The story, it ends here. How do I know? Because I wrote *THE END* at the end.

The little mcgigglebiggles that make my laptop run and keeps Andy in his happy place (although, at the moment he's in the middle of another tantrum. How dare I suggest we go for a bagel????) have returned to our lives.
We're back, a little beat be up but not wiser.

And now for the last installment in my assistant drama.

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The name Part-Time Savior, will be no more.
I'm rechristening her Part-Time Suxworsethanshovingbambooshootsintoyourfingernails so that we can keep her initials "P-T S" intact(o-mundo).

I'm tired you guys.
I'm so exhausted I can barely lift my little midget (I can call myself that so no hate mail) fingers from Q to 9 but I will keep typing! Even if I don't make any sense.

I came back from lunch on Wednesday to find P-T S lounging at my desk while sitting on my chair.

MY chair.

Did you read the part that says MY CHAIR??

My chair, the one only *I* have had the pleasure of sitting on because it was bought specifically for my tush (I originally typed TUSHIE but who are we kidding? There is nothing "IE" about my TUSH.).
I felt like Phoebe and her Guitar. "Touch it again and I'll have to pound you a little bit"
I felt like Joey and his french fries. "It's Joey food!"
I felt like Andy and his Cheetos. Too many to quote so I just inserted a linky-dink.

In other, more ghettofied words:

Don't sit. Your stanky ass. On my chair!

Okay, that's not the only reason why she's making my life miserable. I was not amused with her persistence in talking to everybody instead of doing her work. This was her SECOND day!

And the bats? You'd figure because they've lived such long LONG lives they'd know better! Nope, not my dear little blind flying rodents. Oh no. They made it seem like it was okay to loiter by MY desk and discuss the traffic situation in downtown Suburbia.

I am not kidding when I say I was SCREAMING in my head.

I cut in like so-eth:

Bee:
So, yeah. How 's that TPS report coming along. [eye twitch eye twitch]

P-T S:
Great! I've caught on! [while still standing by my desk]

I get up and stand in front of her face and start moving forward making her walk backwards. I had to keep my hands at my sides [they have a tendency to want to karate chop, remember?].

Bee:
[eye twitch eye twitch] Uh-huh. Let's journey to your desk and see, yes?

P-T S:
Now that I know what I'm doing, I'm flying through them!

*Them* being elephants with purple ribbons.




Bee:
Mhm mhm. This report? It usually only takes a few hours so I need it done today, m'kay? [I was trying to convey "I believe in you!" but encouragement is not one of the things that make me ME. ]

P-T S:
No problem!

A few minutes later I overheard her say to her imaginary friend Peppito the Blue Elephant (with purple bow blowing in the wind),

"I hope I'm doing this right!"

Holy ColbyJack Cheese Batman!

2:30

P-T S:
Okay! I'm almost done with it! I'm on page 33! When I come back tomorrow I should FLY by the rest.

If it were up to me, I would have said "You know what? How about tomorrow you stay home, have some coffee and watch some M*A*S*H reruns? Maybe lose our address? But look! As a parting gift, here's a SCREEN-PRINT of the definition for the word "Fly".

NEXT!

Sadly, if you come by Shangrila Bee's often, you know that we collect Lollygaggers like some collect crusty old love letters from long dead mushy wind bags (I hope I'm not offending anybody. If you collect such letters GOOD FOR YOU! Nice to have a hobby that doesn't involve sticking pins through butterfly wings -EVIL BASTARDS!-) (hopefully the mushy long dead wind bags will not be offended either because I need another poltergeist like I need another husband.) .

When I went to Glynda and said "She is not understanding the basic system, I don't think she'll be able to handle the rest of what the position entails"

Glynda:
Well, I'm sure you can put up with her for 20 days.

[I know what you're thinking 6 weeks at 5 days in one work week equal 30 days minus 3 plus red frogs equals ?? I don't know but it's not 20.]

Bee:
But you'll be paying her to do nothing. I don't have time to go back and correct her mistakes.

Glynda:
Maybe she can just pull charts for you or shred paper or file something that doesn't involve the computer.

You can imagine the look on my face.
No, you can't because you don't know what I look like. Sure you've seen some pictures but not the true me that doesn't hide behind her hair or when I'm being morphed. You'll just have to imagine my eyes rolling to the back of my head.

At the same time, I'm a little relieved. Now I know that if I come in drunk/high/knife-wielding/goat-riding/bunny-skinning/shoeless/bra-less/BRAINLESS... you know what? Strike "shoeless" that would just be punishing myself, no matter what I do, I WILL NEVER GET FIRED FROM THIS PLACE.

2 more years for me to be fully vested and then I'm blowing this pop stand. Maybe. Hopefully?

Wait, I think it's 3 more years CRAP!

Don't worry about this old girl. I didn't live to be the grand old age of 35 without a couple of tricks up my black hoodie sleeve. I had a little slice of revenge planned.

Glynda asked me not to tell OZ how much she SUUUUUCKS I told her I was not going to lie since that would be putting my ass in the receiving line of his anger.

When I met with the Great and Powerful OZ for our Friday meeting and he asked me how she was doing, I was honest. Glynda kept defending her and he grew concerned that I was spending so much time holding P-T S' hand. His suggestion, to give Glynda instructions and let her sit with P-T S! So now I have 2 assistants that make up ONE brain.

THE END!

*That wasn't the whole argument but there is no point in me relaying how I tried to show her that logically if someone was here to assist you (me) but you (me) wound up spending the whole day doing the main thing then they just had to do the brainless crap then there wasn't much assisting, am I right?

Airheadabic for dummies

Hi! I'm P-T S, Bee's assistant, and I've taken over her blog for the day. I decided to come over and tell you what a day with me really is like.
It's not fair that you get the story only from Bee's perspective, let's face it, she can be sanctimonious and demanding.

Here we go!

8:26

Okay, let me punch in now... hmmm the time clock seems to be broken! Maybe if I unplug it...? I know I've only been working here a week and don't know what the consequences will be but I'm sure it'll be fine.
Huh. It's still not working only now it has 3 dashes and doesn't seem to be registering the time or day.
I better go get Bee.

Oh no, she has that weird eye twitching thing again. Oh, she just told me the time clock wasn't broken I was putting my time card in wrong and now it was going to take the time clock 24 hours to reset.
Oopsie!

Okay, now she wants me to finish the report I was doing last week. She says it should have been done already. Oh well!
Let's see, we saved it on Excel but maybe if I click on Adobe...?
Huh? I can't find my file!
What did I name it again? Something like Dog Sniffers Anonymous?? No. It was my initials plus the name of the report she gave me but I'm not sure...
I'll just waste 2 hours clicking aimlessly through Adobe.

::sigh:: I should ask her I guess but she's got that 'fuck off' look to her that makes my stomach have gas pains. Oh! I know! I'll just ask Milton since she seems to know EVERYTHING!
Wow. She sure does talk a lot. How did we get to talking about her underwear?
I'll just bite the bullet and ask Bee.

Oh-oh. I think I did something wrong. Both her eyebrows are having spasms and her ears look like tiny red peppers. I guess I should have told her I needed help right away.
Oopsie!

Ooh I just remembered that song from Chili's "Chili's baby back ribs Chili's baby back ribs! Barbecue sauce!"
I used to love that song! I wonder why they don't show it on TV anymore?

I'm so hungry! I think I might--- Oh she is saying something and I wasn't paying attention but the last thing I heard was "very important". Should I ask her what's "very important"? Naw. She's already super pissed at me, I'll just wing it.

Okay, she's going to lunch at her sister's and I'm to finish the day with the receptionist. What did she tell me to do before I close the Excel report?? She just said it was very important. I wish I had listened, oh well!

Okay, close program.
Do I want to save changes I made to excel? No! I don't want to mess anything up! Phew! That would have been so bad! Who knows what she would have done to me!

She's back from lunch. What? Did I save the changes I made to the report? Yes. But I didn't save changes I made to Excel I almost did but I-- what? I don't understand? I SHOULD have saved the changes to Excel? Now I've lost everything I entered?
Oopsie!

There she goes, off like a little Tasmanian devil, sounds like one too because... is she speaking in another language?
I think I just heard her ask for an Advil? I wonder why her head hurts? Oh! She said Anvil! Is that what they constantly dropped on Wile E. Coyote?? I used to love those cartoons I wonder why they don't show them anymore? Too violent probably. I don't like the new cartoons-- Oh! It's 2:30! Time to go. Bye guys! See you tomorrow! I really really LOVE THIS JOB!

Oh no, I have to go tell Bee the time clock isn't working again!
Hey, that maroon blouse she's wearing matches her cheeks!
I wonder if that color would look good on me-- SPLAT!



Sorry guys, due to a tragic anvil accident P-T S could not finish her story. If you leave comments, please leave them in Airheadabic so she'll understand what you're saying.

It's like I don't even know him!!

So, on Friday/Saturday, Bee's Musings was out of commission for a spell (always wanted to say for a spell, meh. I think it means for a while in country) due to the evil Sitemeter.

At first, I thought it was my computer because Andy could pull up my blog no problem. I had no clue why or how or what or when or even who but I can tell you that I felt like somebody had given me a swift kick to the imaginary gonads

I really didn't have much time to investigate since my momma was due to arrive and I had Cheerios to eat.

But then...

I received ONE a few e-mails from panicked people threatening to come over to my humble home at MIDNIGHT and have me relate IN PERSON what I was up to.

Having no other choice since I didn't feeling like taking a shower to receive company, I cracked my knuckles and tried to figure out what the problem was first thing on Saturday morning.

The facts were these:
Only people with Internet Explorer had issues.
I couldn't pull up the Sitemeter website.
Other people who had Sitemeter were having the same problem.

DING DING DING.

I removed Sitemeter and patted myself on the back for my deductive reasoning.

What I didn't understand was why Bee's Musings came up on Andy's computer but not my laptop. When I pondered this out loud in the vicinity of one Andrew Husband, his response?

"I use Firefox, Internet Explorer is for chumps."

Mhm, as Mocha is my witness, that's what he said. Did I know he wasn't using IE? Nope.

I wonder what else he's keeping from me? Has he switched my coffee to decaf?Does he add extra softener to my clothes like I ask? Is he the one who half opened my deodorant? Is his name really Andy??
.
P.S.
I checked online to see how much it would cost to replace P-T S (my brain dead assistant) with a monkey and it turns out I'd need permits, proof of disability and around $10 Grand. Now all I have to do is decided what color monkey I want.

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She is currently on hold with an insurance company and keeps sighing out loud and then saying "still holding". Each sigh is making me uncomfortable since I can't tell if she's upset or if it's giving her pleasure...

I just went over and asked her to keep her moaning to a minimum.

Minimum equals shutty.

I too am going to blame all of my mistakes on those devious elves!

I was trying really hard to find something else to talk about other than work. I really was, but then I remembered I had started this blog to RANT about life/work shit so I decided to stop second guessing my posts. Jeezus Jones! It's not like I'm being judged over here...

Anyway.

P-T S has added an extra little excitement to my life in the form of, gut wrenching fury, acid to the crotch, hammer to the head, adventures.

I have only met one other person in my life who swears they did everything right but mischievous elves came and fucked with their perfection and left them standing there looking like nitwits.

I once worked with this guy we'll call Frankie. Frankie was a breader (person who breaded the chicken, and cleaned the restaurant) at the illustrious Brown's Chicken & Pasta and was a huge pain in the ass.

Every single time I told him to do something, he would stand there, in his skinny jeans, bob his head up and down saying "okay okay okay" then do the complete OPPOSITE of what I told him. Whenever I would confront him, his response would always be

"I swear I did it right!"

Bee:
Frankie? I asked for 8 chicken breasts and you gave me 8 thighs.

Frankie:
No. I swear I gave you 8 breasts. They must be in there somewhere!

Bee:
Really? Where would they go Frankie? Did they evaporate? Did they escape through the tiny little holes then force themselves through the pipes and are now making their way to KFC?

Frankie:
I dunno but I swear I gave them to you!

Andy and I have many reminiscing laughs at Frankie's expense since he was also a character. He was shaped like an old fashioned match stick, skinny as can be with fiery red hair in a mini afro and freckles. He tended to repeat things and do a little shuffle when he was put on the spot. This was the reason I never fired him. Because he made me giggle. Don't judge me, I lead a very sad life!

Flash forward about a hundred years and I no longer find it even a little bit fuckin amusing.
I no longer giggle when I'm told "I swear I did it right!". Instead, my jaw tightens, my hands curl into fists and I pray for a super villain to come take me as his hostage, then splatter my guts when no one wants to pay him the $10 he's asking for my freedom.

Sadly, I'm cursed with being the ultimate professional so I haven't let loose with the expletives itching to escape my mouth and slap some sense into little Miss No Brains. This was the constructive criticism I gave her.

"I appreciate that you're still learning but DO NOT tell me you are following my instructions. If you were, your notes/memos would be in the system and your itemized statement would have printed. IT'S NOT THE SYSTEM, IT'S YOU."

Her response was to tell me how she had mastered the first step. Big woop!

So, for the next few seconds, I am going to say what I really want to say to Female Frankie.

"Listen very carefully you stupid shithead. In my 3 years at the Asylum, I have never had the system EAT any notes/memos I entered. If they're not there, it's because your brain dead body did not enter YES when the easy-as-fuckin-breathing system asked you if you WANTED to save your notes/memo. If the itemized statement didn't print, it's because your dumbass DID NOT ENTER YES when the system asked if the printer was ready. MY 5 YEAR OLD NIECE could do a better job than you do WHILE IN HER SLEEP! You fuckin waste of space!!"

"And P.S. Stop telling me your head hurts from all these things you're learning! Because A) you are obviously NOT learning anything and B) imagine how mine feels now that I have a 45 lb empty head hanging from my neck????"


Thank you for listening,

Bee.

P.S.
To my "AnonyMOUSE" hater (who I think followed me from Uproarious, aren't I the lucky one that gets all the weirdos? I feel so honored to inspire random hate from bottom dwellers) who wrote this:
--
Anonymous said...
Why is it that when men say something “mean” about women "we’re" sexist but when women turn around and say the same shit about men "they’re" not sexist? Men are funnier because women take “offense” to everything and take things too "seriously". I hope your husband “learns” to put you in your place!
--
Dude, I get it! You have a "penis". You like playing with it all by yourself. "That" doesn't "impress" me. The "day" you can make it reach "your" "butthole"? "That" "day" I will give you "my" "love" and "adoration".

Until that time, keep on trying.

Or keep on truckin'. Or keep on keeping on.