Water Water Everywhere but You're a Fucking Idiot

Good people,

Forget the economic crisis. Forget the environmental crisis. Forget the crisis in Gaza. It's time to focus on the office water crisis at the Happy Cappy Investment Team.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "D Money, I read your blog which means I know how to read and clearly possess above average intelligence. There are real water crises in the world."

True, my compadre. There is the lack of clean, usable water for much of the Third World, many of whom have easier access to Coke than drinking water. (How fucked up is that?) Of course there is the polluting and dumping (some of which is the plastic of bottled water I might add) which is taking a major toll on the earth and its rivers (over half of which are dangerously polluted). And then there's the looming possibility of "water wars" which will probably lead to Americans buying Waterworld on DVD and feeling like they've done their part to help.

No, I'm talking about something far more dramatic: the hot water is not hot enough at the HCIT. Or at least this is what was conveyed to me by the Stone Cold Killer.

So SCK is in a tizzy about the hot water situation and instructs me to order these electric tea kettles like we have in another office. So of course I didn't do anything about it. Why? I figured there was probably nothing wrong with it.

So he asks me again in that really annoying way which lets you know that it's not actually a request. He hasn't gotten any less annoying but I do it anyway.

I go to test the water and almost melt my hand off Raiders of the Lost Ark style. I'm a little more cautious with the second cooler.

D Money: Guess What?
You: What?
D Money: There wasn't anything wrong with the water coolers.

Motherfucker can't seem to figure out how to get hot water out of the cooler. Maybe the name cooler is what is throwing him. Perhaps he tried to get water out of the heater and was unsuccessful in that endeavor.

You see, there's a trick. Listen up close. You have to push in the tab BEFORE you push it down. It's what prevents people from accidentally scalding themselves. Is the SCK trying to kill me, to add another ear to his Vietnam necklace?

(Sidenote: One of the things those great patriotic soldiers did in Vietnam was to cut off the ears of the Vietnamese--dead or alive--and then wear them on their dog tags as souvenirs. How sick is that?)

I mean I never got the privilege of being made into a mindless robot babykiller like our beloved SCK but don't they teach things in the Army like how to sleep in trees and live off baboon dung and shit like that? Now SCK's main concern is that his Apple Delight Sleepytime Tea is not hot enough.

(Sidenote: *Sniffle*)

So I inform him there's nothing wrong with the coolers. A couple of days later my boss asks if I've ordered the kettles. Uh, no because there's nothing wrong with the coolers I think.

I then told her I would order them right then. It seems SCK is all eager to tell my boss what I need to do, haven't yet done, etc. The fact that I don't have to do something doesn't seem to get communicated to her through the SCK with quite the same enthusiasm or speed.

I'm done with this shit. I'm just ordering whatever-the-fuck they ask, no questions.

You'll be glad to know that the kettles are now up and running...right next to the watercoolers.

Oh severance package save me now.

Does Worker Comp Cover This?

I'm recovering from the fact that this will be the first time since the week of 11/3-11/7 that I'll have worked five days in a row, in other words a typical Monday to Friday gig. But fear not good people as next week I'll be in Costa Rica.

So I go to start dealing with the mail and I take out a rubber-banded bundle floating on top of the endless mail bucket. Upon undoing the band one very hard-cornered letter--think holiday card--makes like a rocket and propels itself into my eye. It really fucking hurts. I smell a lawsuit.

Am I Too Hard on These People?

No, I am not. They really are children.

Exhibit A: Due to the $700 billion injection by the Fed into the financial system we had a pizza party today. Pizza. Party.

Oh, and as for how I'm doing? Today was worse than yesterday plus I have to stay (even) later and I'm sick.

And possibly the most frustrating thing of all? I went to go punch some stuff in the stock room--I can't even remember why at this point--but some repair guy was in there so I couldn't go all Tommy DeVito on the boxes.

My Hand Hurts Almost as Much as My Brain Does

Good people,

I punched many boxes of individual coffee servings and now my hand hurts. This in itself is not worthy of a blog entry so let me share with you the email that instigated my stock room fit.

As you already know this is not a day to give me shit.

So imagine my delight when I received the following email from Stone Cold Killer:

"Please ensure we have regular liquid hand soap in addition to the alcohol based hand cleaner at all sinks and restrooms. I have noticed we have been running out of it regularly."

"Regularly" falls under the category of "numerous incidents" and we've already discussed that. Since people aren't aware of where I keep the hand soap I doubt others haven't been replacing it when I'm not looking, so I think I have a pretty good idea of the soap flow in the men's bathroom.

That being said, I refuse to make a pledge that I will be on top of the "soap situation" in the women's bathroom. Me walking into the women's bathroom everyday under a pretext of "checking out the soap" is a surefire way to get fired in less than a week.

Also, in addition to the hand sanitizer, the hand cream (you read right), and organic hand soap I stock, the building provides hand soap in the wall dispensers above the sinks. So in the event that one of the organic soap containers is empty suck it up and use the OTHER ONE TWO FEET AWAY or, god forbid, use what us peasants clean ourselves with: the wall-mounted soap dispensers.