It's a week with a Monday in it, and in accordance with ancient tradition the Stress Fiend called in sick on Monday, citing a bad experience with seafood. Then she called in sick on Tuesday, prompting our admin assistant to comment "You'd think she'd have learnt to leave the prawns alone after the first night."
(Sadly, knowing the way the Stress Fiend works, I could all too easily imagine her doing exactly that: "Stupid seafood, making me violently ill! I'll show it who's in charge here! I'LL EAT IT ALL!")
Today she's finally back. It's possible (if unlikely) she did the same maths as me and realised that as of yesterday she'd achieved an impressive absenteeism rate of 20% for the year so far, but more than likely it's because a third day off would have required a medical certificate.
My cynicism is running a bit high at the moment, so it's possible she was still genuinely under the weather when she shuffled in late this morning, speaking softly and wearily. If that's the case, though, then there may be a therapeutic use for Stress Fiend Bile, as once she started raging at client emails and service desk jobs all traces of illness and frailty just fell away.
(Of course so did reason and sanity, but any new treatment has some inevitable side effects).
22 February, 2012
15 February, 2012
Beyond collateral damage
The Stress Fiend is once again sitting on requests out of spite. Except, and this is the bit that's likely to come back and bite her, she's holding things up to spite the technician handling the job and the actual client simply has the misfortune to be collateral damage without even the flimsiest pretext of justification.
Unless, that is, you count the fact the tech has asked her a perfectly reasonable question that she doesn't know the answer to, in which case it's clearly his fault.
Unless, that is, you count the fact the tech has asked her a perfectly reasonable question that she doesn't know the answer to, in which case it's clearly his fault.
08 February, 2012
Willful stupidity
"I know there are better ways of sharing this information than in elaborately hand-crafted HTML files that need to be constantly and painstakingly updated, but this is the only way I get to practice my web skills."
I really don't know what's worse: thinking the Stress Fiend works the way she does because she's incapable of coping with change, or knowing that she deliberately chooses the path of most resistance because it satisfies some obscure personal impulse.
I really don't know what's worse: thinking the Stress Fiend works the way she does because she's incapable of coping with change, or knowing that she deliberately chooses the path of most resistance because it satisfies some obscure personal impulse.
06 February, 2012
Filling the vacant clown shoes
It's a Monday, and that can only mean one thing: another long weekend for the Stress Fiend! Presumably she just couldn't wait until this Friday, which she's already applied to have off. Although, to be fair, it's been a whole three weeks since her last Monday off, and before that it was a full week and a half since she decided to spontaneously extend her weekend by two days. And we haven't had a public holiday in, oh, nearly a fortnight, so I can certainly see how the poor dear might be feeling a bit overwrought and in need of a break again.
In other news, though, we're finally advertising externally for someone to fill Ted E.'s position after many bumblingly inept and inevitably doomed attempts to fill it internally. Of course it's also been advertised in typically over-blown and excessively-detailed fashion, so no-one's actually going to want to apply for a job that (apparently) demands so much and pays so little, so whether anyone actually applies for it remains to be seen.
No sooner had the ad been placed, however, than the Stress Fiend began fretting about the kind of person who might apply.
"What if we get someone useless?"
"More useless than Ted or La Mondaine?" Politeness dictates I not remind her that La Mondaine was all her fault. "The bar's been set pretty low. If they're capable of stringing a coherent application together in the first place, that already puts them well ahead of what we've had in the past."
"What if - and I know I'm being silly here - but what if..." and suddenly we reach the real source of her fear "What if they're better than me?"
And this isn't an unreasonable fear. It's why the Stress Fiend likes to operate in secrecy, and to obscure her tracks with crazed and arbitrary work practices. It's also why, a couple of years ago, the Stress Fiend allied herself with Ted against me and the one efficient, useful team member we've ever had - they were a threat, because not only could they do the Stress Fiend's job more effectively in half the time, they could see exactly what she was up to.
Fortunately for the Stress Fiend, the Invertebrate has already caved into her anxieties and allowed her to be on the selection panel, giving her ample opportunity to ensure we add yet another mutant to the organisational gene pool.
Yay.
In other news, though, we're finally advertising externally for someone to fill Ted E.'s position after many bumblingly inept and inevitably doomed attempts to fill it internally. Of course it's also been advertised in typically over-blown and excessively-detailed fashion, so no-one's actually going to want to apply for a job that (apparently) demands so much and pays so little, so whether anyone actually applies for it remains to be seen.
No sooner had the ad been placed, however, than the Stress Fiend began fretting about the kind of person who might apply.
"What if we get someone useless?"
"More useless than Ted or La Mondaine?" Politeness dictates I not remind her that La Mondaine was all her fault. "The bar's been set pretty low. If they're capable of stringing a coherent application together in the first place, that already puts them well ahead of what we've had in the past."
"What if - and I know I'm being silly here - but what if..." and suddenly we reach the real source of her fear "What if they're better than me?"
And this isn't an unreasonable fear. It's why the Stress Fiend likes to operate in secrecy, and to obscure her tracks with crazed and arbitrary work practices. It's also why, a couple of years ago, the Stress Fiend allied herself with Ted against me and the one efficient, useful team member we've ever had - they were a threat, because not only could they do the Stress Fiend's job more effectively in half the time, they could see exactly what she was up to.
Fortunately for the Stress Fiend, the Invertebrate has already caved into her anxieties and allowed her to be on the selection panel, giving her ample opportunity to ensure we add yet another mutant to the organisational gene pool.
Yay.
02 February, 2012
Living in a different reality
The Stress Fiend has barely stopped talking for the last two hours.
The disturbing thing about this is that only about fifteen minutes of that time has actually been spent talking to another person, and ten of those were spent torturing me by telling all about the show she watched last night about people who believe in government conspiracies about aliens. All the rest, or at least the parts I've been unable to tune out, have been spent arguing with emails (which would almost make a bit of sense if she had some kind dictation software installed, but she doesn't), muttering angrily and inarticulately in response to largely unseen stimuli, and occasionally cackling vindictively and swearing vengeance on unidentified clients or workmates. Sometimes she'll repeat information to herself in a strange, sing-song voice as she works.
In an earlier age, she'd have been burnt as a witch or chained to the walls of a madhouse.
This isn't really that unusual, I suppose, but my Stress Fiend Tolerance Threshold seems to have been a bit low lately.
The disturbing thing about this is that only about fifteen minutes of that time has actually been spent talking to another person, and ten of those were spent torturing me by telling all about the show she watched last night about people who believe in government conspiracies about aliens. All the rest, or at least the parts I've been unable to tune out, have been spent arguing with emails (which would almost make a bit of sense if she had some kind dictation software installed, but she doesn't), muttering angrily and inarticulately in response to largely unseen stimuli, and occasionally cackling vindictively and swearing vengeance on unidentified clients or workmates. Sometimes she'll repeat information to herself in a strange, sing-song voice as she works.
In an earlier age, she'd have been burnt as a witch or chained to the walls of a madhouse.
This isn't really that unusual, I suppose, but my Stress Fiend Tolerance Threshold seems to have been a bit low lately.
18 January, 2012
The Stress Fiend Code
What she says: "Oh, yes, that's a trap for young players."
(One of her most often-used and annoying stock phrases, incidentally.)
What she means: "Oh, yes, that's something else I don't document and don't pass on to the people who actually need to know it in order to do their job."
(One of her most often-used and annoying stock phrases, incidentally.)
What she means: "Oh, yes, that's something else I don't document and don't pass on to the people who actually need to know it in order to do their job."
17 January, 2012
Self-awareness: too much to hope for.
The Stress Fiend, in between arguing with the talk-back radio she's listening to on her headphones, erupts with a fresh round of invective.
"Why do we have such f***ing stupid people working here?" she demands, before getting down to the serious business of troubleshooting software she doesn't understand on a computer she doesn't really know how to use when at best she'll only duplicate the client's problem. Instead of, for instance, redirecting the issue to the vendor's technical support as she stridently demands everyone do rather than ask us to fix it for them.
Why do we have such f***ing stupid people working here?
Why indeed...
"Why do we have such f***ing stupid people working here?" she demands, before getting down to the serious business of troubleshooting software she doesn't understand on a computer she doesn't really know how to use when at best she'll only duplicate the client's problem. Instead of, for instance, redirecting the issue to the vendor's technical support as she stridently demands everyone do rather than ask us to fix it for them.
Why do we have such f***ing stupid people working here?
Why indeed...
06 January, 2012
Filthy techs
One of the roaming techs has been cleaning up their workspace and comes trundling past us with a trolley full of "borrowed" goods that he's returning to their rightful owners. All he has for us is a CD, however:
"You guys got any tissues? I've had this in my mouth. How about some disinfectant, too? Oh, and maybe some hand sanitiser?"
I really don't want this disc back anymore.
"You guys got any tissues? I've had this in my mouth. How about some disinfectant, too? Oh, and maybe some hand sanitiser?"
I really don't want this disc back anymore.
03 January, 2012
2012: starting as they mean to continue
The Stress Fiend celebrates the start of a new year at work by sending a cheery email at the last minute to announce she's decided to have an extra day off and isn't coming back yet. It only came as half a surprise, though - I was expecting her to call in sick, seeing as it's a virtual Monday.
I've no idea if she cleared this with The Invertebrate or not, because he's in the middle of a month off. I have a job offer on the table at the moment, so their sense of timing is making the decision a little less complicated than it might otherwise be.
I've no idea if she cleared this with The Invertebrate or not, because he's in the middle of a month off. I have a job offer on the table at the moment, so their sense of timing is making the decision a little less complicated than it might otherwise be.
19 December, 2011
Santa Claus: not the only gentleman in red keeping lists
A couple of weeks ago I almost posted a mildly celebratory entry when it looked there was going to be no more La Mondaine for the the rest of the year and, possibly, at all. Luckily (remembering that there are many kinds of luck, and "good" is only one of them) I've worked here long enough to know better than to celebrate prematurely.
So when The Invertebrate asked last week (before going away for a month) whether we needed La Mondaine for anything before shutting down over Christmas, I wasn't completely surprised when the Stress Fiend claimed that yes, we did: there was stuff we absolutely had to have her back to do. For just one day. Apparently the Stress Fiend doesn't feel we're screwing up enough things by ourselves which, honestly, comes as a surprise to me given how many times in just the last week the Stress Fiend announced she'd fouled up the primary database by doing something inexplicable.
(I was less surprised that it was the same inexplicable thing every time. Rather than actually fix the mistake once she'd identified it, the Stress Fiend would exclaim loudly at the discovery, worry at it for a while until she accepted that it was, in fact, her fault ... and then forget about it until she'd try to run exactly the same process again a few hours later and encounter exactly the same problem.)
So, La Mondaine is back today. And, predictably, the Stress Fiend has called in sick, pleading a migraine. Probably because she spent the entire weekend working herself into one at the thought of having to deal with La Mondaine today.
This place really is a very special kind of Hell sometimes.
So when The Invertebrate asked last week (before going away for a month) whether we needed La Mondaine for anything before shutting down over Christmas, I wasn't completely surprised when the Stress Fiend claimed that yes, we did: there was stuff we absolutely had to have her back to do. For just one day. Apparently the Stress Fiend doesn't feel we're screwing up enough things by ourselves which, honestly, comes as a surprise to me given how many times in just the last week the Stress Fiend announced she'd fouled up the primary database by doing something inexplicable.
(I was less surprised that it was the same inexplicable thing every time. Rather than actually fix the mistake once she'd identified it, the Stress Fiend would exclaim loudly at the discovery, worry at it for a while until she accepted that it was, in fact, her fault ... and then forget about it until she'd try to run exactly the same process again a few hours later and encounter exactly the same problem.)
So, La Mondaine is back today. And, predictably, the Stress Fiend has called in sick, pleading a migraine. Probably because she spent the entire weekend working herself into one at the thought of having to deal with La Mondaine today.
This place really is a very special kind of Hell sometimes.
15 December, 2011
Freudian slips
It's telling that when the Stress Fiend begins working herself up to start a pointless fight about something, what she means to say is:
But what actually comes out of her mouth is:
"I'm going to stir things up right now!"
But what actually comes out of her mouth is:
"I'm going to muddy the waters right now!"Guess which one turns out to be the more reliable forecast?
28 November, 2011
Migration
The long, cruel and gibberingly-insane reign of Lotus Notes is finally drawing to a close here, and we're all slowly being migrated to the new Web Mail That Must Not Be Named. Or at least that's how I like to think of it: the decision was made several months ago, was one of the worst-kept secrets since I started working here, and yet no-one in middle management was allowed to actually speak the words aloud until the Grand Announcement ... which took a surprisingly long time to happen.
Anyway. No more Notes. Cause for rejoicing, you'd think, except for one thing: it's change.
Because we live an age of Staff Enablement (or, as it's colloquially known "Fix it yourself") parts of the actual migration between systems have been left to the end-users to do, following a series of slightly cryptic and mildly self-contradictory instructions emailed to those whose time has come. I'll admit I was a little bit cowboyish when my turn came, stopping just short of whooping triumphantly as I hit the 'Migrate Now' button, but the whole concept of a pre-migration checklist is based on the assumption you actually care whether the process succeeds and, well... *
Then it was the Stress Fiend's turn. I'd glanced at the instructions and decided I could happily ignore them. She scowled at them, but didn't actually attempt to digest what they said, and ranted at them instead. The results were predictable.
First she tried to log in before her migration was even being processed, and ranted angrily over her inability to log in. Clearly the whole system had failed, and was a monumental waste of resources. After several more attempts to log in before her new account even existed (including myriad combinations of usernames and passwords, rather than the one specific one she was told would work when the system was ready for her), she finally succeeded. But she's only just getting warmed up:
"I don't like this business about 'Stay signed in'."
"So don't stay signed in?"
"CHANGE! NEW THINGS! HATERAGEKILLARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!"
The initial ragefrenzy passes. She logs out, and then somehow is unable to log back in again.
I check the "What To Do If You Can't Sign In" email we were sent as an afterthought.
"Have you shut Firefox down and then started it again?"
"Yes! Of course I have. Heaps of time."
Then something seems to occur to her and she sounds almost like she's prepared to admit having made a mistake.
"Errr... so I have shut it down heaps of times but, ah, do you think it means just the window where I'm trying to log in, or all the other Firefox windows I've got open at the same time?"
"I think you'd want to shut all of them down."
"Oh..." The sound of several hasty mouse-clicks follows. "Well, it's a good thing I did that, too. Oh look! Suddenly it's decided to work! Typical. Now it's time for me to go home."
[pause]
"Arrrgghhh! How do you sign out of this stupid thing? Why did they have to pick such a useless, stupid, bloody wossname? What the hell were they ... oh. I click on where it says 'Sign Out'..."
* I've also been conscientious about managing important information correctly and not using my email as a document storage system, so there really isn't anything in there that's essential or irreplaceable. So, you know, I could legitimately not care if it didn't work.
Anyway. No more Notes. Cause for rejoicing, you'd think, except for one thing: it's change.
Because we live an age of Staff Enablement (or, as it's colloquially known "Fix it yourself") parts of the actual migration between systems have been left to the end-users to do, following a series of slightly cryptic and mildly self-contradictory instructions emailed to those whose time has come. I'll admit I was a little bit cowboyish when my turn came, stopping just short of whooping triumphantly as I hit the 'Migrate Now' button, but the whole concept of a pre-migration checklist is based on the assumption you actually care whether the process succeeds and, well... *
Then it was the Stress Fiend's turn. I'd glanced at the instructions and decided I could happily ignore them. She scowled at them, but didn't actually attempt to digest what they said, and ranted at them instead. The results were predictable.
First she tried to log in before her migration was even being processed, and ranted angrily over her inability to log in. Clearly the whole system had failed, and was a monumental waste of resources. After several more attempts to log in before her new account even existed (including myriad combinations of usernames and passwords, rather than the one specific one she was told would work when the system was ready for her), she finally succeeded. But she's only just getting warmed up:
"I don't like this business about 'Stay signed in'."
"So don't stay signed in?"
"CHANGE! NEW THINGS! HATERAGEKILLARRRRGGGHHHH!!!!!"
The initial ragefrenzy passes. She logs out, and then somehow is unable to log back in again.
I check the "What To Do If You Can't Sign In" email we were sent as an afterthought.
"Have you shut Firefox down and then started it again?"
"Yes! Of course I have. Heaps of time."
Then something seems to occur to her and she sounds almost like she's prepared to admit having made a mistake.
"Errr... so I have shut it down heaps of times but, ah, do you think it means just the window where I'm trying to log in, or all the other Firefox windows I've got open at the same time?"
"I think you'd want to shut all of them down."
"Oh..." The sound of several hasty mouse-clicks follows. "Well, it's a good thing I did that, too. Oh look! Suddenly it's decided to work! Typical. Now it's time for me to go home."
[pause]
"Arrrgghhh! How do you sign out of this stupid thing? Why did they have to pick such a useless, stupid, bloody wossname? What the hell were they ... oh. I click on where it says 'Sign Out'..."
* I've also been conscientious about managing important information correctly and not using my email as a document storage system, so there really isn't anything in there that's essential or irreplaceable. So, you know, I could legitimately not care if it didn't work.
25 November, 2011
An allegory in green
We recently changed from a supplier we'd been using for several years, which means someone else will be getting a million dollars or so over the duration of the next supply contract.
A week later, with Christmas starting to loom Putin-like over the horizon, suppliers are dredging through their databases, pulling out our contact details and sending us token gifts to remind us of their existence, and that we're still valued clients. In the past some of these gifts have included perishable items eight months past their use-by date and heavily-trodden boxes of chocolate, so it's not without a sense of amused cynicism that we look forward to this time of year.
A gift from our unsuccessful suppliers arrived: an extravagant serving of toffee-like confectionery wrapped in a range of seasonally-coloured foil. La Mondaine and The Invertebrate pounced on them immediately declared all of the colours except red to be inedible, and then proceeded to try to eat the rest anyway (declaring the green ones to be the worst).
Now ... what follows really tells you everything you need to know about my team-mates.
The Stress Fiend returned to work a day or so later and joined them, although in her typical spirit of contrariness she declared that The Invertebrate didn't know what he was talking about and the green ones were fine - as she then demonstrated by munching down as many of them as she could until reality struck and she realised that, in fact he was entirely correct. Which amused me, at least.
The Invertebrate then decided that the best way to deal with the green ones was to keep eating them and them alone until he became desensitised to them. This wasn't a great success, so he tried to eat a green one and another colour at the same time to see if he could cancel out the taste. Keep in mind that none of the flavours were actually pleasant to eat - the green ones were simply the worst of a very mediocre selection.
Over the next two days, the Stress Fiend and The Invertebrate continued to plough their way through the poisoned toffee. Really, I wouldn't have been surprised if the toffees had been hand-delivered by an ancient and cackling crone bearing a basket of too-shiny apples. They were that bad. But not eating them simply never occurred to my team-mates. Even separating out the green abominations wasn't an option. I suggested doing exactly that so we'd have something to offer visiting clients or management, but when the others realised that by this point they'd have almost no non-green ones left (a good thing, surely?) they decided this was going too far.
(During all this, the Stress Fiend went through her daily ritual of buying the same kind of toxic hamburger from the cafeteria each day for lunch, muttering her version of Grace before eating it - "Oh, I'm so going to regret this. I just know it will come back on me later" - and then spending the rest of the day moaning about heartburn. Can you see a pattern emerging?)
And in the latest installment (post heartburn-burger) the Stress Fiend declares loudly "Those green ones really are the worst." She sounds suspiciously like she's chewing.
"Are you eating another one?"
"I have to. There are too many green ones now, and I need to even the numbers out."
A week later, with Christmas starting to loom Putin-like over the horizon, suppliers are dredging through their databases, pulling out our contact details and sending us token gifts to remind us of their existence, and that we're still valued clients. In the past some of these gifts have included perishable items eight months past their use-by date and heavily-trodden boxes of chocolate, so it's not without a sense of amused cynicism that we look forward to this time of year.
A gift from our unsuccessful suppliers arrived: an extravagant serving of toffee-like confectionery wrapped in a range of seasonally-coloured foil. La Mondaine and The Invertebrate pounced on them immediately declared all of the colours except red to be inedible, and then proceeded to try to eat the rest anyway (declaring the green ones to be the worst).
Now ... what follows really tells you everything you need to know about my team-mates.
The Stress Fiend returned to work a day or so later and joined them, although in her typical spirit of contrariness she declared that The Invertebrate didn't know what he was talking about and the green ones were fine - as she then demonstrated by munching down as many of them as she could until reality struck and she realised that, in fact he was entirely correct. Which amused me, at least.
The Invertebrate then decided that the best way to deal with the green ones was to keep eating them and them alone until he became desensitised to them. This wasn't a great success, so he tried to eat a green one and another colour at the same time to see if he could cancel out the taste. Keep in mind that none of the flavours were actually pleasant to eat - the green ones were simply the worst of a very mediocre selection.
Over the next two days, the Stress Fiend and The Invertebrate continued to plough their way through the poisoned toffee. Really, I wouldn't have been surprised if the toffees had been hand-delivered by an ancient and cackling crone bearing a basket of too-shiny apples. They were that bad. But not eating them simply never occurred to my team-mates. Even separating out the green abominations wasn't an option. I suggested doing exactly that so we'd have something to offer visiting clients or management, but when the others realised that by this point they'd have almost no non-green ones left (a good thing, surely?) they decided this was going too far.
(During all this, the Stress Fiend went through her daily ritual of buying the same kind of toxic hamburger from the cafeteria each day for lunch, muttering her version of Grace before eating it - "Oh, I'm so going to regret this. I just know it will come back on me later" - and then spending the rest of the day moaning about heartburn. Can you see a pattern emerging?)
And in the latest installment (post heartburn-burger) the Stress Fiend declares loudly "Those green ones really are the worst." She sounds suspiciously like she's chewing.
"Are you eating another one?"
"I have to. There are too many green ones now, and I need to even the numbers out."
24 November, 2011
Literal transcriptions, continued
"These are clowns, these bloody wossnames at ... these bloody wossnames at bloody ... at down bloody wossname down there!"
23 November, 2011
Ghouls (no punchline here - move along).
I think we're on firm ground in stating that La Mondaine is a ghoul. The only way she could be more of one would be if she hung around graveyards and had chunks of cadaver caught between her teeth, but here's the latest example, anyway.
Several weeks ago a couple of people in another part of the organisation were involved in a serious car accident. This is like heroin for La Mondaine and she begins relentlessly pumping people for details - she doesn't even know the pair that well and the kind of questions she's asking make it clear that she's had nothing to do with either of them in the last several years at least. Nevertheless, every detail is of vital importance. When another elderly colleague ambles by for his twice-weekly gossip session, she pounces on him for information.
"Who was driving? Was he hurt much? He wasn't? Oh, he must feel so awful. Does he feel awful? I'm sure he must. Tell me how awful he's feeling. I'd ask his wife, but she's taken time off to look after him while he recovers. He has to feel terrible, though. Are you sure you haven't heard how much guilt and suffering he's going through? Tell me everything you know about his pain! I must know! I want to wallow in it!"
It's not pretty. And then she switches to the more seriously-injured of the pair, who's still in hospital.
"Have you heard from him? Have you heard about him? Oh, it must be so awful for him! It must be so awful for his family! Does he have children? He does? Oh, the poor children! Oh, his poor wife what's-her-name! How is she coping. Has she told you how she's coping? It must be hard for her. She must be suffering. How much is she suffering? A lot? More than a lot? How would you not despair? How could you keep going? Her anguish must reach to the heavens, so how can she possibly bear it? And with the kids, too!"
"Nah," says the elderly gossip. The other one, that is. "She's German." (Because apparently Germans are soulless, unemotional machines that just keep going regardless).
"She's not suffering? How can she not be? Tell me she is! She must be suffering in the face of this tragedy! Why is she not sharing her pain and stress with the rest of us like a normal person? Does she not understand that we hunger for her pain and are suffering, too? If I can't lick the fresh tears of grief from the faces of her and her children, why can no-one at least quantify her suffering for me, so that I can rest easy at night like the horrid Pain Vampire that I am?"
She may not have used those exact words, granted, but her morbid need to indulge and wallow in someone else's misfortune was genuinely sickening. She may even have dropped below the threshold separating the merely contemptible from the disgusting.
I have no punchline for this. It turns out there's no humour to be found here, not even in mocking her foibles. La Mondaine may well be the first complete failure as a human being it's been my misfortune to work alongside.
Several weeks ago a couple of people in another part of the organisation were involved in a serious car accident. This is like heroin for La Mondaine and she begins relentlessly pumping people for details - she doesn't even know the pair that well and the kind of questions she's asking make it clear that she's had nothing to do with either of them in the last several years at least. Nevertheless, every detail is of vital importance. When another elderly colleague ambles by for his twice-weekly gossip session, she pounces on him for information.
"Who was driving? Was he hurt much? He wasn't? Oh, he must feel so awful. Does he feel awful? I'm sure he must. Tell me how awful he's feeling. I'd ask his wife, but she's taken time off to look after him while he recovers. He has to feel terrible, though. Are you sure you haven't heard how much guilt and suffering he's going through? Tell me everything you know about his pain! I must know! I want to wallow in it!"
It's not pretty. And then she switches to the more seriously-injured of the pair, who's still in hospital.
"Have you heard from him? Have you heard about him? Oh, it must be so awful for him! It must be so awful for his family! Does he have children? He does? Oh, the poor children! Oh, his poor wife what's-her-name! How is she coping. Has she told you how she's coping? It must be hard for her. She must be suffering. How much is she suffering? A lot? More than a lot? How would you not despair? How could you keep going? Her anguish must reach to the heavens, so how can she possibly bear it? And with the kids, too!"
"Nah," says the elderly gossip. The other one, that is. "She's German." (Because apparently Germans are soulless, unemotional machines that just keep going regardless).
"She's not suffering? How can she not be? Tell me she is! She must be suffering in the face of this tragedy! Why is she not sharing her pain and stress with the rest of us like a normal person? Does she not understand that we hunger for her pain and are suffering, too? If I can't lick the fresh tears of grief from the faces of her and her children, why can no-one at least quantify her suffering for me, so that I can rest easy at night like the horrid Pain Vampire that I am?"
She may not have used those exact words, granted, but her morbid need to indulge and wallow in someone else's misfortune was genuinely sickening. She may even have dropped below the threshold separating the merely contemptible from the disgusting.
I have no punchline for this. It turns out there's no humour to be found here, not even in mocking her foibles. La Mondaine may well be the first complete failure as a human being it's been my misfortune to work alongside.
22 November, 2011
Killjoy was here
The Stress Fiend is away again, which means I'm once more forced to rummage through the offal of her deranged work practices. This time around, though, I get to have some petty revenge (above and beyond simply blogging about her foibles) and spoil her fun by actioning a request she's been sitting on out of spite for a fortnight because she doesn't like the person who placed it.
And I know this wasn't a simple oversight on her part, because I overheard her gloating about it the other day to a less-than-loyal underling of her victim.
And I know this wasn't a simple oversight on her part, because I overheard her gloating about it the other day to a less-than-loyal underling of her victim.
15 November, 2011
Ravings
The Stress Fiend is many things. One of her more surprising guises is Language Purist, something that dovetails neatly with her instant rage at clients with foreign accents and young people who use text-message abbreviations in casual emails and instant message sessions. It's a testament to her ... uh ... well, something about her, anyway, that she doesn't let her own borderline literacy and general incoherence get in the way of condemning the linguistic shortcomings of others.
It also makes statements like this all the more bemusing (and this is an exact quote):
"Oh, that's right. That was another of those goddamn frigging wossname bloody ones, isn't it?"
I'm not even going to pretend to try to understand what that one was about.
It also makes statements like this all the more bemusing (and this is an exact quote):
"Oh, that's right. That was another of those goddamn frigging wossname bloody ones, isn't it?"
I'm not even going to pretend to try to understand what that one was about.
14 November, 2011
Just another day...
Another week gets underway.
The Stress Fiend appears to have arrived pre-enraged. She looks at a job for us in the service desk queue and immediately begins ranting at the client:
"Oh. Oh! You only want the standard headset with that order, do you? Well, guess what, you stupid bitch - that's exactly what you're going to get!"
Because nothing puts a client in their place like shouting abuse at a written message and then giving them exactly what they want. Having dealt with that, she moves on to the next one, and proceeds to angrily denounce someone for not placing a request through us that they was never meant to go through our unit in the first place. I mention this to her.
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"
But I'm afraid - justifiably, I think - to ask what the point actually is, and let it go.
La Mondaine, meanwhile, is honing her comedic skills by pronouncing "PC" as "pissy" and then repeating it anxiously, hoping someone will notice and tell her how funny she is.
(If they don't find it funny, then they obviously have Asperger's syndrome. La Mondaine has conveniently divided the world into two kinds of people: normal people like her, and those with Asperger's. Turns out the latter make up a far larger percentage of the population than the so-called experts would have you believe. Who knew?)
The Stress Fiend appears to have arrived pre-enraged. She looks at a job for us in the service desk queue and immediately begins ranting at the client:
"Oh. Oh! You only want the standard headset with that order, do you? Well, guess what, you stupid bitch - that's exactly what you're going to get!"
Because nothing puts a client in their place like shouting abuse at a written message and then giving them exactly what they want. Having dealt with that, she moves on to the next one, and proceeds to angrily denounce someone for not placing a request through us that they was never meant to go through our unit in the first place. I mention this to her.
"THAT'S NOT THE POINT!"
But I'm afraid - justifiably, I think - to ask what the point actually is, and let it go.
La Mondaine, meanwhile, is honing her comedic skills by pronouncing "PC" as "pissy" and then repeating it anxiously, hoping someone will notice and tell her how funny she is.
(If they don't find it funny, then they obviously have Asperger's syndrome. La Mondaine has conveniently divided the world into two kinds of people: normal people like her, and those with Asperger's. Turns out the latter make up a far larger percentage of the population than the so-called experts would have you believe. Who knew?)
07 November, 2011
Boldly plumbing new depths
La Mondaine has no sense of tact or what's socially appropriate. This is not news and, in fact, we can take this as the kind of universal constant that the Einsteins and Hawkings of the world can only dream of discovering.
However there are still moments when she somehow manages to go above and beyond the call, as she apparently felt obliged to demonstrate yet again recently:
"Hey! Remember that time your wife found the body of someone who'd just committed suicide? Wasn't it so horrible? Let's revisit it in excruciating detail while we're queuing in a crowded cafeteria and pore over how upsetting it was for everyone!"
However there are still moments when she somehow manages to go above and beyond the call, as she apparently felt obliged to demonstrate yet again recently:
"Hey! Remember that time your wife found the body of someone who'd just committed suicide? Wasn't it so horrible? Let's revisit it in excruciating detail while we're queuing in a crowded cafeteria and pore over how upsetting it was for everyone!"
20 October, 2011
It's one of those "need to know" things..
Because we've been officially understaffed since the start of this year, and unofficially understaffed since the start of last year, things get missed or held up. It's unavoidable, and it's been such a long, long struggle to fill the empty position that I've stopped letting it worry me when aspects of the team's role I'm not responsible for start to fall apart (which is why this pretty much sums up my attitude to the escalation notices from the service desk.
Senior management have received a complaint from a client about a request they submitted and which no-one's responded to yet, and a Sternly Worded Email (also overly-long, weirdly formal and excessively pompous) has descended to our level.
The Invertebrate consults with the Stress Fiend.
"The client says they've tried to ring several times but no-one's answered and no-one's called him back," he reads from the email.
"They always say that. You know what clients are like." She gestures towards the phone. The LED that indicates voice mail is dark. "See? No messages."
I note, though, that she carefully omits the bit about how she keeps turning the voice mail off so that clients can't leave messages...
Senior management have received a complaint from a client about a request they submitted and which no-one's responded to yet, and a Sternly Worded Email (also overly-long, weirdly formal and excessively pompous) has descended to our level.
The Invertebrate consults with the Stress Fiend.
"The client says they've tried to ring several times but no-one's answered and no-one's called him back," he reads from the email.
"They always say that. You know what clients are like." She gestures towards the phone. The LED that indicates voice mail is dark. "See? No messages."
I note, though, that she carefully omits the bit about how she keeps turning the voice mail off so that clients can't leave messages...
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