Ted E. is taking a week off. I'm always amused by the fact we pay him more to not be here than we do to have him in the office but, as that also applies to me, it's not something I can read a lot into. At the team meeting he was asked what he had that we'd need to look after while he was away. He outlines two tasks, one of which we all do (his idea of performing this same task is to look for work he thinks other people should be doing, or find things to blame people for - so no-one really considers this part of Ted's job worth worrying about) and the other takes only 10-20 minutes, although he likes to make out that it's a constant stream of work that keeps him busy all day ... not that these two things are mutually exclusive.
I think The Invertebrate's surprise must have registered, because Ted scrambled for other things. Perhaps unwisely, he latched onto a once-a-month process he guards jealously because it makes him sound like he knows what he's doing.
"Nah, mate, that's okay," The Invertebrate assures him, "the Stress Fiend and I have already talked about that and she'll take care of that."
The Stress Fiend nods, happy to stick the knife in. "It should only take me half an hour. An hour at most."
(I must admit, I've been looking forward to this team meeting for precisely this reason: it's a legitimate opportunity to make Ted E. tell the entire team how little he actually does, and how little most of it matters).
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