20 posts tagged “work”

After Shane heard back about the job last Monday, we started a week-long extravaganza of getting him ready (read: shopping) and cramming in as much fun (read: eating out and getting out) as possible.

On Wednesday, we biked over to Canada Place to see how long it would take him to arrive at work on two wheels.  It’s exactly 2.1 miles from our apartment garage to the Port door, which means he could easily bike it in 15 minutes or under (along the flat and scenic Seawall, no less).  Add in a secure bike cage right underneath his office, and you've got another sweet option for commuting (in addition to walking, driving and taking the bus).

We spent most of Thursday shopping along Robson Street, buying Shane a selection of – as he put it – “big boy” clothes.  He purchased a nice variety of dress pants, polos and button-ups to better fit in with the business-casual (biz-caz! just like Strongbad!) environment.  How he made it to 30 without these items in his wardrobe is anyone’s guess.

Friday we drove over to the North Shore again for some mountain hiking in Cypress Provincial Park.  Along one of the trails, we ran into a resident of the mountain (apparently there are close to 160 cabins in that area), and he suggested we try hiking to the top of Hollyburn Mountain.  We gave it a shot and made it within 2 km of the peak, but had to turn around due to time constraints and lack of proper footwear.  But we will be back to conquer the mountain one of these weekends!  (Without your ass, sandals!)

Friday evening, Ian drove up, and the three of us spent the weekend just hanging out.  It was a perfect, relaxing way to cap off a great week.  We went to see The X-Files movie too (but of course); it was terribly lame, but made me nostalgic for the good old days when the show was in its prime.  Stay tuned for more on that in my next post...

Today marks my last day of employment with Enormous Soulless Corporation X!  As much as I am dreading another round of job-searching, I will not miss this place.  The people?  Somewhat.  The in-house coffee joint?  For sure.  But the life-sucking monotony that goes on within these depressing cube walls?  GOOD RIDDANCE.

 

I am not terribly optimistic about my chances of finding a decent job in production, once we move.   I will certainly try, but my long-term networking skills are about one step up from non-existent.  One thing I do know, however, is that I will seek to avoid the corporate/cubicle environment AT ALL COSTS.  As the quote from Office Space goes:

“[W]e don't have a lot of time on this earth!  We weren't meant to spend it this way!  Human beings were not meant to sit in little cubicles staring at computer screens all day, filling out useless forms and listening to eight different bosses drone on about mission statements.” 

Amen (and an extra F.U. to those horrible, pointless mission statements) (all of which ultimately = make money for upper management's bonus) (which reminds me: F.U., upper management).

Guess what?  I’m moving again!  No, not to Canada (this time), but to another cube location at work – one that will hopefully involve less smelling of other people’s unfiner moments every hour (and especially during the lunch one).  Woohoo! 

 

The anti-bowel movement will take place tonight, so I am sure to spend the rest of my bathroom-adjoining time thinking up even more outrageously funny fecal mater...ial.  (Let us all hope the day goes by quickly.)

Click on the pictures for more details!

What a champ!

Here are the minimum number of days off (mandated! by law!) for various European countries.  Note that this must be in ADDITION to public holidays.

ANNUAL LEAVE

Denmark 39.5

Austria 38

Sweden 36

Slovakia 35

Luxembourg 35

France 35

Germany 34-39

Portugal 34

Czech Republic 33

Slovenia 33

Italy 32

Spain 32

Greece 32

Poland 31

Finland 31

Bulgaria 31

Belgium 30

Hungary 30

Romania 30

Ireland 29

Netherlands 28-29

UK 28

(Source: Incomes Data Services)

 

And, from the BBC article I found this in: “Despite being bottom of the EU holiday league, the UK is still well ahead of many other developed nations.  In Canada and Japan, workers are guaranteed only 10 days of paid leave per year while the USA does not have any legal minimum for paid leave.”

 

Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go Google “Denmark immigration.“

I understand that people need to use the restroom during the workday.  And we all know the ridding of one’s waste is never fun or pretty or remotely floral-scented.  Therefore, I believe I am fully justified in asking that what happens in the work bathroom STAYS IN THE WORK BATHROOM.

 

Yet there are people at my (very large) corporation who seem to think that using the handicap button to operate the restroom door is a great idea.  After all, it saves precious energy!  And avoids the possible touching of icky bad things!  But the problem here is that the handicap door opens for them and then REMAINS OPEN long after they enter/exit.  This allows the bathroom smell to escape from its confines and end up in my restroom-adjoining cube.

 

Which – and this probably goes without saying – sucks pond water.

 

So yesterday, I hit a breaking point.  I channeled all my passive-aggressiveness into making (and hanging up) signs that read:

“As a courtesy to those who work near these bathrooms, please do not use

the handicap button unless you need to.  Thank you!”

 

Today those signs were causing quite a stir around the office, as small groups of people gathered around them to wonder what this means?  Exactly?  And who is responsible?  Much to my dismay, at least one group came to the conclusion that the message was posted by someone “super sensitive about the handicapped.”  (That sound you hear?  My head banging against the wall.)

 

Honestly, how can you not read between the lines on this one, people?  Do I really need to spell it out for you? 

Your shit: smells awful.

I: sit right here.

Keeping this door closed: would help.

Thank you.

Overheard on the elevator: “I’m really impressed, really!  This yo-yo camp has been very good for him.”

Dear Facilities,

 

At the large corporate office we both work at, I’m sure you’ve noticed that there are many different kinds of people.  But one thing we all have in common – and something you seem to have overlooked – is our age.  We are all technically over 18.   We are all, therefore, adults.

 

More to the point, we are all reasonably RESPONSIBLE adults, the kind that can get and keep a job and, theoretically, earn enough money to keep us afloat (and coming back to work) day after day.  As such, I feel we deserve a certain level of respect.  And I strongly believe that level of respect should be high enough that we need not worry about personal items being STOLEN from our cubicles at night.

 

Yes, I am referring to the cup-warmer that you “removed” from my cube on Monday evening - the “electrical device” that compromised the “safety” of the “facility and employees.”  (The one, I might also add, that had been sitting on my desk for SEVEN full months without a whiff of flaming co-worker and/or building material.)

 

Well, upon finding this item confiscated from me AFTER work hours, with NO notice whatesoever, I must admit I’m less concerned about “safety” than I am about “slacking off“ and “screwing The Man.”  So I guess you could say your immature handling of this issue has resulted in a greater loss to the company than just my means to keep a fucking cup of tea warm.  (Funny how that all works out, isn’t it?)

 

What I’m trying to get at here is simple.  KEEP YOUR HANDS OFF MY PERSONAL PROPERTY.  Tell me if an item I bring to the office violates some written (or unwritten) corporate code.  Being the sensible adult I am, I will remove it.  But do not continue treating me as an errant child because that may force me to act like one during the 8-hour span of my weekday in which I am getting paid.

 

Thanks,

-- Cube 4403 Resident --

Guess what?  Despite the hopeful feeling that I would not have to move out of my awesome, window-ful cube, the announcement came down from The Powers That Be yesterday morning.  My moving day had officially arrived.  I spent the better part of the afternoon packing up my cubicle and saying my mental good-byes.  (Goodbye, left window!  Goodbye, right window!  Fare thee well, smiling morning sun!)  Sniff.

 

Today was all about arranging my new cube – a desolate place located far, far away from any windows, deep within the land of undiluted fluorescents.  Okay, I don’t mind the new digs so much; I’ve gained twice the space as my old place and found a layout that would retain at least a little bit of privacy.  But the fact that I am now facing a pair of men’s and women’s bathroom doors leaves much to be desired.

 

And you would not believe how many people use that restroom during the day.  I am seriously considering never peeing here again.

I’m tossing this out there for the few other corporate workers I know who may be reading.  I’ve been working at the local Cube Central here for about a year now, and I’m increasingly noticing this discrepancy between what I think my fellow cubemates look like vs. how they actually appear.  Is it just me or is this a common cubicle-based misconception?

 

I’m simply so used to chatting with the heads of certain people, having to meet the bodies that go along with those faces is often COMPLETELY DISORIENTING.  Those bodies almost always appear too tall or too short, too wide or too thin, too different from what I had subconsciously drawn in from the shoulders down in all our previous face-to-face meets.  And that first person-to-person greeting throws me off because it’s like they’ve brought a new co-worker to take part in our normal exchange.  I can’t just stand there and ignore this stranger, this unknown set of feet or legs or hips before me.  I feel we need a proper introduction before we get down to business.

 

Yeah, okay, that would be a little bit awkward.

 

Maybe my cubemates could all walk around with one of those flip books attached to their lower body instead.  You know, the ones in children’s books where you can match up various bodies/outfits for each character’s head.  I could pick what fits from my perspective, they could do the same for me, and we could all go on to live a happy, less confusing cubal existence.

 

Plus, then I could put a really UGLY pair of plaid pants and clashing floral blouse on that horribly obnoxious woman who kvetches about her adopted kid (from the Ukraine!!! hail the Ukraine!!!) to everyone with an ear, or rather, within earshot (read: the entire floor).  Ah, passive aggression, thy middle name is cubicle.