Love your job
A lot of people like to complain about their jobs. Well shut the hell up, because you've got nothing NOTHING to complain about!
Today, Megan and I drive into work together since I have an early morning meeting. Since I need to make up for some time lost, I figure I will work a full day and be all caught up. Megan drops me off, and I start my day - and immediately learn that the meeting isn't until next week. I am only mildly annoyed at this point. I go about my day.
I decide I will finish up a project that has awaited me. I have put off this project, because it requires me to fuck around with potentially hazardous chemicals - I don't like that shit. Oh well, job to do. I finish all but the final step with ease. I am productive. I am happy. The last step gives me pause.
How to pour thiry-five pounds of awkwardly-packaged chemical into big, tall bucket? Ask for help? Umm.......no. It okay. Me strong.
Wait. This is heavier than I thought.
Uh-oh. Forty-five pound box with big round hole too much to handle. Maybe I get funnel? No. Try again.
A funnel? What the hell good would that do? After all, it's the fifty-pound container I'm pouring from that presents the challenge, and I couldn't very well attach a funnel to that, could I? At this point, I have been breathing chemical fumes for at least ten minutes. This is ridiculous! Just get it over with!
Ok. Me try. NO! ME WIN!! (pouring) OH NO! spilling. KEEP GOING! splashing on floor. DOESN'T MATTER. feet wet. WHAT? Feet Wet, Asshole. OH NOOOO!
I call my boss, and she comes to my rescue. We clean the mess up as best we can, and I check the safety sheet for the data on the chemical I've spilt. Thankfully, it isn't overly toxic - I might only start to itch after awhile. But it still says I should remove any exposed clothing. Normally, I would ignore this suggestion; however, I am the SAFETY ASSISTANT, and I have to set an example; and my boss is right there; and she's telling me that she has paper "booties" I can wear for the rest of the day; and I smile; and I say, "Thank you."
I wash my feet in the handicap-stall sink, dry them with brown paper towels, and shove them into size twenty-two paper "booties". I shuffle into my office, past the machine shop guys who are watching with interest, carrying my shoes and socks, and wearing paper sacks on my feet. It is now 2:34. I have three hours left, and my head is swimming from the chemical fumes that emanate from the bottoms of my jeans (which I casually forgot to mention to my boss were exposed during my wild spilling). I can't leave, because I didn't drive. There is plenty of work I could do in my office, but who are we kidding? It's crossword-puzzle time.
So enjoy the rest of your day. If the rest of your day consists of staring at a computer screen and crunching numbers, so be it. At least you're not starting to itch.
Today, Megan and I drive into work together since I have an early morning meeting. Since I need to make up for some time lost, I figure I will work a full day and be all caught up. Megan drops me off, and I start my day - and immediately learn that the meeting isn't until next week. I am only mildly annoyed at this point. I go about my day.
I decide I will finish up a project that has awaited me. I have put off this project, because it requires me to fuck around with potentially hazardous chemicals - I don't like that shit. Oh well, job to do. I finish all but the final step with ease. I am productive. I am happy. The last step gives me pause.
How to pour thiry-five pounds of awkwardly-packaged chemical into big, tall bucket? Ask for help? Umm.......no. It okay. Me strong.
Wait. This is heavier than I thought.
Uh-oh. Forty-five pound box with big round hole too much to handle. Maybe I get funnel? No. Try again.
A funnel? What the hell good would that do? After all, it's the fifty-pound container I'm pouring from that presents the challenge, and I couldn't very well attach a funnel to that, could I? At this point, I have been breathing chemical fumes for at least ten minutes. This is ridiculous! Just get it over with!
Ok. Me try. NO! ME WIN!! (pouring) OH NO! spilling. KEEP GOING! splashing on floor. DOESN'T MATTER. feet wet. WHAT? Feet Wet, Asshole. OH NOOOO!
I call my boss, and she comes to my rescue. We clean the mess up as best we can, and I check the safety sheet for the data on the chemical I've spilt. Thankfully, it isn't overly toxic - I might only start to itch after awhile. But it still says I should remove any exposed clothing. Normally, I would ignore this suggestion; however, I am the SAFETY ASSISTANT, and I have to set an example; and my boss is right there; and she's telling me that she has paper "booties" I can wear for the rest of the day; and I smile; and I say, "Thank you."
I wash my feet in the handicap-stall sink, dry them with brown paper towels, and shove them into size twenty-two paper "booties". I shuffle into my office, past the machine shop guys who are watching with interest, carrying my shoes and socks, and wearing paper sacks on my feet. It is now 2:34. I have three hours left, and my head is swimming from the chemical fumes that emanate from the bottoms of my jeans (which I casually forgot to mention to my boss were exposed during my wild spilling). I can't leave, because I didn't drive. There is plenty of work I could do in my office, but who are we kidding? It's crossword-puzzle time.
So enjoy the rest of your day. If the rest of your day consists of staring at a computer screen and crunching numbers, so be it. At least you're not starting to itch.
posted by Skim at Tuesday, July 12, 2005
1 Comments:
oh god. does this mean more yellow-red alien rash pictures?
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