If you’re subscribed to my Twitterstream (and if you’re not, why?), then you get my periodic crazy workplace goings-on as they happen. Par exemple:

“Ugh, quality at work fell 1/100th of a point, thus making me ineligible for OT until 2009. Saying ‘whateva’ like Sebastian Love about it.”

“Ugh, they just sent us a memo saying we can NOT take off Nov. 4, and can only use our mandatory 2 hours to vote.”

“Today’s WTF Moment: ‘There will no longer be any condiments, plates, cups, eating utensils or paper napkins for the break area. Thank you.’”

“Today’s WTF Moment: They locked up the office supply cabinets, so now you have to send an e-mail to get basic supplies (pens, paper, etc.).”

“I wish my idiot manager would stop renaming her .docx files as .doc. She’s convinced it’s because she has a virus on her computer. *sigh*”

“‘I don’t know what a Doc X is. Is that an unknown document?’ I shouldn’t have even made the suggestion to her.”

“I love how all the designers have made demotivational wallpapers for their PCs.”

“Geez…one of the managers is going up and down the aisles with a clipboard and tallying our attendance. What is this, homeroom?”

“I’m a little unnerved that a lot of the designers here compare our current work policies to anal rape.”

“OMG! E-mailed office manager saying I needed some tape, she e-mails back asking why, and then says I need mgr. approval. For tape? *fuming*”

And those are just the moments when I happen to be at the keyboard.

As you can see, things are devolving at the j-o at a dismal rate. Before you know it, we’ll have to have hall passes, dress in business casual wear, and bring our own roll of toilet paper (and probably get docked time if we have to take a shit). Corporate fuckery, thy name is Big Company, Inc.. Every week (or sometimes every day), something new is handed down from the power that be (Little Terror) who has yet to show his face in the place (maybe for fear of getting sacked out of the blue Terry Tate style). A lot of the designers are fed the fuck up, and everyone’s taking it in their own ways. Some have internalized the despair and amble about like zombies from cube to cube. Others are taking up the company’s clarion call of overwork/underpay because they need the money in this fragile economy. And there are the few who are speaking out against it. Heading them up is Mexican Cher.

You may remember Mexican Cher, the outgoing, popular designer who at one point and time took my work cube. Well he unexpectedly got canned earlier this week, and man, did he not take it well. As I was exiting the building, he was downstairs punching a marble wall, talking about how he wanted to punch Brooding Velma‘s face in since she handed down the decision. Knowing how it feels to get a pink slip out of the blue, I extended a recommendation to him for this creative agency I’ve been working with. He thanked me, and had an interview which apparently went pretty well. One of the other designers, Li’l Lezzie relayed the news to me.

“You know, that was a really nice thing you did for Mexican Cher.”

“Well I know how it is to get fired suddenly, so if I can help out in any way, I will.”

“Yeah, yeah…that’s good. I didn’t know you were so nice. Kinda makes me feel bad about all those times we talked about you.”

…and then she walked off! I guess no good deed goes unpunished now, does it?

And then there’s Work Husband.

I’ve sort of mentioned him before — I first gave him the name Asian with a Phatty, but since I came back, we’ve become close enough to the point where he had to get a new name. And Lord, he still has a phatty. Unfortunately, his wife works there now, and her gnawing presence kinda takes the fun out of visually undressing Work Husband whenever I can. (OK, so I’m not really that much of a horndog, but he knows he has a big ass and a beefy body and shows it off, so who am I not to look?)

Work Husband has endeared himself to me though, especially now that after several run-ins with management, he is completely over working for Big Company, Inc. and has been very vocal about it by snapping at managers and drawing caricatures of them and hanging them outside his cube. I help to keep him in check though, and have even got him registered at the same agency where I’m at. He went in recently and is now optimistic about getting out of here.

I even got him to take the caricatures down. He’s a good kid, but this is his first real job, and I don’t want him to squander it by being a wise ass. (Look who’s talking, right?)

One person who has been taken for a total mindfuck by these changes is Mr. Mon. I can’t say I’m totally surprised though, and his transition is a testament to the error that can come from chasing a job for the money. About six months ago, he started to hint that he wanted to become a designer so he could make more money for his family. Thing is, Mr. Mon has no design skill. He really only wanted to become a designer because he was tired of answering phones and wanted the increased pay. Over the next few months, he started to take on light designing tasks and always strained his way through them. When they announced that he would come over to the design side full-time, I was worried. Y’see, Mr. Mon is the kind of guy that needs to be handheld, spoon-fed, and wiped down and baby powdered when it comes to learning new tasks. He doesn’t do well when it comes to autonomous, self-directed work. The day he came over was the day they started to hand down the mandate about our new point/work schedule (pw: curtis). The hits have kept on coming, and his normally ebullient, cheerleader-type attitude has turned into sullen anger.

“Man, fuck Big Company, Inc. I didn’t think I’d have to do this much fucking work for this fucking pay. Fucking shit. It’s like they’re fucking us up the ass with no lube. Just dry. Just bend over and take it like a bitch.”

“Mad, are we?” We were at lunch with Work Husband, Captain K’nuckles, Male Daria, Wiggerlicious, and one of the newest designers, Work Husband‘s very handsome friend Lispy Rocker. It’s our usual 11 o’clock rantfest; 30 minutes out of the day where we can vent and make jokes before a manager comes by with a clipboard and asks us why we aren’t working.

“I’m just going to find another job. I fucking hate Big Company, Inc.!” Mr. Mon said. Looks like this place can turn even the cheeriest optimist into a potty-mouthed curmudgeon.

Speaking of which, you may be wondering how I’m taking it.

Let’s just say I have planned my work and now I’m working my plan.

TO BE CONTINUED