monster sarcasm rally

Now that pissed me off! I was in the midst of writing this post when the screen suddenly flashed to an Infernal Server Error message. Grr. Argh.

Anyways… On with the rewrite…

We have one female analyst here. And she’s crazy. I’ve nearly written about her on approximately 57 occasions, but I haven’t been able to for the simple reason that I haven’t been able to come up with a suitable pseudonym. But I think I’m just going to call her IAMNOTSTRESSED! and get on with it.

One time (not at band camp), the Ferengi suggested to her that she should try yoga. IAMNOTSTRESSED! twirled her hair, chewing on the ends of it (to see what she looks like, click here), as she responded.

Ohyoga’sgreatIusedtodoyogawhenIlivedinNewYorkbecause
backthenIwasreallyunderalotofstressbutnowthatI’mnot
stressedoutanymoreIdon’treallyneedtodoyogaanymorebut
Iknow hatit’stotallyworthwhileandifI’meverunderthatmuch
stress againI’lldomorebutfornowsinceI’mnotunderanystress
Ijust don’tneedtodoyoga.

Um… Right. She’s famous for sending people work, and then phoning every five minutes to see if they’re done yet.

This morning she published a document, by which of course I mean that she sent me a document for me to publish. I started working on it, but for some reason the PDF kept failing. Microsoft and Adobe do not play well together. I was in the middle of trying to fix the problem when my phone rang. Guess who…

See, I could actually get her document published quicker if she didn’t call me and ask me how long it was going to be and what was wrong and when I would be finished and what I was doing to rectify the problems with the PDF because she had a client meeting in two minutes and she had to take this document with her. [pauses for breath] I finally manage to get her off the phone by promising to e-mail her as soon as the document's up on the web.

I fix it. Post it. E-mail her.

Her assistant, Good Looking, shows up at my desk several seconds later to tell me that there’s a mistake and it needs to be redone. Before he can even tell me what the problem is, my phone rings. She’s panicking because there’s a mistake and she has a client meeting right now. Okay. Good Looking’s here. We’ll fix it. We’ll republish it. We’ll re-e-mail you. Okay.

Good Looking tells me to remove one sentence. I do. I republish the document. I re-e-mail her.

My phone rings immediately. Aaaaaaaaaaaaaa! She's screaming because I removed the sentence. But Good Looking told me to remove the sentence. Nooooooooooooooooo! One word. One word was supposed to be removed! And she’s late for a client meeting.

I re-redo it. I re-re-e-mail her. She goes to her client meeting. I tell Good Looking what happened. He starts screaming obscenities and stomps off to his office.

I eat my lunch contentedly, knowing I have subject matter for another blog post.