Wednesday, June 16, 2004

Job Description

Here's a story from the crappy old job, now that I don't work there anymore:

One morning I came easing in to work and I had a voicemail. I checked it.

Now, at the crappy old job the department fax machine was in my office. I chose to ignore it. If I started paying attention to it I would end up as Fax Boy, and I didn't want that. So it sat on the other side of my desk all day, beeping and booping and ringing and spitting out paper. I paid it no mind except for the rare occasions when I needed to send a fax. Then, if I found that it needed paper or toner, I would tend to it. The rest of the time I forgot about it.

So I've got this voice mail, right? So I check it.

It's from the head of the department, and he's basically ripping my a fresh new asshole over acting like I'm too good to check the fax machine.

"No one is above anything in this department! If you have a problem with this, let me know, and I'll add taking care of the fax machine to your job description!"

Two notes on that:


  1. I doubt this man would know how to send a fax if it was that or take a knife in the gut. I certainly never saw him near the fax machine.
  2. Changing a job description at the crappy old job was a Sisyphean task. He would have done it, though, just so it was clear who worked for who.


At that point I already knew I desperately needed a new job. That just sort of underlined the whole thing. The next week I gave notice. I was tempted to let the entire text of my resignation letter me

GUESS YOU CAN CHECK ON YOUR OWN FAX MACHINE NOW, MOTHERFUCKER.

But that would have been wrong.

So the new job seems fine, so far. Certainly more of the kind of thing I'm used to, anyway. The people are nice. The work is agreeable. I have no idea where the fax machine is.

We went to Memphis this weekend. John made his first trip to the Rendezvous Friday night and Saturday we went to a swank outdoor wedding on the river.

Very little to report right now. But everything's fine, I assure you.

2 Comments:

Blogger eyemkent said...

Old boss stories. There's simply no end to them...

One of my favorites involved proof-reading a fitness education manual, whose author, a certain doctor who could squat almost three times his weight, wrote correcting my correction: "It's spelled calfs, not calves."

I printed it in 120p Helvetica Black and hung it on my cubicle wall.

Glad to hear you and yours are doing well...

6/16/2004 7:22 PM  
Blogger Harold said...

And oh man, this guy wasn't even the one who gave me problems. I rarely talked to this guy. The doctor I actually worked for...damn. Not a day went by that I didn't consider punching him in the face.

And it wasn't the work - the work was fine. If I could have done the work without dealing with the people I'd still be there. I guess it was the attitudes and personalities.

And my monstrous ego.

6/18/2004 11:10 AM  

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