| 2005-11-11 - 11:47 a.m.
letter to coworker
Dear Assistant: I have recently determined that despite my best efforts, I just don't like you. I don't like how you change into those stupid ass shower shoes when you get to work, and shuffle around like an old man. I don't like how you sigh endlessly all day long. The muttering can stop, too. And you know how every time you cough, you say "bleahgh"? Yeah. That's really disgusting. And those stank ass cigars? What the fuck are they made with? Because after one of your too frequent smoke breaks, you stink up the entire freaking building. And let's not even talk about what the stank breath does to the microphones. It's gagging. Also...you gotta quit "forgetting" things. I tell you something. You say "OK". You forget, then claim you didn't know. Too much pot, too much wine, my man. And most importantly...you don't really do a good job. And I don't think you're smart enough (see above RE: pickled brain cells) to ramp it up the way we need it to be ramped up. We had our come to jesus meeting last week, and now I just feel trapped with you, as opposed to feeling like you're going to make a positive change to improve and be more pleasant to work with. Thanks,
your manager.
>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>.
Yeah. I'm lovin' it here at the old radio ranch today. He's just a moron and I'm tired. And we have a dog and pony show, er, I mean Special Event tonight. Which means we all get to work all day, THEN go do all the scullery work for the event. I'm selling candy. Husband has been roped into making popcorn. (because he's a nice guy and I can rope him into doing stuff for us) Some people will make hot dogs. Whee. THEN, best part, we get to CLEAN UP!!!! For what? Not much, near as I can tell.
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