Don't read any of this. Really.


You were warned.


I'm just going to bitch and moan about the past week, none of it will be worth reading, none of it will be particularly funny, and your gut reaction to all of this will be "Come'on, man, could you feel a little more sorry for yourself?"


You'll be right to feel that way.


Having said all of that, on with the gripe session.


I'd LOVE to be able to gripe about some of the things that are going on at work right now, but I'm terrified of getting dooced… so I won't complain about my employer. In fact, I really don't have a reason to complain about my employer. The company I work for is wonderful. It's the greatest paper company in the world. I almost feel like I should pay them for the privilege of working there. Nope, there's nothing at all to gripe about when it comes to my job.


I have a friend, though… his name is…uh, Darrin. He works at another paper company, and he recently sent me an e-mail about the company that he works for. That is, the company where I am not employed, and therefore it's safe for me to post some of what he says about his company, since it has absolutely nothing to do with my company. Got that? Good.


So, anyway, this is some of what Darius had to say about the company that he works for, which, I remind you, has nothing whatsoever to do with the company that I work for:

My department supervisor is an idiot. No, I take that back. I shouldn't say that. It's unfair to idiots for me to say that. My department supervisor is sub-idiot. He makes idiots look like philosophy majors. This is a guy who would need a compass and a flashlight to locate his own ass. This is a guy who would find a way to wreck a picnic in Heaven on Christmas Day.


When you go to this guy with a concern, a complaint, or important information about the department, what he tends to do is launch into a prolonged bureaucratic lecture about how seriously he takes the concerns of his employees… how important it is to him that the experience and input of the department not be taken for granted… and how, by Gosh, he is going to get on the situation right away and put things right. Then he wanders off, apparently to sit in a men's room stall and play with a Rubik's Cube or something. The next time we see him, when we voice the same damn concern, again, it's as though we're trying to communicate with someone from another universe who's never seen members of our species before.

I have to tell you, when I read what Daniel wrote above, the first thought that comes to my mind is "Wow, that certainly isn't indicative of my employer, my department supervisor, or anyone I know… and any resemblance it might bare to any real person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental."


Above all, it certainly bares no resemblance to my own department supervisor, who is clearly the smartest, most capable, best looking, most charming, and sweetest smelling individual who's ever set foot on this planet.


I'm sorry, I have to take a break from typing now. I've just vomited on myself. I'll be right back.


Alright, I'm back. Where was I?


I wrote back to Dandelion and asked him if there's anything else he'd like to complain about with regard to his company. His response:

Of COURSE there is. We're absolutely stuffed to the gills with morons. Complete and total dolts. The level of idiocy, from the highest level supervision right down to the lowliest part-timer, is stunning. Here's an example: Recently, our company safety coordinator circulated a memo reminding people to be careful and pay attention to detail because it's the small stuff that gets neglected that can lead to accidents that get people killed. His memo said he was taking the opportunity to remind us about important minute details because of the recent tenth anniversary of the Space Shuttle Challenger disaster. Maybe if Captain Safety had been paying the slightest bit of attention to detail himself, he'd have realized that it was the twentieth anniversary of the Challenger disaster, not the tenth anniversary. The irony is just beautiful: "Pay attention to details! Don't neglect the small stuff! I'm a mouth-breathing simpleton who has trouble typing with my head jammed this far up my own tailpipe!"


Then there's the union I'm a member of. If you look up "chump" in the dictionary, you'll see a picture of me forking over my union dues every month… forking it over to an organization made up of people so dense they'd need help from the local's lawyers to spell union, much less run a union. I swear, I can't think of a single use of my monthly union-dues money that wouldn't be an improvement over the way I'm wasting it now. If I blew that money on Pixie Stix and snap bracelets, it would be a better use of every cent of it.

So, as you can see, Dracula has a lot of complaints about his workplace. I, on the other hand, have other things to bitch about:


Tuesday afternoon, for no apparent reason whatsoever, a filling fell out of one of my teeth. I was at work, doing my job (and thanking my lucky stars that I work for such a competent, intelligent, and studly department supervisor)… and, all of a sudden, I notice that there's a piece of metal in my mouth. A bit of investigation with my tongue uncovers a large, jagged hole where there should be a nondescript tooth. And that's when the pain starts. Pain that slowly, incrementally begins to throb in my mouth and spread to my face. In a short period of time, the pain is shooting up behind my left eye. At this point I dashed off to the men's room to check my reflection in the mirror, as I was sure I'd find jagged chunks of glass shooting out of the top of my head.


Long story short, I had to leave work and make an emergency trip to the dentist, who gave me a temporary filling. In two weeks I'll either have the tooth recapped or have a root canal. I've been told that root canals aren't as bad as they once were. There was a time when getting a root canal was the physiological equivalent of having an angry, drunken Irishman shove a hot poker into your mouth for two hours while making degrading remarks about your mother. I've been told, however, that the root canal process is better now. Now it's as thought the Irishman isn't drunk at all.


So I've got that going for me, which is nice.


Oh, and get this: This is the absolute highlight of my week: At some point Wednesday evening, somebody stole my wallet. Not only that, but he then took my Visa POS card to Wal-mart and bought FIFTEEN HUNDRED DOLLARS worth of stuff at 1:00 in the morning. Of course, I didn't realize that I'd been robbed until the next day, AFTER the bastard had his shopping spree.


Thankfully, the bank's insurance will cover the money. I'll be credited for the $1,500 … on the condition that I do everything I can to help the police catch this slimeball. Of course, I'm doing just that. I've spent the day on the phone with the police and the bank, and I really hope to be able to report that the thief has been caught soon. I really can't write any more about it right now, though, because I've been asked not to say too much about it while it's being investigated.


So there's my list of complaints for the week. I promise to get back to my usual irresponsible mockery and social deprivation as soon as possible. I just had to get all of this out of my system.


I had to get some of it out of Darren's system, too.