I'm not impressed

What's your name? "John Public, CLU." What's your email address? JQPCLU@aol.com. What do you do for a living? "Oh, I'm a CLU." Do you, John Public, take this woman to be your wife? "Actually, Father, that's John Public, CLU."

If your greatest accomplishment in life is an underwriting certificate, you have failed. If the most valued thing in your life is an underwriting accredation, you're an asshole. And if your name ever has to be succeeded by anything other than "sir" or "may he rest in peace," you're insignificant. In the wise words of Sir Wm. Shakespeare, may he rest in peace: "methinks doth protest too much."

P.S. Same goes for anyone who wants to be referred to "Dr. so-and-so" unless they're on their way to the ER or accepting the Nobel Prize. I have friends who went to school for seven years, too. I graduated in three, so my parents would still be able to retire before they were dead.

all right, look

My boss can't be critical of me for implying I took hallucinatory narcotics in college when SHE was the one who brought in a lavender and white polka dotted stuffed dog toy that barked boingy giggles. You heard me.

Job Satisfaction

So I found out that I have a nickname in one of my satellite offices. “The Executioner.” A clever double meaning from the fact that I ‘execute’ all sorts of regulations that they consider tedious and unnecessarily time-consuming that the person who used to be their contact (who still works here) never enforced, and the fact that I ‘kill’ several of their cases for noncompliance issues which have never before been enforced.

So I guess I could get some satisfaction from my job from knowing that I’m despised by the right people. I’d be more satisfied by working in an industry with spine. My supervisor has to take my side because I’m enforcing actual state laws, and she can’t actively oppose that. She’s more upset, I think, by the fact that it had never been enforced before– you know how that works, give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.

On the bright side, it’s Friday.

I’d like to have a job again where Mondays make me happy. I’m too good for the “TGIF” industry.

Why you haven't heard all the evils of Hillary Clinton

The news sources have been ROLLING in riches off this presidential issue—the ABC debate, despite being God Awful, was the third highest-rated show in the Nielsen ratings last week (first and second place were both American Idol, furthering my comparison between said show and the primaries). When Obama was behind, the news outlets were going crazy for kneepads and a spot under his desk. Now that Hillary is behind, they dare not say a thing about her, but will crucify Obama at every opportunity.

Being profitable is much, much more important to the news stations than telling the news. In fact, telling the news isn’t even on their radar. They’ll drive this country into the ground if it will improve their second quarter earnings. Consequently, they will do anything they can to keep Hillary in the race. Not because they support Hillary Clinton, but because if she drops out, they’ll have to go find real news, and possibly (though probably not) actual research.

The "coworker" should have been me

BOSS (to my coworker): “Wow, you look spiffified! You look really good!”

COWORKER: “Well, it’s like they say, if you want to feel good at work, you have to look good at work.”

BOSS: “Oh, that’s a really great attitude! Glad to see it. Do you feel good?”

COWORKER: “Actually, that was just a joke. I have a job interview today.”

I'll say something positive

I’ve now officially worked at this place longer than anywhere else I’ve ever worked, and although I’ve never developed the bonds here that I developed at the HEP or the mall (I’m presuming you know what I’m talking about, though you probably don’t), there is a collection of people here with whom I have developed a bond that can only be developed over several years. Particularly when I change departments every year, they never see me as “the contract guy” because last year I was “the admin guy” and the year before that I was “the group guy,” so eventually they just know me as me. The luxury of that being that I can talk to them in a way that I don’t talk with anyone else—not with day-to-day colleagues, not with friends, not with clients, certainly not with family.

I know that if I leave this place, I’ll never talk to these people again. So if nothing else, that’s one thing that makes this job worth keeping.

Whose office is more interesting?

At times mine feels like it’s coming straight out of Gervais’ show. For instance (none of this is made up):

PANICKED SPECIALIST: “John*, I just got off the phone with a client. She’s really confused about this issue, and said she wanted information on it A-SAP.” (she actually says ‘asap’ phonetically, as a word)

JOHN: “What did you tell her?”

PANICKED SPECIALIST: “Well, she’s your client, so I told her you’d give her a call. I told her you would call her back within five minutes.”

JOHN: (pulls out an egg timer from his drawer and sets it to 4 minutes and 30 seconds) “I’ll call her back later.”

John then proceeds to get up from his chair and go to the donut table, with his panicked co-worker still standing in his cube.


P.S. As I was writing this, the timer went off, at which point John calmly finished a bite of his donut, wiped the crumbs off his mouth, picked up the phone and called the client, with 10 seconds to spare.

I'll admit it sounds silly out loud...

“So, does it seem immoral to buy a used iPod off a homeless guy at the Sherwood McDonalds for 45 bucks? I don’t need a whole new iPod, I just need some kind of nano, and he put up a thing on Craigslist at like 2:00 last night saying he was getting rid of his iPod. I bought one from a dude in the Carribean last week, but he sent it to me and it wouldn’t stay on for more than 15 minutes at a time, so I mailed it back to Puerto Rico this morning, and now I need another iPod. I’ve gotten plenty of possible justifications- he needs the money to pay taxes; he got it off some other homeless guy; some jogger dropped it and now he’s just selling it to another jogger… in any of those situations I’m not responsible for any wrongdoing per se. Just so long as it’s not store-packaged, I should be fine.”

The Wrong Direction

DOCTOR: "Mr. Johnson?"
JOHNSON: "Doctor, yes, is everything okay?"
DOCTOR: "Well, the birth started a little earlier than expected, too soon for a traditional birth, so we had to go with a c-section. Your wife is recovering from surgery, and you are the new father of a healthy baby boy."
JOHNSON: "I'm a father! Oh, thank you, Doctor!"
DOCTOR: "APRIL FOOL'S DAY! Ha ha ha, I was just kidding with you about the c-section, Mr. Johnson. Your baby's dead."
(Doctor exits the waiting room, whistling)