You Have A Cathoholic Problem

, , , , , | Working | July 12, 2018

(A supervisor comes into the office with a smile on his face. [Colleague], who works on the desk opposite me, is in her late 70s and is retiring in six months. She is known for her conservative views.)

Supervisor: *to me* “I’ve finally converted—”

Me: “What?”

Supervisor: “I’ve converted. You know, the—”

Colleague: “Oh, that’s wonderful news.” *quick side glare at me* “It’s a good day when one of the lost finds the flock again.”

Supervisor: “Ugh, sure… Anyway, I converted my measures sheet to metric. It took me all weekend, but I finally did it.” *beaming*

Me: “Oh, that is wonderful. That should save us some time!”

Colleague: “So, you aren’t converting to Catholicism. You should, unless you’re like [My Name] and her perversions.”

Me: “[Colleague]! You stop that right now!”

Supervisor: *to colleague* “Shut your puss, you old hag. My dad was abused by a Catholic priest when he was ten years old. He’s been very critical of religion ever since, especially Catholicism, which has more than enough secrets to damn the world thrice over. If you don’t like that, you can stick your crucifix where the sun doesn’t shine.”

(My colleague blushes and leaves the office, muttering about being so mistreated.)

Me: “Wow… [Supervisor], you might’ve just lost your job.”

Supervisor: “Who cares. It’s old witches like her that make life worse for the rest of us. What did she even mean, bringing you into that?”

Me: “My sister is gay, and I made the mistake of outing her to the office when she found out she was pregnant. [Colleague]’s been giving me nasty looks ever since. She’ll be gone in six months, and I don’t want the added baggage of a complaint so close to her retirement. It might give her the passion to stay, just to spite me.”

(He grumbled and left. When I went in the next morning, there was a nice new partition blocking my view of [Colleague], and a teddy bear with note attached saying to give it to my sister. To my knowledge, [Colleague] hasn’t complained about [Supervisor], and I’m counting the days until she’s gone for good.)

Making A Boob Of The HR Process

, , , , , | Working | July 10, 2018

(I am at work in a lift waiting to go up. The doors open on a floor, and two women and one man enter. The man is a member of senior management, and although I don’t work directly for him, he commands a lot of respect due to his authority. After one of the women leaves, he glances at me.)

Manager: “You look perkier than you did the other day.”

Me: “I’m sorry?”

Manager: “You looked miserable the last time I saw you.”

Me: “Oh, I was probably having a down day.”

(The other woman smiles knowingly at me.)

Manager: “Did you get a new bra?”

Me: “What?”

Manager: “It’s your boobs. They look a lot firmer. Did you get a new bra?”

Me: “I don’t think that’s any of your business!”

Manager: “Don’t worry. I’m gay. If I were straight, though, I’d motorboat you.”

(The woman and I looked aghast, and the woman quickly pushed the button for the next floor. We jumped out and headed straight to HR. The HR manager — who is a woman — laughed at us, asking if we knew he was gay, and refused to file a complaint because it was impossible for him to be inappropriate with women because of his sexuality. We instead told our respective managers, and the issue was quickly escalated to the board of directors. It then came out that a lot of women had had similar experiences with him, and that the HR manager had been protecting him because he was her brother-in-law. The man simply lost his job, while the HR manager was offered a lower position, on the grounds that she also receive training on the matter of harassment in the workplace. She refused and is now not working with us, either.)


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From Consult To Insult

, , , , | Working | July 10, 2018

(I’m on a conference call and my side is settled in. Their side is just one person, and we’re waiting on the others. Small talk begins:)

Me: “So, what’s new with you?”

Client: “I was recently consulting for the last firm I worked for.”

Me: “How was that?”

Client: “Great! This time I could really tell them what I thought of things.”

(My associates laugh.)

Me: “I’m jealous.”

He’s Talking Ship

, , , | Right | July 10, 2018

(I have just answered the phone.)

Customer: “I would like to speak to [Coworker].”

Me: “I’m sorry, but he isn’t available at the moment. How can I help?”

Customer: “He emailed me a few moments ago. I would like to speak to him.”

Me: “He is on a break at the moment, but if you let me know what the issue is, I will be able to help.”

Customer: “I want him to email me back as soon as he has returned from his break.”

Me: “Okay, I can pass a message on. Can I take your name or order number, please?”

Customer: “No!”

Me: “I need some information to give him if you want him to contact you back.”

Customer: “You are making this difficult for me, so now I am going to make this difficult for you. That is the American way! Tell [Coworker] that I want my order shipped!”

(He has rung from a private number, so I can’t even try to identify him that way on our system. The call is disconnected and I talk with my coworker a few moments later.)

Me: “Hey, [Coworker]. A man called. He refused to give me his name, but you emailed him earlier today and he said that he wants his order shipped like every one of our other customers.”

Digging Your Nails Into This Alibi

, , , , , | Working | July 9, 2018

(A coworker bursts into my office.)

Coworker: *thrusting a sheet of paper into my hand* “I need you to sign this!”

Me: *after reading the paper* “[Coworker], I can’t sign this. This says you attended [Meeting] yesterday.”

Coworker: “I know; I sort of need an alibi.”

Me: “But this wouldn’t prove anything. [Meeting] is held over instant messenger. All someone has to do it check the record and see you weren’t in it.”

Coworker: “So, you won’t help me? God, you’re so mean now that you’ve been promoted. I could lose my job.”

Me: “What’s the alibi for, anyway?”

Coworker: “I needed to nip out and get a pedicure for my great-aunt’s funeral on Friday, and I can only get it done at [Salon], which is near [Town]. And, well, the parking is really bad, so I took the metro, and I ended up being gone for five hours.”

Me: “Five hours?! You know you could’ve taken compassionate leave?”

Coworker: “And missed ogling at those construction workers across the road? Think straight, [My Name]!” *leaves*

(She probably would have gotten away with her little frolic, had she not acted suspicious and blurted out a fabricated story to her manager, who then followed up on it and discovered the truth. She wasn’t fired, but she lost access to her company car for the rest of the week, meaning she had to pay to drive to the funeral. A rumour started later that month that she decided not to go, and spent all day at home.)

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