Oxygen is optional.

  • Jun. 22nd, 2011 at 3:53 PM
allaire: (gaypic)
Yesterday wasn't such a great day at work. First, I overslept (and no one noticed until I phoned my boss around 11 o'clock to check in, apologize profusely and promise to come in in about half an hour), then I barely made it through two hours at work before I declared I was feeling sick and returned home.

The (weather-based) migraine wouldn't, in fact, kick in until late in the evening, but it was barely past noon when my head felt like it was on the verge of exploding, so I think I had good cause. I still blame myself for not sticking it out (not being willing to stick it out), but really.

Sharp, toxic, surely cancer-inducing clouds of paint fumes? I hate (but have gotten used to) working in the middle of a perpetual construction site. Still, there are limits. It's nice to know that the company responsible for the construction work is willing to repair little things like scratched varnish at the outside of our office doors, but why the fuck couldn't they have done this... I don't know, during the weekend? Late in the evening? Or, hey, the novelty, before we moved in perhaps?!

Not in the middle of a work day without providing proper ventilation (aparently forcefully propping the main entrance open is unnecessary for pussy little shit like that).

I religiously tried to keep our office door shut and thus the toxic smell confined to the hallway (even though it meant biting two colleagues' heads off for standing in the open door while talking), opened all available windows, and still had to admit defeat when the spray can-wielding guy arrived at our door. Itching eyes? Check. Burning sinuses? Check. Building pressure headache? Check.

I'd prepared for a long day to make up for my late start to the very same - I would have damned well called in sick from home if I'd only known.

If only our "occupational health and safety" division at work would, I don't know, actually do their job in the first place, perhaps then things like that wouldn't happen. Frankly, I'm not okay with damaging my health just because "it's just for one day", "it's not so bad", and "just open all the windows". For fuck's sake.


Common courtesy, anyone?

  • Jun. 20th, 2011 at 10:25 AM
allaire: (gaypic)
At work, our department consists of two sections - let's call one of them the "VIP section" (it's really another three-letter-abbreviation, but "VIP" is apt). They are (relatively) new, and oh so horribly important that they get new personnel all the time (despite the fact that they, legally, don't have the right to do half the work they try to distinguish themselves with), plus they pushed through the installation of a keycard-locked door separating their Very Important section from us peons (which, incidentally, means that we women have no longer access to the women's toilet on this level which is on their side of the hallway).

Anyway, this morning my colleague and I were working at our desks like always when suddenly, a troop of three VIP colleagues crowded into our office and loudly started to divvy up the room ("This is where I'll put my desk, and your filing cabinet goes there..." and whatnot). We were flabbergasted.

Turns out the VIP section is getting new personnel (again), and of course their "secure area" doesn't have enough room anymore (despite the fact that we moved into this building - what? Just three months ago.), and so they have to expand into our side of the hallway now. The decision was made sometime last week, but a few people up the ladder still have to agree, so it's not been made official. In fact, the section heads have been asked to keep it to themselves for the time being. Well, I guess the VIP head screwed that up.

We're to move about eight offices down the hallway into a smaller room that's right now serving as a storage area. The office is smaller, but still okay, room-wise. I'm just pissed at having to pack up all our files, other stuff, computers etc. and move yet again.

Always so nice to learn something like this from three vultures showing up to pick clean a corpse that's not even dead yet.


PowerPoint or: Reluctant rapprochements.

  • Dec. 13th, 2009 at 5:00 AM
allaire: (satisfaction)
I think I'm beginning to like Microsoft PowerPoint. Once you spend quite some time digging into its functionalities, creating new slides becomes... well, not fun exactly, but not a chore, either, and leaves you feeling accomplished.

I have to prepare a presentation for the end-of-the-year meeting in our main office at the end of the week. We're each supposed to talk for 20-30 minutes and use PowerPoint to, well, 'make a point' (sorry! bad pun!), or rather: to enhance our presentation, not hijack it in a dizzying rush of flashing graphics. Or some such, anyway. Our department head wasn't exactly clear on the specifics, considering everyone who asked him for details came back with a different understanding of what he wanted us to do.

Until last Thursday, I'd managed to avoid learning more about PowerPoint than the fact that it existed (I would have sworn I had it deinstalled at my home computer, but thank God I hadn't), but now, unless I want to be depended on the help and goodwill (hah!) of my dear colleages one department over, I have to learn (and create) what I can on my own.

As I said, it's almost fun by now. Although I can hardly believe that I took work home with me, argh. And won't even get compensated for the hours I spend on this.

Pretty, pretty graphics. :::pets:::

:::sways dizzily:::

Oh, perhaps I should finally go to bed. What a marvelous idea.


Smack him silly.

  • Nov. 6th, 2009 at 9:50 AM
allaire: (gaypic)

*[livejournal.com profile] allaire shows up in a colleague's office - let's call him F - to ask a question*

*colleague isn't there, but should show up the next day according to his roommate*

*[livejournal.com profile] allaire doesn't know when exactly, during the day, F will actually be found behind his desk and thinks that asking him to come to her should rule out them missing each other again, especially since the folder with the relevant correspondence for the case is in her office*

*[livejournal.com profile] allaire writes an e-mail asking the following:*

"Hello F,
would you please come by my office tomorrow regarding the a/m case? Thank you."


*[livejournal.com profile] allaire receives an e-mail with the following text:*

"Hello [livejournal.com profile] allaire,
you may come here today."
*[livejournal.com profile] allaire fumes*

Who does F think he is? I'm neither his secretary nor his slave. Considering he turns up regularly in front of the building to smoke - which is just a short way from my office - I don't believe it'd be a hardship for him to walk a couple of feet to knock on my door. Furthermore, the condescending tone of the e-mail? Not appreciated.

*[livejournal.com profile] allaire mentally composes and discards several equally snotty answers*

*[livejournal.com profile] allaire finally decides on a compromise she can live with and answers him as follows:*

Hello F,
what, you can't simply pop by my office on the way back from your next cigarette break? ;-)
Please answer my question ...[details the question and lists the references to the relevant correspondence by name only instead of including the documents themselves]..."
Take that, moron! Good luck researching. Of course, I have all that shit printed out in a folder next to my desk, but if you won't come by in person, go comb through our filing system. Everything is in there, after all. It just requires a bit of searching.


Too many cooks spoil the broth.

  • Sep. 4th, 2008 at 3:27 PM
allaire: (Default)
I'm going to participate in an international project at work during the next weeks. So far, though, some final plans still have to be implemented, and time is running out. Plus, there's some confusion due to

a) too many different locations vital files are saved to:
  • our sub-section's joint folder on the main server
  • our joint folder accessible via our e-mail accounts
  • our joint e-mail account
  • our password-protected part of the intranet
  • our special, members-only project server
  • our e-mail account on the project's international server;
b) the fact that all e-mail sent during the run of the project will be sent exclusively to a single e-mail account where all information will end up hopelessly mixed up.

Oh joy. Plus, our net access via DSL still hasn't been established.

The thing hasn't even started yet, and I already want to go :::headdesk:::.

Janus is the God of Chaos, right, Ethan? Perhaps naming the project after a different goddess was premature.


Help! Am drowning in a sea of stupid!

  • Nov. 23rd, 2007 at 3:13 PM
allaire: (Default)
Excerpt from a conversation in my office a minute ago:

Co-worker whose name shall remain anonymous (CWWNSRA): "Help! I can't do research properly because the program buttons in my browser window have become strange and unreadable!"
[livejournal.com profile] allaire (to herself): Why me? I have my own work to do and don't have time for this shit.
CWWNSRA: "Heeeeelp! Can't work! Error! Does not compute!"
[livejournal.com profile] allaire: "Argh. Whatever. Let me see."
Browser window: "It's not my fault. See? I'm cute, harmless and innocent. It's not my fault the user's stupid."
[livejournal.com profile] allaire: "How about you maximize the window?"
CWWNSRA: maximizes window
Browser window: "Voilà."
[livejournal.com profile] allaire: headdesk

Waaah. Weekend, I need you!!!


Cold Reality

  • Aug. 2nd, 2007 at 6:42 PM
allaire: (oz-kiss)
Today was a slow day at work, so I did what I often do when I find myself with a little bit of time on my hands - I checked the Extrapol circulation notices.

Surprisingly enough, the most current notice wasn't even listed on the main page, but I found it somewhere else. A student at the UAS Trier has been missing since 07 Jun 2007. Her friends and family have launched a website in the hopes of finding someone who might have witnessed what happened to her, Findet Tanja.

She's pretty. She's been missing for almost two months now. Somehow I doubt she's still alive.

Someone printed out one of the flyers available on the website and put it up on the bulletin board of the supermarket around the corner from where I work. I bet it was a colleague.

Her case reminded me of my "favorite" one, although favorite is the wrong word here. Ever since I started at my current job, I've been following the state of the case in the hopes that a young girl found abused to death in Frankfurt-Nied in 2001 would finally be identified and her murderer(s) brought to justice.

The case is still open. Every time I check the notice, I become so enraged.

How is it that something like this could happen? Didn't anyone notice? Didn't anyone care? She must have suffered so much in her short life.

We've become so jaded by the seemingly endless number of crime series on tv. But things like that are not always fictional. Sometimes they're real. And they often lack a satisfying ending.

I'll stop now before I become totally depressed.


allaire: (gaypic)

I hate days at work during which

a) our clerikal workers are obviously grossly incompetent and prove that perhaps, between the two of them, they have one working brain. Sadly, however, it is split unevenly and today the one of them who got the smaller part was on duty. She annoyed me with several dumb questions, chief among them:

"You told me to open all files in intranet folder X, save them to disk and then upload them to intranet folder Y. Well, usually folder Y contains already one or two files at the most - in this one instance, however, there are four files already there! What am I supposed to do now?!"

Unfortunately, I was too polite to answer: "Jump out of the window! You're too stupid to live!"

Instead, I re-explained everything. God, give me brain-dead monkeys any day. They surely can't be much more stupid, and hey - they'd be pettable and cute. And, you know, monkeys.


b) my computer is fucked up for no reason at all and refuses to open files on the intranet. Hello, work?! Spending three hours twiddling my thumbs and threatening GBH to the computer is one way to spend an afternoon, sure, but perhaps not the most productive one.

Stupid piece of fucking trash. Especially since the IT guys are just as stumped.

Again *headdesk*.


Work. Gah.

  • Feb. 6th, 2007 at 11:43 AM
allaire: (Default)
Dear M.,

last year I was not very thrilled to learn that you'd hooked up with one of our colleagues from that other agency participating in our joint organization; I thought it was collaborating with the enemy, and that your priority would get scewed sooner or later. Especially since your boyfriend is our Enemy Of the State's bitch/henchman/manservant yes-man.
So, it's really no surprise you reacted the way you did - in fact, I'd expected it far sooner, and I am well aware that your reluctance to acknowledge my presence is motivated by as much their brainwashing as by your envy of the fact that our boss likes me better and intends to give me the better evaluation.
If you could stop greeting me in the morning without it looking petty, I'm sure you would.
It's not easy just being a good worker among many, is it?
So yeah, I look over your work before it is filed. Deal with it, beyatch.

No love,


Work. Blah. Ignore me.

  • Jan. 12th, 2007 at 3:00 PM
allaire: (Default)

I feel the urgent need to babble so I can stop thinking about it all, so please bear with me.

First of all, I have the strong suspicion that a guy eating lunch at the same canteen as I do is attracted to me. I already have his phone number, know his name (Christian), his age (34), his hobbies (paintball and tinkering with his motorbike) and was asked whether I had some free time over the weekend. Ack. He's perhaps an inch taller than I am, has brown hair, eyebrows that have grown together, and deeper circles underneath his eyes than I do (which is quite an accomplishment, trust me). He's a bit chatty, but nice, and not totally out of the question. We'll have to see.

Second, I can't help but seriously entertain the hope that my almost-boss is going down, yay! On paper, our joint unit consisting of two different agencies works together - in reality, however, there is always friction, and each side looks out for its own interests first. Especially since that guy is the most self-centered asshole I've ever encountered. He doesn't like me and has always tried his best to screw me over, but hasn't been very successful because a) I'm not dumb and try not to give him any grounds to go against me, and b) my boss and his deputy like me and believe I do good work. He doesn't greet me anymore, and neither do I him in retaliation, and we communicate best by e-mail. Blah. Anyway, he went against the rules regulating the co-operation of our agencies - for once without the knowledge and backing of his boss - and our department head wants his head intends to bring disciplinary action against him. I'm already preparing the pyre and the spike for his head. With my luck and the sickly sweet spirit of co-operation hanging over everything, though, I suppose he'll get but a slap on the wrist... but I can always hope, right? Anyway, we just exchanged polite-but-cutting e-mails, because he made a small mistake he's usually too thorough to make, and I couldn't resist needling him a little. Moron. Because of him, I'm stuck doing mainly correspondence. If they actually go through with the disciplinary action, I'll throw a fucking party.

Last but not least... there was something else, I swear.

Ah, now I remember. It was just the usual complaining thing going on - I slept too little, the cake a colleague brought to work is dry and tastes like sawdust, and. I. Hate. Stupid. People.


Need more black tea. And a vacation. Plus I still have bruises from Wednesday. Gah.


Wanted: Local fellow slash fans

  • Oct. 17th, 2006 at 12:39 PM
allaire: (Default)

Last Tuesday, I said "Screw it!" and finally posted a few lines on the message board at work.

The message read: "Wanted: People who know what zines, MLs, lj, BNFs and betas are and who are interested in a monthly Stammtisch meet in the Rhine-Main-area."

I hoped the message was obscure enough to lead to confusion among the uninitiated while managing to scream "Slash!" to anyone involved in the fandom. I took great care to use only "insider" words that don't lead to clear results in Google.

However, considering that more than 5.000 people have access to the message board - of which about half should live around here - I was very surprised to get not a single e-mail from anyone.

I cannot imagine I'm the only slash fan in 5.000 people. Either the ones here don't read the message board, are "oldtimers" not active in today's online fandom, or are lurkers afraid to speak up. Argh.

Well, at least the rest of my colleagues seem to either think that it had something to do with gaming (those who know me), or believe it to be a very secret lonely hearts and/or sex ad (those who don't). Which led to some very creative lying and today's deletion of the message, let me tell you. :::headdesk:::



Work. Bleh.

  • May. 11th, 2006 at 11:23 AM
allaire: (red)

Being involved hip-deep in statistics is far easier to deal with when you manage to piss people off. Yay, go me!


Now why do I feel like a ruler-wielding kindergarten teacher?

Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun. Annual situation analyses are fun...

I wonder how many more repetitions it'll take until I start believing it?