The bloodmobile came by our office to collect blood.
“We’re running lower than normal this month,” said a volunteer.
Instead of laying down on the cots, we formed a mob and marched to the local blood bank.
“Oh crap!” shouted the staff there. “It’s a blood bank run!”
They barred the doors, took to the roof, and tried to drive us off by pelting us with bottles of orange juice and cookies.
But we’d come armed with trash can lids, and deflected the projectiles.
VROOM!
Oh no! I’d forgotten about the bloodmobile!
Bodies flew as it careened through our ranks.
Tag: work
Tunnels
The Downtown Tunnel system under Houston is full of stores, restaurants, barber shops, and places to get your errands done during lunch without having to go out in the rain.
It’s also handy for getting to the garage you parked at without getting harassed by homeless people.
Most people walking around the tunnels are business people, wearing suits or casual, or security guards. But now and then, you spot a beggar or bum.
I sit down at a table outside a restaurant and count.
One.
Two.
Three.
A guard walks up, guides the bum to a stairwell.
A new record.
Arby’s
When I was growing up, I loved the Beef And Cheddars at Arby’s, but after a few bad experiences, I haven’t been back in a very long time.
Everybody I ask says the same thing.
They used to go to Arby’s, but they don’t anymore.
“How do they stay open?” someone asks.
So, we checked the web for a store near to our office and drove there for lunch.
There was nobody in there.
We looked around, shouted HELLO, but nobody answered.
That’s when I noticed the crate with Russian stenciled on it.
And a folder full of invasion plans.
Stags Of The Star
Human Resources warned us: “Chris isn’t feeling well.”
Instead of his usual attire, Chris came into the office wearing a loincloth and feathered headdress, and he tapped my desk with a golden scepter.
“KNEEL BEFORE CHRISOCOATL!” he boomed.
I figured what the heck, so I kneeled.
“ARE YOU VENTURING TO THE STAGS OF THE STAR?”
Stags Of The Star? Stags…
Starbucks?
“I will journey forth and bring back plenty,” I said.
By the time I got back with everybody’s coffee order, he’d torn the heart out of the receptionist.
I took five bucks from her purse to cover her double-latte.
Who watches?
Who watches the watchmen?
I do. I’m their supervisor.
I keep track of them with this computer. It tells me when they tap their badge against the checkpoints in the bank headquarters.
But it’s not like we do much good walking around. The cleaning crew steals stuff all the time, putting it in their carts.
And employees walk out with thumb drives full of sensitive data.
Oh, and those million-dollar bonuses executives paid themselves after the bailout? The biggest theft of all.
The biggest crimes happen in broad daylight, while my team just walks around an empty building at night.
Outage
“My website is down!” shouts the voice on the phone. “I’m losing hundreds of dollars a minute in business!”
“What is your website?” the technician asks.
“Hold on. Lemme look it up.”
The customer spells the website wrong twice, and yells some more.
The technician types it in, and it comes up.
So, he has the customer try to bring it up.
“I can’t!” he shouts.
“Can you go to CNN?”
“Sure, hold on… and… nope! Can’t get Fox either. None of the channels. My cable’s out.”
The technician mutes his phone, mutters “fuck you” softly, and sips his coffee.
They Paved Paradise
The Trinity Church was torn down ten years ago. After years of serving Downtown, the commuters went to their suburban home churches while the pews collected up the homeless and drug addicts, who stripped the place bare to sell for more drugs and booze.
The church’s parking lot is still there, though, as a private contract lot, and it’s always full. There’s even a car washing valet and a mechanic for doing oil changes and other simple little maintenance tasks.
And the old priest, who walks from row to row during the day, blessing the cars, wishing them safe travels.
At your expense
According to the company’s expense report policy, alcohol may not be expensed unless a Vice President or above is present at the event and approves of the expense.
This makes for a very difficult situation if the Vice President is giving you such a hard time at the event that you are driven to crawl away and drink yourself stupid. Because the next morning, when you sober up in a pile of empty bottles, it’s going to be difficult to get approval for the expense.
And that’s assuming you wake up with receipts in your pockets, let alone your pants.
Measurement
I worked for a television station when the Internet took off.
I demonstrated streaming video to a salesperson, and then showed them the statistics file.
The salesperson recoiled in horror, like a vampire faced with a cross made out of garlic.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“The exact figures?” they asked. “No corrections?”
“Exact,” I said. “Just like Nielsen numbers.”
“But Nielsen corrects those numbers,” she said.
“Corrects?” I asked.
“Fudges,” she admitted. “If the advertisers knew the real numbers, they’d freak out.”
“So did you. Why do we use them if they’re wrong?”
“Because they’re the wrong we agree on.”
Turnover
Most companies have an employee turnover rate of a few percent.
Bad companies to work for have higher turnover.
But our company, Replication Incorporated, has a turnover rate of over one hundred percent.
That’s right. More people left than worked for the company to begin with.
Government regulators are always confused by that number, but it’s easy to explain: we duplicate humans, and our staff are required to act as test subjects.
Every now and then, a duplication procedure goes awry, and the employee and all their duplicates leave.
Which is good, I suppose. Makes the bathrooms easier to clean.