[George W. Bush] Likes Chick-Fil-A
I had a brief e-conversation with my friend Bella today. It brought back the appalling memories of this dude (whose name I really shouldn't mention) I used to work with, at this really shitty (another name I shouldn't mention) job I had working at a company called linkLINE Inc. I related (something very similar to) the following to her.
Anyway, there was a guy named [George W. Bush], who worked at linkLINE toward the end of my rope there. He was literally shaped like a barrel, and a fat barrel at that. His face sat back in his swollen head and he had a shitty cop mustache and acne. He called everyone boss. He called me boss. I told him not to call me boss, politely, about half a dozen times, and very rudely two or three times and he still called me boss. I gave up. He also liked to walk back to my desk instead of sending an instant message.
We, as a company, put an IM client on every fucking machine in the office so employees wouldn't have to walk to someone's desk. But, he refused to use it and always came lumbering back. And he never just walked back and said "Hey can I ask you something?" It was always this quiet ninja walk, and he'd sit there and look at me until either I noticed him or until he got bored and would say, "Hey boss," like one of the damned.
Every time he came back he gave me a heart attack. Partially because I was startled by his fat (and when I'm the one pointing that particular finger...wow), smelly presence and partially because I was updating my web site instead of working (which was the case about...five out of every eight hours for the last six to twelve months I worked there. Hated that fucking place.).
And he never had a question that was something I could (would, really, but who's counting?) help him with; it was always some asshole client who wanted to talk to me because his fucking ebay pictures weren't showing up. And every fucking time I'd tell [George W. Bush] that:
A) I didn't fucking care about some stupid bastard's ebay pictures not showing up, and
B) We're an internet service provider and if the customer has a working internet connection, then our job is done and we don't support every little fucking thing he runs across on the internet so tell him to fuck off and call ebay, and
C) Just like every other time someone calls in with this fucking problem it was the result of the customer being about as web-savvy as my grandparents and they weren't uploading the pictures to the right fucking directory and this was an obvious path problem, and
D) This problem was a simple-fucking-simon bullshit non-issue and that he [George W. Bush] and everyone else in customer goddamn support should be able to support this or any client with this specific problem by simply logging into their personal web space with an FTP client, and
E) If he couldn't operate an FTP client or if he didn't understand what a path was, then he was in the wrong fucking business and had no right to pick up a phone (anywhere in the world, not just linkLINE) and say "tech support."
...
I hated that motherfucker. He was a good guy at heart but I couldn't stand him. All my intellect and (alleged) emotional maturity, and I hated his guts becasue he was stupid, fat, and smelly; the same reasons fifth graders hate people.
Anyway, that giant dumbass used to eat Chick-Fil-A three times a day and because of that, I'll never be able to eat there. He disgusted me and so does Chick-Fil-A.
And he'd come back to my desk every fucking day for two weeks and ask if I wanted him to pick me up anything from Chick-Fil-A (I'm even getting sick of typing it). I almost said yes just so I could make him watch as I set it on fire. But I'm too nice. Anyway, I wasn't eating much meat at the time, and every day I'd tell him, "No thanks, I'm mostly vegetarian, the only meat I'll eat is fish," and he'd say, "oh..." and walk away, clearly not understanding the concept of moderately healthy living. Monday through Friday, for two fucking weeks, he'd ask me this same question.
The last time he did this to me, I lost my shit and yelled at him, "Goddammit! I'm a fucking vegeterian! The only meat I eat is fish! The very second that chickens grow gills and live underwater, I'll go to Chick-Fucking-Fil-A myself and order everything on the menu and what I can't eat, I'll roll around naked in. The minute soy beans grow feathers and start clucking, I'll pound an entire chicken up my own ass with a baseball bat. Until that day though, I don't eat chicken because I'M MOSTLY FUCKING VEGETERIAN AND THE ONLY MEAT I'LL EAT IS FISH!"
On the other hand, it's entirely possible that I just told him to shut up and quit fucking asking me that question. Like I'd support a business that can't even fucking spell anyway, Jesus Christ.
Anyway, there was a guy named [George W. Bush], who worked at linkLINE toward the end of my rope there. He was literally shaped like a barrel, and a fat barrel at that. His face sat back in his swollen head and he had a shitty cop mustache and acne. He called everyone boss. He called me boss. I told him not to call me boss, politely, about half a dozen times, and very rudely two or three times and he still called me boss. I gave up. He also liked to walk back to my desk instead of sending an instant message.
We, as a company, put an IM client on every fucking machine in the office so employees wouldn't have to walk to someone's desk. But, he refused to use it and always came lumbering back. And he never just walked back and said "Hey can I ask you something?" It was always this quiet ninja walk, and he'd sit there and look at me until either I noticed him or until he got bored and would say, "Hey boss," like one of the damned.
Every time he came back he gave me a heart attack. Partially because I was startled by his fat (and when I'm the one pointing that particular finger...wow), smelly presence and partially because I was updating my web site instead of working (which was the case about...five out of every eight hours for the last six to twelve months I worked there. Hated that fucking place.).
And he never had a question that was something I could (would, really, but who's counting?) help him with; it was always some asshole client who wanted to talk to me because his fucking ebay pictures weren't showing up. And every fucking time I'd tell [George W. Bush] that:
A) I didn't fucking care about some stupid bastard's ebay pictures not showing up, and
B) We're an internet service provider and if the customer has a working internet connection, then our job is done and we don't support every little fucking thing he runs across on the internet so tell him to fuck off and call ebay, and
C) Just like every other time someone calls in with this fucking problem it was the result of the customer being about as web-savvy as my grandparents and they weren't uploading the pictures to the right fucking directory and this was an obvious path problem, and
D) This problem was a simple-fucking-simon bullshit non-issue and that he [George W. Bush] and everyone else in customer goddamn support should be able to support this or any client with this specific problem by simply logging into their personal web space with an FTP client, and
E) If he couldn't operate an FTP client or if he didn't understand what a path was, then he was in the wrong fucking business and had no right to pick up a phone (anywhere in the world, not just linkLINE) and say "tech support."
...
I hated that motherfucker. He was a good guy at heart but I couldn't stand him. All my intellect and (alleged) emotional maturity, and I hated his guts becasue he was stupid, fat, and smelly; the same reasons fifth graders hate people.
Anyway, that giant dumbass used to eat Chick-Fil-A three times a day and because of that, I'll never be able to eat there. He disgusted me and so does Chick-Fil-A.
And he'd come back to my desk every fucking day for two weeks and ask if I wanted him to pick me up anything from Chick-Fil-A (I'm even getting sick of typing it). I almost said yes just so I could make him watch as I set it on fire. But I'm too nice. Anyway, I wasn't eating much meat at the time, and every day I'd tell him, "No thanks, I'm mostly vegetarian, the only meat I'll eat is fish," and he'd say, "oh..." and walk away, clearly not understanding the concept of moderately healthy living. Monday through Friday, for two fucking weeks, he'd ask me this same question.
The last time he did this to me, I lost my shit and yelled at him, "Goddammit! I'm a fucking vegeterian! The only meat I eat is fish! The very second that chickens grow gills and live underwater, I'll go to Chick-Fucking-Fil-A myself and order everything on the menu and what I can't eat, I'll roll around naked in. The minute soy beans grow feathers and start clucking, I'll pound an entire chicken up my own ass with a baseball bat. Until that day though, I don't eat chicken because I'M MOSTLY FUCKING VEGETERIAN AND THE ONLY MEAT I'LL EAT IS FISH!"
On the other hand, it's entirely possible that I just told him to shut up and quit fucking asking me that question. Like I'd support a business that can't even fucking spell anyway, Jesus Christ.
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