08 August 2005

Taking one's leave.

The abominable Russell Allen brings up an insidious employment application question: “What three-word phrase describes you?”

The usual suspects came up with some excellent suggestions for those applicants wishing to remain gainfully unemployed (“Man with gun” and “Off my meds” respectively).

Truly brilliant, but unemployment benefits eventually expire, forcing one back into slavery to the Man. It takes special effort to wrangle unearned paid leave in these circumstances. Consider the scene last week.

My manager walked in while I was in full protective gear; lab coat, goggles and gloves. I was “struggling” to open a can of di-ethyl ether.

“Hey massa, give us a hand would you?” He took the can, opened it with contemptuous ease and handed it back.

“Ta” I said. “Um, have you given any thought as to who you are going to send to COMDEX this year?”

“Well, it’s certainly not going to be you” He replied. “You spent our annual research budget on hookers, gambling and booze the last time you went.” He rudely spun about and left me alone with the ether can.

Wouldn’t you know it, but someone violated safety protocols be leaving a very similar can in the lab, with the cap off. The fumes were so strong that anyone wandering into the area would be overcome in a matter of minutes. I even splashed some outside the door to make the smell noticeable to everyone in the building.

We were clean out of woad, but a blue whiteboard marker will work in a pinch. Armed with a table cloth for a kilt and an outrageous brogue, I burst out of the development lab.

“Ye can kill oos, be ye can’t take away oor free donuts!” I shouted.

“Hey Evil, nice skirt!” Chortled one of my cow-workers.

“It’s a kilt, ye pillock!” I spat back.

“Are you regimental?” Asked another. Well, do you think they’d take my word for it? I showed them all as I worked my way through the office area towards the boss pens.

There is a pillar outside of the manager’s office door. I decided to give him a free pole dance.

“I don’ wan any boody else,” I crooned; “When I think aboocha, I tooch meself!”

Rage and nausea battled for supremacy of his complexion. “STOP THAT!” He howled.

“S’cuse me, I’ve got teh straighten me sporran!” I put me hans doon me kilt (it’s hard to stop broguing, once one starts) and let the table cloth slip away. Apoplexy reinforced rage and together they swept the forces of nausea from the field.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!” He bellowed.

I graciously acquiesced.

When I returned the next day, the boss met me with a self-satisfied glower.

“There’s going to be an accounting for yesterday’s outrageous behavior. I’m sending a full incident report to corporate HQ.” He grinned, showing of his crocodilian dental work.

“That’s GREAT!” I replied enthusiastically. “The police lifted the miscreant’s prints from the ether can. They were all over it! All we need to do now is to take everyone’s finger prints and we’ve got our soon-to-be ex employee!”

I spent the next five seconds watching the penny drop. It was rather like a pachinko ball.

Chinka-tink-chig-tinak-tink-KA-CHUNNNGKA-KANG-KA-KA-KA! Ah, a multi ball pay-off.

Realization and sick dread filled his eyes. “You didn’t….”

“Oh sure. I droped it off on the way home. Amazing, isn’t it? Even though I was high, (due to the criminal negligence of others, mind you), I had the clarity of thought to realize that if a report was filed there would be an OSHA audit, and we’d need to determine the culprit.”

I let the uncomfortable silence last until I could hear the sweat dripping from his forehead.

“Oh, by the way, have you given any thought as to who you are going to send to COMDEX this year?” I purred.

I luuurve my job.

Update! Apparently it wasn't Tony that said it, but some other fellow that happens to be smarter and better looking. I would be happy to give that person credit, but that would require me to actually do some work, and actually look it up. So, as far as the link is concerned, Tony still said it.


And that's the way I likes it.