fuck this job.com

My boss is a fucking douchebag. My old boss was a Jack Ass -- I hated him for a whole different set of reasons, which have been detailed thoroughly in posts prior on this very site. A Jackass, I've learned, is actually slightly more tolerable than a Douchebag.

This will probably be my last entry on this site (not that I was a particularly habitual poster, but I've written my share of rants over the past couple of years). It's not that I'm pussing out, but rather that something truly extraordinary has happened to me... I broke free.

My former job was shit in every sense of the word. I busted my ass 6 days a week, had more than 20 people who thought they were my boss, and made less than half of the market value of one of the three jobs I did. None of the preceding is hyperbole, but rather mathematical fact. My boss was a dundering moron in ways too extreme for me to even articulate -- he lacks the slightest shred of management skill, intelligence, wit, good humor or even a single redeeming quality. He fucks everyone he meets up the ass without lubricant all the while making jokes about how rich and successful he is. He's a fucking caricature... Ebeniezer Scrooge would find him tacky for fuck's sake. And that doesn't even describe the motley crew of clowns he calls his partners.

You, yes you. Your last name rhymes with that of the great Captain Picard, but that's all you have in common with such a great man. You have more in common with the nastiest, most trashy whore in the all the long history of whoredom. You are, quite simply, the Gaping Vagina of Upstate New York.

You E-mail me that one of the mouth-breathing idiots you're trying to hire is having a problem. I'm in a good mood today, so I immediately (fucking IMMEDIATELY) drop what I'm doing, which is very important, and implement a fix for your problem. This is a several-step process, requiring me to check the source-code out of the control, revise it, test it, revise again, load test, upload, and recheck-in. A normal IT department would simply throw this problem on the big heap of paper-slips labelled 'Bugs' and ignore it for weeks. Instead, because I'm feeling benevolent today, I fucking fixed it for you in ten minutes.

My company stands in complete opposition to all the evidence for Darwin's theory of natural selection. For those that don't know, this basis for our thoughts on evolution postulates 'survival of the fittest', meaning that the best of a species rises to the top, breeds more, and ultimately, over a glacial sort of timeframe, changes it into something better. My company, on the other hand, reflects the complete opposite.

Here, you can guess a person's position on the org chart by how mouth-breathingly stupid they are, how blind they are to other people, and how their words and actions effect said people. If a person is quick-witted, cares about their job functions with intensity, is blindingly competent and a great applied psychologist, you can most likely find them in the mail room, or out in the field chasing down our out-of-house employees, or telemarketting. Now, at the other end of the spectrum, if you want stupid... I mean just... impossibly stupid, retarded stupid, you look at the management.

As I was on my way to work this morning, the Boss' wife chirps me on my cell phone and tells me not to worry, that JA is worried about my attitude and is planning on making it all right by giving me a raise and everything. Now, I knew this was BS, and I didn't for one moment allow myself to hope.

Luckily for me -- as usual -- my instinct proved their veracity. My 'raise' is that my hours are going to extended (as 45 hours a week is apparently not enough) to 50 hours a week.

Wait though. Before I get into that, let me describe this meeting.

First he tries to prove, mathematically, that my 'assistant' is not making more money than me. This is entirely dependent on the fact that I get health insurance. By adding the cost of my health insurance to my salary, it approaches the new guy's salary. Then you add in my $100/month stipend from one of the other companies and I would have eeked him out by like $400.

My life has been a steady, downhill progression for some time. My father dies of prostate cancer at age 48, and no one sees fit to notify me until after he's dead (my step-mother hates me). Then my grandfather dies. Then my job starts sucking (reference earlier blogs for more information) and now my grandmother is about to undergo a quadruple bypass and a valve replacement.

Today was my second day with my assistant/replacement, who I will simply call Limp Dick. To date, LD has not made eye contact with me once yet. On his first day, he effectively demanded root FTP access and a copy of all the proprietary software that runs the department. Then he gets pissy when I don't give it to him. He prepares a list of random projects that he feels like doing, and rather than presenting it to me, he schedules a meeting with my boss and the VP of the company without mentioning it to me (This is why people who've owned their own businesses are unmanageable).

There can be no more ambiguity. My boss is the scum-of-the-earth. The green morass of pond-scum that floats on top of stagnant water left to bake in the sun looks down on the kind of scum that my boss is. He's a plague on the Earth, a mad, sad little bully still trying and failing to prove to the world that he's not simply white trash.

He is. He could become the richest man in the world, drive the most expensive cars, have the hottest trophy wife, and he'll still be nothing more than the snivelling, dirty-nosed white trash he was when he was little. There is a fundamental problem with his brain, a defect, and no matter how hard and fast he runs away from it, hiding in his corridors of perceived power, it will remain. He is a stain. A little piece of garbage floating in the midden of the world. He deserves to die slowly, by going septic inside, rotting from the inside out, until finally his external, leprous appearance matches the rot in his mind.

We poor, desperate fools that those higher on the chain call wage-slaves seem to have made the ultimate, poor life decision. All our lives the conditioning has been simple -- you trade your time for money, and that's how you live.

Except that it's not just our time we trade... it's our everything. Our very lives dedicated to being slow-turning little gears in a machine whose entire purpose is nebulous and not apparent. We're told that hard-work pays dividends, and yet those at the top didn't get their by hard work, they got there by dumb, stupid luck. By ass-kissing and lying and being born into it, by making the right friends.

So, I'm in the process of hiring an employee whose either going to by my assistant or my replacement -- I haven't figured it out yet. Now, my boss is mad cheap, so we can't actually get a good software engineer with talent, or a skilled IT person. We're looking at three demographics:

1) Former high-placed geeks whose terrible attitudes, lack of skill or crack addiction got them blacklisted from all the good companies. You can tell these by the reek of sweet, sweet desperation that rolls off them like bad cologne at a sales meeting.

2) Foreigners. Yeah, I know we're computer people, but it's nice to be able to talk to my employees in English, and have them respond in kind. I mean, nothing says productivity like a substandard education combined with a barrier to communication.

Ha. I'm still a little heady... something actually went my way for a change.

There's this little douchebag at my office, just started a few months ago. He's short, and he has a bald pate, and there's all these little like, pubic-hair looking things that grow up around the bald part, and it's like a little ghetto crown. Ergo, his nickname will be King of Small Manhood, or KSM. He came in acting like a badass on the very day he started. He all starts trying to make policies and coopt my employees. Mind you, I run the IT department, and he was hired to do like marketing and PR, so there's no relation at all.

This is a semi-continuation from my last entry, I suppose. At least in that Metrosexual Cum Dumpster (MCD) is one of the main characters. Guess what I get to do tomorrow (the day before the 4th of July)? If you said have a nice barbeque with some fine chiquitas up in my buddy's house, well... you're fucking wrong as hell. I tried to switch days, and was told no (even though I did it last year). I tried to take a day off, and was told no. Why, you ask?

Well, because MCD's tampon shot out of his twat, flung across the room and apparently fucked up his wireless router. Actual causality aside, the short of it is, his little piece of shit office is broken, and he's too stupid to fix it. I honestly believe in the pit of my stomach that he did this intentionally just so he can aggravate me to my face. I guess he's tired of trying to fuck me from behind.

So like, I'd always felt on some level that my boss and I had a sort of tacit, armed truce with each other. In exchange for my working at far, far below market rate, I do two seperate jobs -- managing IT and programming internal applications. The proviso has always been that I don't take anyone's shit -- including his. I do my job -- I do it well, and everyone leaves me alone.

The company I work for has many satellite offices, independently operated. Two of the managers of these offices (Let's call them Pussy Trustfund Bitch (PTB) and Metrosexual Cum Dumpster (MCD) for anonymity's sake). Over the past week, PTB has been making an ass of himself -- demanding a disproportionate amount of work and then complaining about the less high priority pieces not being done a few days later. This lead to a minor power struggle in which PTB transacted with JA (Jack Ass - The boss) in an attempt to discredit me. Luckily, I save all E-mails, and was able to win by virtue of having not done anything wrong -- all the date/time stamps were perfect.

Like yesterday wasn't bad enough, what with a lowly houseboy trying to play "Let's compare sizes" with me, my idiot boss jumping on the bandwagon without any information and looking at the depressing state of my finances.

Today I woke up with that feeling I get in the pit of my gut that I'm heading for a truly, righteously shitty day. It didn't disappoint.

I get to work, sit down, take a nice, deep breath...

And there's a message on my voicemail, the fucking asshole, metrosexual cum dumpster manager, DEMANDING that I drop everything I'm doing and make an E-mail address for his new dick-sucker. I make a note to do it, and hit 'Send/Receive' and get an E-mail from him DEMANDING the same thing. Now, in my head, at this point, I'm having vivid fantasies of loving him slowly with a chainsaw. I make the E-mail, let him know it's done.

How many dirt poor IT people do you know? Not CS grads with no relevant experience and 2 years spent studying compiler design and assembly language, but an actual IT person, with 6 years experience in programming, system administration, and web design. With a job. Managing IT for 5 companies spread across 7 buildings with all different systems, linked only by the guy who owns 'em.

Yeah. That's me. I do everyfuckingthing. I keep the networks running. Firewalls, VPN, remote desktop, mailservers, SQL databases. Everything. I keep the workstations in these offices running, relatively spyware free (thank god for FireFox), etc. I run cables. I make housecalls.