The sixty-year old spoiled child

Ted E. is having a sulk. There's been a part of his job he spontaneously stopped doing several weeks ago because he didn't see the point. The Stress Fiend tried explaining several times that there was a point, because it saved her interrupting the flow of her work further down the line when she had to go look up the information Ted E. had decided he didn't feel like including when he was doing related work in that system.

Ted E., naturally, didn't consider this relevant and ignored her.

The Stress Fiend has been more strident about this in the last week or two and finally mentioned it to The Invertebrate, who's recently been growing more aware of Ted E .'s shiftless ways.  This morning, he got Ted E. to walk him through what Ted E. actually did, including why it wasn't worth him doing this bit of his job that he'd dropped without bothering to tell anyone.

Like a lot of Ted's "labour-saving" exercises, it collapsed pretty much immediately upon examination because the only person it makes less work for is himself, while adding to others' workload exponentially as they try to work around it. He tried to bargain his way out of having to do it by showing The Invertebrate examples of the kind of entries he didn't think were necessary, and got progressively more ill-tempered as The Invertebrate (who, on current trends, is probably in line for a name change) pointed out why it was necessary to spend 30 seconds updating those records.

"But that will take me three hours! I've got hundreds to do!" complains Ted, gearing up for a tirade before realising that:

1. someone might point out he only has hundreds because he hasn't been doing them at all; and
2. he's just started to complain about the injustice of being asked to do the job he's paid for.

But dignified withdrawals are apparently for lesser men.

"Fine, then, I"ll just do them all, shall I?"