone
Approval amount is for the number written at the top of the invoice, $127.88

Ta da! Perfection.

Problem solved.

Question asked and answered.

From: Office Queen
My question was the approval amount on the req not the amount I gave you. Its ok I will bring this up tomorrow in our meeting.

I first thought to reply as such: Fuck you.

But I didn't.

I mean really! Is this woman on crack? Or is it me? Because if its me I wish someone would let me know.

I have no idea why she wants to know the "approval amount". Why would that be any different than the amount the P.O. is for? Answer: it wouldn't. The price is the same. It doesn't suddenly get multipled 50 times during the conversion to the P.O. (though with the crappy software program we have I'm surprised that hasn't happened before, but I digress...) Besides, the "approval amount" doesn't matter to her. What matters to her is the final price received on the purchase order. Which is the price she told me to use. END OF PROBLEM!

Did she by any chance see that I put in a low amount at first? That happens all the time. Its no big deal. I just adjusted it. Is she worried that the supervisor didn't see the correct price? He couldn't give a shit and she knows that. I know that, because the supervisor is my boss. If she's worried, I'll forward the freaking email to him.

I am completely failing to see the point of any of her questions, other than irritating the hell out of me.

But I shouldn't worry, because thankfully she'll bring it up at tomorrow's meeting in front of everyone.

Yippee.

I tried to call her back, because I was so ready to have a verbal sparring match with her. But she wasn't picking up the phone. Which is best, I guess, because trying to understand her and make sense of what she's complaining about isn't always in a person's best interest.

If none of this makes any sense, and it seems I'm all worked up over nothing... well, all I can say is that there's a lot of history here, of her irritating the hell out of me. So irriation levels can be reached quite easily as of late. She's the kind of person who will send me an email asking me to ask The Guy Who Receives Things to receive something for her. Why she can't frelling ask him directly I have no frackin clue. So I forward the request to The Guy and copy her on it, hoping one day she'll get a clue.

I'm still full of hope. She's still full of cluelessness.