Give Me A Break

  I don't mean to complain, but guess what... I'm gonna. Unless of course someone can give me a logical reason as to why I only get three breaks at work, but the people who smoke get five or six of them. I'm not all that great with math, but that doesn't seem fair to me.

  If one person is getting five or six breaks then I feel everyone should get five or six breaks. Getting extra breaks shouldn't just be a smoker's thing... but interesting enough, it is.

  There is no way I could go up to my supervisor and tell him I feel like I  need another break even though I just had one thirty minutes ago. I'm pretty sure he would laugh in my face and just tell me to get back to work. However, if I went up to that supervisor and told him I was craving some nicotine and wanted to take a quick smoke break, he would just nod his head and tell me not to take to long. Too bad I don't smoke.

  And you have to smoke. You can't go up to your supervisor and be like, "Oh man, I totally need an Oreo. Watch my machine while I go outside and twist open some cookies" or "Everything is getting really stressful. I need to go outside and do a few Mad Libs to help calm my nerves."

  What's worse is half the time you can't bring this concern to the attention of your supervisor, because he or she is also sneaking outside and taking extra breaks. Kind of makes complaining a little pointless.

  So, since I can't complain, I came up with my own solution. After some intense contemplation I realized there is one thing your supervisor and boss can never deny you... bathroom breaks. And the best part is, a bathroom break can take a minute or it can take as long as 30. It all depends on what you had to eat.

  I'm going to put my theory to the test tomorrow. , and when things slow down, I'll tell my boss I need to go to the bathroom. He has to say yes, right? I mean, he's not going to want me doing my little pee-pee dance where customers can see me. Once, he sends me I can go hang out in the bathroom for a bit and eat cookies or read some comics and maybe even watch some tv on my phone. The possibilities of what could be done in there are endless.

  If this works I may have found a loophole for all of us non-smokers out there. You have to love the loophole.



 

Saying Good Bye

  Tell me... What are you supposed to do when your truck is in the shop being worked on and there is no possible way to make it to your job?

  I'm not sure what you would do, but me personally, I decided to take advantage of the warm weather and recapture a little of my youth by flying a kite with my girlfriend.

  And not just any kite mind you.  This kite was a kite among kites. Zeus, himself, wished his kite was as spectacular as mine.  With a wing span of 52 inches, string already included and the image of Spider-Man emblazoned on the front,  my kite is what other kites dared to be. In fact,  I wouldn't be surprised if all the peace and goodwill the world has been experiencing lately came about thanks to my kite.

  Now, while I chose a kite that symbolized justice and hope, my girlfriend chose to express her wild, predatory side by getting a shark kite. With teeth more than two inches long and a tail that seemed to go on forever, this was not your mama's cute little pink kite. This kite cried action and action is what it got,  because no less than an hour after buying these kites had they taken to the air... sort of.

  I'm pretty sure the first 15 minutes of our kite flying adventure revolved around trying to just get the kites into the air. They would rise majestically and hover there... for about a minute before they would come crashing back down to the earth.

  The kites also seemed drawn to one another and whether it was a good versus evil type thing or they were just star crossed lovers, I would say that they smashed into each other or the strings got tangled together at least 25 times. I won't even say how many times we had to tie the strings back together.

  Sadly, it was starting to look like kite flying was a young man's game. I was just about to call it quits and give in when suddenly this mystical wind from the gods came and grabbed hold of my kite and carried it up into the heavens. 

  No bird ever looked as majestic as my kite did at that moment. This is definitely what separates man from animal... the ability to fly kites. Seriously, have you ever seen a squirrel flying a Superman kite in the park?

  And as if flying in the heavens wasn't quite enough,  my kite began to show off. At first doing single loops which soon turned into double and triple loops. Occasionally it would do a short dive then pull out of it, but like all great performers craving the lime light, my kite started taking risks.  The loops became bigger and the dives became more daring until finally it happened. Spider-Man dove nose first toward the ground, I tried to pull back on his string but ever the showman, he refused to listen.

  I was barely able to mutter 'no' when Spider-Man vanished behind a row of town houses. Seconds turned to minutes, but there was no sign of my kite. Fearing the worst I began rapidly pulling in the string. The line was slack and held no tension which could mean only one thing.  My kite had broken free and was now at the mercy of whatever nature decided to throw at it.

  Not willing to admit or accept our loss, my girlfriend and I set out in search of Spider-Man.  It was getting dark fast and we knew we had mere minutes to find him.
  We searched for several blocks and even walked the perimeter of a large field.  Nothing. There was no sign of Spider-Man anywhere. 

  Had the wind picked up again and carried him back to the heavens to help fight for justice or worse, it became trapped in a.vicious kite eating tree that ravaged and shredded him mtill there was nothing left but scraps.

  I choose to believe he is still out there... Floating amongst the stars and seeking out those who need help and protection. That's what brave kites do and he was one of the bravest I had ever seen.

Good bye my friend. May you soar forever amongst the birds and the gods.

 
 
 

Surprisingly Not A Guy

  Today I realized something about my gender and life that made me want to bury my head in the sand and sigh.

  Apparently it doesn't matter how much money you make or what your position on the corporate ladder is or even if you are a noble peace prize winner... inside every grown man is a little giggling eight year old boy.

  This means no matter how proper and classy you think a man is, he will still smirk and chuckle in appreciation of the lowest form of toliet humor.

  Which is why I was amazed to learn the 'no farting' picture was not made by any of the males I work with, but instead by one of the few very patient females who work here.

  It seems the Vice President of the company had... how to put this politely... he had consumed something that was not agreeing with him and his poor administrative assistant was being forced to suffer.

  So,  when he left the office she quickly made up a new rule and a sign to go with it.

  I'm not sure how helpful her sign was, but I do know it made a lot of people laugh and is still hanging on the door to the Vice President's office. The best part of that is on Monday some of the companies we make parts for are coming in for a tour.  How I wouldn't love to see their faces when they walk by that sign.

Misunderstanding Monday

  Misunderstanding are pretty common between people and occur due to any number of reasons.  Whether someone wasn't paying attention during a conversation or just assumed they heard what they thought they heard or simply didn't check their text message after auto correct got a hold of it.

  According to study conducted by the Wisconsin University,  80 percent of all misunderstandings occur on Monday. Which makes sense to me.

  Monday is your first day back to work after a fun and relaxing weekend.  You're still tired from staying up all night trying to catch up the last season of Game of Thrones  or sore from trying to dunk a basketball into a ten feet high hoop. So of course you aren't going to be a 100 percent focused. 

  Tonight while I was at work, I had a great Misunderstanding Monday experience.

  I work with this guy named, Donnie who looks alot like the character, Horseshack, from Welcome Back Kotter.  And for the last few days,  I have been trying to get people to start calling him, Horseshack.

  Now before you start calling me mean and a bully,  you should understand that Donnie is the person who convinced everyone at work to call me, Frogman. So as far as I'm concerned,  turn about is fair game.

  So as I was working on my machine, Donnie walks by on his way to the breakroom. I figure now is my chance to casually toss out, "What's up, Horseshack? ".

  I do... And he immediately stops in his tracks, slowly turns toward me and glares. "What did you call me," he growled.
  I looked at him slightly confused and repeated what I said earlier. "What's up, Horseshack?"

  His face turned the brightest shade of red and he got this little embarrassed smile on his face.  Then he said, "Oh. I thought you called me, Whore Sack."

  And then he just walked away shaking his head.

  How's that for a perfect Misunderstanding Monday.

Careful What You Say

  Only my day would start with a call from the human resources department at my work asking me to come in early so we could have a "necessary" meeting.

  When I asked them what was up, they just said it was important they talk to me as soon as possible.

  I agreed to meet with them, but you call me this early you get me as is. FYI - when going in for an important surprise meeting with your human resources department it might be a good idea to change out of your Spider-Man pajama pants. Lesson learned.

  My meeting was with the head of human resources, the plant manager and their lawyer. They didn't waste any time on pleasantries. Instead,  they got right to the point.  Which was, "you have to be very careful what you say to the temporary employees. "

  Since I wasn't sure exactly what they were referring to I had to ask them to go into more detail.  To which they responded by laying several photos out in front of me.

  Oops. That's what they were mad about.

  So... last night at towards the end of my shift, I heard some of the temporary employees complaining about their hours and how much money they were making.

  It was a pretty slow night and I was bored out of my mind. I'm guessing that might account for what came out of my mouth next.

  I said,  "To bad you guys didn't work here like 100 years ago.  Apparently,  the founders of this company were totally paranoid and didn't trust the banks with all the money they were making. So,  what they did was bury half their fortunes in a steel vault  under the cement floor in the Harley Davidson room. I tell you guys... if they ever tear up that floor, someone is going to be set for life."

  It is also possible I might have given them a hand drawn map and made a few 'Xs' to represent spots where the fortune is rumored to be buried.  I felt it added a little something extra to the story. Who doesn't love a good visual aid after all. 

  Well, according to human resources, those employees put a little more stock in my story than I thought they would.

  The three temps waited until their shift  ended and everyone went home.  They then proceeded to break the lock to the tool room and "borrowed" a few shovels and pickaxes.

  When the security guy arrived at 4:30 am to do his walk through, he stumbled upon the three guys digging away.

  Apparently human resources thinks my story is what motivated them to do what they did. I say it's pure coincidence. There's no proof I influenced them at all. To which they responded by playing me a clip from the security cameras of the guys singing,  "We're going to be rich" and waving my hand drawn map in the air.

  Oops.

  Luckily, since telling a story isn't exactly a crime,  the most they could legally do was call me in for that meeting... and move me to a machine far away from any of the other employees.

  Good thing I brought my iPod.

The Loop Hole

  So, here's a fun conversation to have with your boss as soon as you get to work.

  Worker:  Where am I working today?
  Plant Manager (PM): You're late.
  Worker:  What? I'm not late. I punched in at 2:55 pm. I don't start till 3 pm. By my estimation, I'm really 5 minutes early.
  PM:  The handbook says, "Be at your machine and ready to work by 3 pm". You didn't get here till 3:03 pm. That's why I'm marking you as late.
  Me:  What's this handbook you keep speaking of? I don't think I've ever seen... a 'handbook', was it?
  PM:  You got a copy of it when you started working here. I suggest you go home and read it. You lose half a point for being late today. You may want to review how the punch in system works.
  Me: You may want to go back to your office and remove that giant stick from your butt.

A re-enactment of the "discussion" my boss had with me.

  Okay, I might not have said that last part... Out loud anyways. But rest assured loyal readers, I was definitely thinking it.

  In case you weren't able to read between the lines and put two and two together, the person who got in trouble was yours truly.

  I know, shocking right. Although, I still don't consider myself as being late. I was punched in before 3 pm. So, in my sane and unbiased opinion, I was on time.

  For most people, this would simply be a case of 'you say tomato / I say tomato'. I, on the other hand, was not going to just shrug it off, turn the other cheek or just bend over.

  By the plant manager making such an erroneous claim, a gauntlet had been thrown down. Whether he meant to throw it or not. There it laid at my feet, reflecting the fluorescent light from the ceiling up into my eyes.

  I felt like I was falling victim to the Ghost Rider's Penance stare. But instead of forcing me to relive all my greatest sins, the light was instead revealing all the evils my plant manager had perpetrated over the years in the name of profit.

  This was no longer about merely bring accused of being late. This was about Justice, and avenging all the poor souls that had been wronged by this fiend.

  I bent over and picked up that gauntlet. And even after I took it in my hand it continued to glow. However, now it glowed with the light of justice. Tapping power even i didn't know I had, I swung that gauntlet with the force of a 1,000 sharknados. As soon as the gauntlet connected, the plant manger flew backwards and crashed through a giant office window. I wasn't sure if he was okay or no, but from under all that shattered glass I could hear the words, 'forgive me' being muttered through the sobbing.

  Again, sadly, none of that actually happened. That was all from a blissful dream that would come later that night.

  In reality, we simply starred each other down for a few tense and uncomfortable moments then walked away.

  I'm not sure what he was thinking about as he plopped into his big, comfy leather office chair, but my thoughts were very clear. I needed to find a copy of this 'alleged' handbook as soon as possible.

  In case you were wondering 'as soon as possible' ended being a very long three hours.

  I would like to say I snuck into an empty office and hacked their computer system to find the handbook, but all I really ended up doing was walking up to my supervisor and asking him if we really do have a handbook. We did.

  Take note my friends, when you prepare to challenge authority, you want to keep your investigations as secret as possible. So, this time I really did find an empty office. Once inside I turned off the lights, pulled a blanket over my head and turned on my trusty Scooby Doo themed flashlight.

  I love reading most things, but you put a manual in front of me or a handbook and my brain shuts down about 90% of it's functions. So, getting through this entire handbook was no easy task. I think I might have fallen asleep like five times. One time I'm pretty sure I snored. Basically, this is how the handbook was set up.

  The first 10 pages were pretty standard stuff. They mostly outlined the consequences for skipping work, dress codes and the importance of the non-disclosure agreement we signed. (FYI - I also don't recall seeing or signing this either.)

  The next 3 pages laid out what to do in case we have an accident that creates a giant mutant monster. There was also a page or two dedicated to dealing with ghosts of long dead employees and how to identify a Hellmouth.

  Finally, it was in the last three pages that I found my Holy Grail. Under the heading, 'The Dos and Don'ts of the Time Clock' was this line:

     'All employees must be at their designated work station by their scheduled work time.'

  Needless to say, I was a little bummed about the plant manager being right about needing to be at my machine by 3 pm.

  Ugh! I could almost hear his annoying voice now. Just repeating over and over, "Be at your machine by 3pm." Just the thought of it made me contemplate sticking my head inside one of the furnaces.

  I re-read the policy again just to make sure I didn't miss anything. This time when I read it, I also had the plant manger in my head taunting me.

  Suddenly, it occurred to me that what I was reading and what the plant manager was repeating in my head didn't match up.

  Yes, the part about being on my machine by 3 pm was correct, but I didn't see anything about having to be ready to work.

  In fact, its pretty vague as far as policies go. Sure, be at the machine by 3 pm, but what am I supposed to do once I'm there. Should I work? Should I preform puppet shows? Should I twerk on the machine? There are literally thousands upon millions of things I could do. Working apparently does not have to be one of them.

  Armed with this new knowledge, I made my way to the plant manager's office. Stopping only long enough to buy a Rice Krispie Treat.

  I stood outside his window for second and saw that he was on the phone. That didn't matter to me. I swung open his office door and tossed the handbook on to his desk. He quickly said, 'goodbye' to the person on the other end then hung up his phone.

  This is the conversation that followed:

  Me:  So, look what I found.
  PM:  Okay.
  Me:  You were right. It does say I need to be at my machine by 3 pm.
  PM:  Did you think I was making that up or something?
  Me:  Doesn't really matter, because according to this book I just need to be at my machine by 3. It doesn't say I have to be ready to work. At least, that's what your precious handbook says. And since I did walk through my machine's area before 3 pm. I wasn't late.
  PM:  (Opens the handbook and reads) Okay, it might not say it, but it is fully implied.
  Me:  Nope, the handbook says on the first page that, 'these policies are to be followed as stated in the handbook and are not subject to interpretation.' Which means you may have to reprint your handbook, but for right now I would expect you to be a man of honor and undo the mark you put on my record.

  And with that. I turned and walked out of his office. Did he actually take the mark off my record? I honestly have no idea. All I know is that on that day, I scored a victory for the every day man. The man who puts his pants on one leg at a time and now and then enjoys a few onion rings from Burger King, because they have the awesome Zesty dipping sauce.