Monday, March 29, 2004

Penny Wise, Pound Foolish

The days of the world's worst colleague are numbered. She knows she's awful and she has intimated that she is purposely taking a dive -- missing deadlines, blowing projects, compromising the company's integrity -- so she can get fired and collect unemployment. Were she to quit, she'd get nothing. But if she plays it smart by doing everything in her power to do nothing at all, she'll be properly compensated for her efforts. Isn't that a pickle?

As The World's Greatest Wife has said, the company is being pennywise and pound foolish to keep her here a moment longer than right now. What do they have to gain? Her utter incompetence has been witnessed and documented by all who have had the displeasure of quote-working-unquote with her. Any attempt a a wrongful termination threat would be gufawed out of consideration. What are you waiting for? Can the bitch, quicklike.

I've never been around someone with less to offer. I've never seen anyone so proud to advertise her MBA and so incapable of delivering on her gum-flapping and bragadocia. Do us all a favor, peanut: go play in traffic.

Wednesday, March 17, 2004

Outta My Way, Scumbag

I see stories on the evening news about road rage and I think, "You know, that could be me." I am by no means prepared to brandish any weapon more lethal than my middle finger (and perhaps the occassional loogey), but it frankly surprises me how personally I take the aloof, inconsiderate and sometimes completely oblivious behaviors my fellow motorists exhibit sometimes.

I've never been a patient person and I suppose I tend to act out when things aren't moving at my desired pace. That's certainly true behind the wheel. When I get stuck behind a salesman schmoozing a deal on the cell phone or a 17-year-old trying to apply make-up and drive at the same time, I feel a Hulk-like transformation. My brow furrows, my heart races, a scowl comes over my face and I am consumed with the need to race past the offending "driver" and articulate my distaste in some non-verbal way. If these emotions could talk, I'm certain they'd sound like Eric Cartman from South Park when his mom won't bring his Cheesie Poops. It's a tantrum, cut and dried.

I act like a three-year-old on the freeway.