TIME KILLAZ

[mustynutz]

My first job out of highschool was as a cashier in a chain convenience store in the low rent
area of the city I lived in. It was great, there was a taco smell in the store, and boy but
being able to make my own burritos was surely one of life's warm and fuzzies at the
time.

This store had daily occurences of people running out with 30 packs of beer or walking out with
40s in their pant legs. There were many illicit activites taking place in this establishment,
not the least of which were being perpetrated by me and the other employees.

There are a few things that stick with me from that job. The old guy with the rotten nose who
came in drunk and weaving every day to buy 1 beer. Watching him negotiate his way to the beer
cooler and then up to the register was always amusing. I believe he must have had some heatlh
problems and he was obviously a very old hand at the drinking game. I always sold him the beer,
even the time he fell over into the hot dog machine and knocked over all those coffee cup lids.

I got to know the face of this one guy who would come in to steal a case of beer. I'd see him
come in watch him go to the cooler and then smile and nod to him on his way out. Have a nice
day sir. One guy (Jeremy) I worked with was not so tolerant of this behavior. We were behind the counter one day and the guy went out the door. Jeremy VAULTED over the counter, chased the guy down, caught up to him after a few blocks, tackled him on the pavement (sustaining small injuries) and brought that beer back. The perp escaped to five finger discount another day.

Probably the craziest thing that happened there was the time a cashier I worked with got stabbed.
She also had some kind of problem with people stealing. We were working at night and a guy
took some cigarettes off the counter display (I don't think they have those anymore) while he
was paying. I guess this cashier saw him, or somebody told her because she ran out the
door after him tried to get them back. He stabbed her in the gut. Fuck that shit.

That place was great.

 

[mustynutz]

It could be that i’m racist.

It could be that i’m just upset.

It could be that I just don’t understand them.

It could be that I just don’t give a fuck.

Most people ain’t shit, but there are certain folks out there that just kinda take the cake. It’s absurd. Let me just throw this out there:

My branch manager is a bitch. He’s a straight up herb. No nuts. A pussy. I got him shook. He’s one of those dudes that’ll slap your mother and tell you about it when he’s 100 miles away. Dude talks a lot of shit about people when they’re not around, but won’t say shit to your grill.

Just like the “fajitas for 8″ incident the other day. When I gave him the expense report he grimaced, but really didn’t say too much about it. He asked why I ordered for 8, and I told him straight up that we didn’t feel like that would be enough, so I ordered 8. i took full responsibility. I don’t give a fuck. What is he gonna tell me? Bitch…
While i’m out the next day, he’s talking big shit to the rest of the branch about how I must not have any common sense to order fajitas for 8 when there’s only 4 people there… Bitch! I just came up. He still signed the expense report. He still “approved” it. Don’t talk about me if you can’t talk shit to me. That’s where i’m coming from.

But that’s not even why he’s a bitch…

While he was out on “business calls” this morning, a customer came in looking for a file that the manager supposedly had. So I go through the manager’s “pending” files (which i’m not supposed to do) to see if I can find this little document. What I came across didn’t shock me, but it made me look twice:

Apparently, that penguin-looking motherfucker tried to write me up last month, but HR didn’t let him do it. (Why? - I couldn’t tell you.) I guess he didn’t really have the grounds to do it. Or maybe he thought I would go off on him. O r maybe he needed me around for our branch relocation, and didn’t want me to fuck it up. Or maybe he’s just a lil BITCH. I like that last explanation best.

It’s all good though. He can’t really afford to get rid of me. We’re severely understaffed, and I can do whatever the fuck I want. If I leave, it’s over. I’m one of only two people in this branch that actually do work. The other4 or 5 try to pass the buck.

But it’s still a bitch move to try and write me upon the low. It’s kinda funny that the HR person denied his request, stating that he needed a “current” reason to write me up. Dumb BITCH. I wish he would stop being a pussy and step to me like the man he pretends to be when i’m not here. BITCH.

I wish a motherfucker would…

W**** folks try to get under my skin sometimes. Don’t worry - I have some stories about my folks, too.

 

[mustynutz]

I Ain’t Shit…
Filed under: Corporate Whore— damien @ 6:15 pm
…and I can admit it. I would have fired myself by now. If there’s a shortcut to take, i’ve taken it. If there’s a wrong way to do something, i’ve done it on purpose.

Whoever came up witht he concept of the expense report wasn’t ready for me. I’m not the only person that’s guilty of it, but I have no shame in admitting it - I abuse expense reports.

When I was at Chase Bank (for the 2nd time), they fucked up and gave me a corporate card that was supposed to be used for entertaining “clients” of the bank. Sheeiiiiittt….. not unless you count my friends as customers. a lot of my friends ate well during my short time there, and I had no shame in throwing down $100 for lunch at one of those overpriced downtown restaurants. Damn, I miss that…

________ Bank has an expense account, but these bastards are cheap with it. They don’t give you the corp card - they reimburse you for out-of -pocket shit. But if you’re slick like me, you can make moves. For example, we had an “employee appreciation” thing going on a couple of days ago, and the manager planned to order some food for our lunch (he basically did that to keep us from taking a real lunch). He ended up having to leave, so he left us in charge of ordering the food. There were 4 of us working that day, and I gladly volunteered to order for the branch. Why? Because I realized that I could order fajitas for 8 and take home fajitas for 4 - all on the company’s dime. Yeah, my manager cried like a bitch when he saw the receipt, but he still approved it. Needless to say, I ate well that day.

‘Cause i’m gangsta.

Bitch.

 

[mustynutz]

Comments (2)
General Observations
Filed under: Corporate Whore— damien @ 6:15 pm
* If you’re 8 1/2 months pregnant, wear maternity clothes. It’s not flattering to see your big ass belly poking out from under your shirt.

* People get dumber as they get older.

* Standing in the middle of the floor and staring me down does not encourage me to help you.

* If you can’t make your fucking kid stand still, put that little bastard on a leash. It’s not “cute” when they knock over shit on my desk. It’s not “cute” when they try to drink the sugar at the coffee stand. It’s not “cute” when they run up and try to hit me. I will knock your kid the fuck out.

* Don’t ask the banker what the free gift of the week is. If somebody bases their decision of opening an account on what the free gift is, their account won’t be open for long.

* People are always looking for free shit. They’ve been spoiled by commercialism. Bitch - you came here for a checking account. What the fuck do you need some free shit for? I’m doing you a favor by opening an account for your broke ass.

* Muzak is the work of the devil. Muzak will get its own entry.

 

[mustynutz]

We all do it. Anyone who answers a phone at their job does it at times. We’re all guilty of it…

You know how most jobs have that standard, cookie-cutter greeting that they want you to use when you answer the phone? When I worked at Chase Bank, they wanted us to say:

“Thank you for calling Chase Bank. This is ______ ______. How can I provide you with excellent customer service?”

You gotta be kidding me. Imagine trying to say that like 50 times a day. I NEVER did it.

Here’s the one I have to use now at ________ Bank:

“Thanks for calling ________ Bank. This is Damien. How can I help you?”

They even went so far as to “coach” us on how to deliver this greeting so that it sounds “fresh” and “unique” every time. I don’t play that shit. I don’t really like answering the phone at home (as my friends will tell you), so I’m even less enthusiastic about answering the phone at the job. This is how I sounded after the third time I answered the phone at my current job:

“thanksforcalling __bankthisisdamienhowcanihelpyou”

I could really care less. But the one thing that concerns me is that I have a tendency (like 98% of all people who answer the phone at work) to take a lot of the bass out of my voice. (Known in the hood as sounding “cracker-ish”.) My friend that works 24/7 keeps me in check. I’ve been clowned a few times for sounding like a beeyotch when I answer the phone. That’s why it pays to have Caller ID at the job. This is the first job I’ve had in a while that doesn’t have Caller ID. I got caught slipping not too long ago. Now I answer the phone with some Barry White in my voice just in case “24/7” calls me at work. (Don’t worry – I catch him slipping every once in a while.)

I can’t complain too much. I have a couple of friends who work in the cell phone business. One of the perks of their job is that they get a free cell phone with free air time. The downside is – they have to use that same phone for work, so when people call with service issues, they call on the celly. Imagine being at home, and it’s 11:30 Saturday night. You get a call from a customer asking why their phone doesn’t work, etc. Fucked up, ain’t it? Just can’t get away.

With my current job, having a phone at my desk works to my advantage at times. This old lady walked in yesterday. She was one of those old ladies that shakes when she walks and talks ssssllllloooowwwww as hell. I’d dealt with her before, and I wasn’t about to do it. She shook so much when I spoke with her last time that I think I started shaking myself. (I know – I’m going to hell.) I wasn’t about to sit through that again. As soon as she started heading for my desk, I picked up the phone and called “24 / 7” – because I knew he was by one of his phones. He probably thought I was crazy when I started talking to him about “his accounts” and other unrelated bullshit. If I would have gotten his voicemail, he probably would have written me off as a certified lunatic. Anyway, it worked – the lady made somebody else suffer.

 

[mustynutz]

Then this morning came…

We open at 8:30 AM. Every few days or so, you might find a couple of people parked outside the branch before we open. You know, folks just need to stop by the bank to handle a little business before they resume their corporate whoredom…

Anyway, there was a dude parked out front when we walked in at about 8:10. A young black dude on a cell phone. He looked to be of the “throwed” variety, but looks can usually be deceiving. Usually, one person from the bank gets out the car to unlock the door and shut off the alarm while everybody else waits for the “clear” signal. I NEVER do it.

So i’m sitting in my truck, and I notice that nobody has gotten out of their cars to go do the damn thing. I look around, and notice that they’re looking at me like, “YOU go unlock the door!”. So i’m like, “whatever” and go inside to handle up. When I give the signal, they all hop out of otheir cars and walk to the door FAST AS HELL.

“Why are yall walking in so fast this morning? Is it really THAT cold outside?”

“You didn’t see him?”

“See who?”

“The guy in the car out there.”

“Who? Him? Yeah, I saw him.”

“He made me kind of nervous.”

“What did he do?”

“He pulled up around the same time we did with his music blasting and parked right next to me. I had to pull my car over a few spots.”

“Are you scared of loud music?”

“No, but there was just something about him that made me uneasy.”

“Hmm. Okay. He’s probably just waiting for us to open.”

“I wonder what he wants to do.”

“He probably wants to perform a banking transaction. We won’t know until we open.”

“Well, I don’t really feel comfortable with helping him. He kind of gave me a suspicious look.’

“Okay….”

“He doesn’t bother you at all?”

“No….”

“Then you can help him…”

“Okay…”

8:30 comes around, and I unlock the door. Dude comes up to me and says, “Excuse me, could you help me out? I need to make a split deposit, but I don’t know how to fill out the slips to show that.”

I look at the deposit, and it’s a $7000 check that he’s depositing for his parents. Turns out that they wanted him to drop it off at the bank since the branch is on the way to his school.

My co-workers had some egg on their faces this morning.

I’m glad that my manager will be out for a week and a half. I just might act a fool.

But I still hate this place…

 

[mustynutz]

We’re All One Team, Right?
Filed under: Corporate Whore— damien @ 8:25 am
Despite my constant rants, I actually take pride in the fact that I do my job (and I do it well when i’m not getting shitted on). I can’t say the same thing for the rest of the folks in this shit hole. There’s a big disconnect between my branch and the corporate headquarters. Like other larger compaines, virtually all of our work has to be filtered through the corporate office. If you open account or perform account maintenance, it goes through the home office. If you have any question on policy or procedure, it goes through the home office. If you want to mail a letter to an account holder that lives 3 blocks away, you have to send it to the home office first.

Clear as mud, ain’t it?

I dispatched a very important certificate to be mailed to a customer over 2 weeks ago. I could have literally walked it to her house. 2 weeks later, she’s calling me and biting my head off because she hasn’t received it. I don’t know what the fuck is going on. She’s telling me how she thought so highly of me when she came in to handle her business, and how she’s sorry she ever met me now. What?

So I call the corporate mail room and tell them what’s up. They say that they received the request the same day I dispatched it, but haven’t gotten around to mailing it yet.

It’s been 2 weeks.

It’s been 2 weeks.

It’s been 2 weeks.

So you’re telling me that it takes 2 weeks to mail a letter… I’m getting screamed at because some motherfucker at headquarters doesn’t feel like licking an envelope and putting a stamp on it. Somebody will feel my wrath today….

___________________________________________________________

I knew that if I waited long enough, I would find the person. Some old pasty, white-haired bastard came in today acting a fool. At first I just hear him screaming some non-understandable shit to one of the tellers; next thing I know, he’s coming to my desk.

Game face.

“Mr. ….Daniel…Damon…Damien… I need you to do something for me.”

{uh oh…}

“I have a file on this disk here that I need to print.”

“I’m sorry…?”

“I… have… a… file… on…-”

“Okay, I got that much. What do you need ME to print a file for? Is it a statement or something?”

“No, it’s just a regular text file that I need printed up. My printer’s busted at home, and I figured that since I was here at the bank, I can just get it printed here.”

“I can’t do that.”

“What do you mean ‘you can’t do that’?”

“We can’t do that here. We can’t load foreign software into our systems here. It’s a privacy issue.”

“I don’t care if you know what’s on this disk. It’s just a text file that I need printed.”

“What I mean is: we run the risk of having a virus introduced into our system. Being that we’re a bank, our networks carry a lot of sensitive information. I can’t risk any of that being compromised.”

“What the hell are you talking about? It’s a text file - not a goddamned virus!!”

“I don’t know that, and I can’t risk compromising confidential information.”

“You keep saying ‘you can’t do it’, ‘you can’t do it’… I know that you’re physically capable of doing it, so why do you keep telling me otherwise.”

“We can’t do it here-”

“Don’t say that! Just tell me that you won’t do it. There’s a tremendous difference between the two.”

“I’m not going to get into a debate with you over semantics. I think you understand what i’m trying to tell you. I’m not interested in turning this into an argument.”

“I’ve been an accountholder at this goddamned bank for 25 years. With all of this money that you’re sitting on, you’re telling me that you won’t extend me the courtesy of printing a file from a goddamned disk?”

“If you have a few minutes to spare, i’ll actually pull out our policy & procedure manual that specifically states that we are prohibited from bringing unauthorized software into our systems, even if it is a diskette.”

“That’s bullshit!”

“Let me ask you this - did you realize that there’s a copy place just 2 doors down from us? They specialize in making copies for people. I’m almost certain that they will oblige you.”

“But they’ll charge me for it. Look - I thought this would just be a simple matter. It’s obvious that none of you are willing to please your accountholders.”

“We’re actually doing all of them a favor, including you, by preserving the integrity of our systems and their account information. How would you feel if I let somebody do the same thing that you’re trying to do, and in the process they steal all of your account information and wipe you out?”

“I’d just come to the bank and get my money back. I’m not liable for that.”

“I hardly think that you would be so matter-of-factly about it. Anyway, the bottom line is - we’re not allowed to do it. If you have a paper document that needs to be copied, we can do that for you, but it costsa dollar a page.”

“You’re shittin me now!”

{I begin to pull out the fee schedule for him}

“I don’t wanna see all that. As soon as I get this printed out, i’m marching right back in here to close all of my accounts.”

“Because we couldn’t print a document?”

“It’s the principle of it. Besides that, your bank can expect to hear from the Better Business Bureau.”

“Because we couldn’t print a document?”

{Indecipherable babble}

Note - he never came back to close his accounts.

This is a discussion that I would normally avoid, but I was having a pretty shitty day. I just needed something to cheer me up. This was the bright spot that I had been looking for….

… but I still hate this fucking place with every fiber of my being.

 

[mustynutz]

Somebody wants to get fucked up.
Filed under: Corporate Whore— damien @ 8:23 am
Otherwise, they wouldn’t be calling me first thing on Monday morning with some bullshit. I don’t really cut for Mondays because ignorant ass people save their bullshit all weekend and unload it on you first Monday morning. Again – I’m not the one you want to fuck with.

Before I get to today’s incident (and it’s only 9:00 right now), let me give you some background info. The bank I work for has a toll free number, but the customers of the bank NEVER use it. Ever! So what happens instead? The phone in my branch is ringing off the hook all day – nonstop. If you’ve ever worked in any type of retail environment, you can imagine how irritating that can be. Anyway…

My branch manager handed me a customer service issue a couple of weeks back. You know how it is – that one customer that nobody in the branch wants to deal with. Seems that the guy was disputing the amount of a deposit from a year and a half ago! I already knew that this one would be a headache. This is one of those research cases that takes a long time to resolve, and I told the guy from jump. What I failed to take into account at the time was that this dude was one of those old, retired motherfuckers that didn’t have anything better to do than call every single day to harass folks. So…

You guessed it – the dude calls every single day checking on the status of his inquiry. Of course, our research department is slower than molasses. As a result, homeboy is screaming at me everyday for some answers. You might be surprised, but I actually keep my cool. I tell him whatever news I have for that day (which is usually nothing) and inform him that I’ll give him the info as soon as I get it. I don’t even talk to him crazy or anything.

Until today. See, it’s one thing to talk to me crazy. It’s another thing to talk to me crazy first Monday morning. It’s yet another thing to talk to me crazy first Monday morning when you are an old, decrepit, white-haired retired bitch with nothing better to do than to harass me about some shit because you can’t keep up with your fucking records. This is how it went today:

“Yeah, Damien – this is _______. Got any word on my case?”

“No, when I talked to the research department on Friday, they told me that they were going to fax over copies of your transaction to me, but I haven’t heard from them since.”

“Well, when am I going to get an answer?”

“I just walked in the door, but as son as I get my computer up, I’ll give a call to the supervisor over there to see what the hold up is.”

“Why can’t you call them right now?”

“Well, I just walked in the door. As a matter of fact, I haven’t even had a chance to sit down yet. It shouldn’t take me more than 5 minutes to get settled and call them.”

“So what are you trying to tell me?”

“I’m telling you that as soon as I give them a call, I’ll call you right back and relay that information.”

“So you’re trying to put me off?”

“Huh?”

“Are you trying to avoid me?”

“No, I – look Mr. ______, if I were trying to avoid you, I would have started 2 weeks ago when you first started calling me.”

“So why are you trying to get me off the phone?”

“ Do you really want to sit on the phone for 10 or 15 minutes while I get all of this done?”

“If that’s what it takes to get results…”

“That won’t get anything resolved any fas-“

“Look, I’m about to step out for a couple of hours. I expect to have a definite answer today or else…”

“Or else what?”

“Or else I’ll have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning that I’ll have to elevate the situation to get the results that I’m looking for. Why do you keep questioning me?”

“I’m sorry – I’m just trying to understand the whole thing about you giving an ultimatum. This is a case that neither one of us has control over; if I don’t get an answer today, what can you do?”

“I can issue a formal complaint if that’s what it takes.”

“You have every right to do that, but will it resolve the situation?”

“How do you think your accountholders would feel if I went to the media with a story about how you’re treating one of your customers?”

“I can’t comment on any matters pertaining to public relations.”

“What?”

“I can’t respond to that question.”

“What the - ? Just give me the name of the person that’s handling this ‘research request’. While you’re at it, give me the name of their supervisor, and if you have the name of the president of the company, give me that one as well.”

“Okay.”

“That’s it? ‘Okay’?”

“I’m giving you what you want. Except for the name of the president. He won’t respond to your call. He’ll just forward it back to the research folks.”

“I appreciate that. You’re finally doing something right. Just know that you, your branch manager, your president, and everybody on this ‘research team’ will receive a formal complaint from me.”

“Sounds good. Is there anything else I can do for you today?”

{click}

My days at this job are definitely numbered. They won’t fire me, but I will go out in a blaze of glory. I resent this place more than I have ever disliked any job in my fucking life.

I’m Rick James, Bitch…

 

[mustynutz]

My People, My People…
Filed under: Corporate Whore— damien @ 8:23 am
You could probably say that i’m proud to be Black (or at least, not always ashamed to be.) But there are times where my folks do things that make me want to crawl under a rock. Take today for example:

A couple comes in to report that their checkbook got stolen this weekend while they were at a Steve Harvey concert. Somebody broke the car window and cleaned it out: a leather jacket, homegirl’s purse (which contained her checkbook), an allegedly open bag of chips (I couldn’t really believe that one), and some CDs. Basically, they need place to place a stop on the checks and / or close the account. Apparently, these folks weren’t too concerned with the stolen checkbook. (They were broke anyway.) It became very obvious, very quickly that they are big fans of Steve Harvey.

Imagine for just a moment that you’re a 69 year old white dude / woman standing in line in an otherwise quiet bank lobby. Out of the blue, you hear this - loud as all hell:

“Damn, bruh - you shoulda went to see that nigga Steve Harvey! That muthafucka funny as hell!!”

If it’s possible for black folks to turn red, I could imagine myself being a nice, deep shade of scarlet right now.

But I respond to his statement in a less negrish tone of voice:

“Yeah, he is funny. I’ve always been a fan of his. I still watch his show in syndication.”

“Mayne, I don’t know about all that. I just know that nigga had me rollin in my muthafuckin seat. He got to be the funniest nigga on earth right now!”

This is when I noticed people visibly turning in our direction…

“Do you remember which check numbers were in the book?”

“I remember that nigga told this one joke about _____________ , and my whole row just damn near fell out they muthafuckin seats and shit!”

“Do you remember the last check you wrote?”

“And then ol’ girl right here, she wanna be hitting people in they face with her ass and shit. You see how big her ass is. Man, niggas ain’t pay to see yo’ ass, they pay to see Steve!”

The girl speaks for the first time…

“You really ain’t that funny. Why you always gotta be talkin’ ’bout my ass around people you don’t even much know.”

“C’mon, baby - the man can see you got a big ass!”

I cannot type fast enough…

“Dawg…dawg…. we tryna sit down, right? How come her ass hit every single person on the row in they face?”

“You play too much!!!”

I am not black…

“I’m just trippin’ baby…. but yo ass is kinda on swole.”

It was then that I suddenly realized that I had apparently left something very important in the back; so I excused myself. I went to the backroom and began hoping that someone would come in to rob the bank or just kill us altogether. My timeout paid off, as the situation was somewhat diffused when I got back.

He made a couple more comments about his gal’s posterior, and we wrapped up the deal. On the way out he goes, ”‘Ey, you know that boy Kirk Whalum gon’ be here in a couple of weeks. Best believe i’ma be up int that bitch. Oh - I got one more question for you - you think whoever stole the checks gon’ trip ‘cause they got our address?”

” It rarely happens.”

“Damn. ‘Cause I shole wish a muthafucka would. I prolly need to bust a couple caps in a nigga right now! Aight potna - i’ma holla at you! Go see that Kirk Whalum, fool!”

And with that, I denounced my race.

I spent the rest the rest of the day contemplating which form of suicide might be the least painful….

 

[mustynutz]

All Systems Down
Filed under: Corporate Whore— damien @ 8:22 am
So here I am on Saturday, right? Remember when I told you that I had to work for my manager today? Yeah - i’m up in this bitch right now. When it’s all said and done, i’ll probably have 50 hours under my belt for the week. Kinda sucks to be on salary sometimes. Fortunately, my job profile is somewhat unique because i’m salaried, yet I can pull down some time and a half shit. Can’t complain too much about that; I just wish I could sleep in late today. I’m glad Monday is a holiday.

Before I get to today’s experience, I just wanted some of you to know that I am (in no way) perpetrating the lazy black employee stereotype. The people that i’ve done business with will quickly tell you that I am one of the most diligent, persistent, hard-working people that you’ll ever know. I’ve got some notches on my belt - trust me. One reason that i’ve become so resentful of corporate whoring is this: at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter how hard you work. The corporate structure could care less. You’re a cog in the machine. Machines have interchangeable parts. Thus, you’re always expendable. Don’t let them convince you that you’re necessarily a better person because you log more hours on the clock than anybody else. I’ve come to realize that part of the unwritten corporate code is that the company will always make more money off of you than you make for yourself. Wouldn’t make more sense if YOU were your own company, thus making an equitable living off of your labor. Take my friend who got caught under the 24/7 rule. Technically speaking, he can easily log 80 hours some weeks. Sad part is, he gets paid no more than if he worked 30.

Throughout my working life, i’ve advised (and have been advised by) a number of business owners, and the theme remains the same: do your own shit, and eventually you’ll be paid in accordance with your efforts. Hopefully you can understand now why I don’t put in 100% at my job….. i get paid the same if I put in 80%, 75%, 50%… They’re not going to fire me, so why shouldn’t I pimp the system? I’ve had experience at doing my own thing, and it’s a completely different world. When you’re getting paid to do what you enjoy doing, you easily give it 200% without even flinching. More to come on that in future posts…

Back to today:

Almost everybody now works with some kind of computer at their job. Most of these computers are tied into a remote server elsewhere and networked together. Why is it, then, that so many people have trouble understanding what you mean when you say that your computer is down? I’m sure most of you can feel my pain. I work in a bank, which is arguably one of the worst places to have your systems go down. Why? Because you’re dealing with folks’ MONEY. When I sat down at my desk this morning (already salty because i’m working on a Saturday) I discovered that I couldn’t log on. I call the Help Desk (another nightmare in itself) and found out that “the server” was down. Ah, the proverbial “server”…

So what happens as soon as I unlock the door this morning? I have this exchange:

“Good morning. I need to close the checking account that I share with my husband and open a new one because he can’t seem to control his spending.”

“Okay. I could normally do that for you, but my system is down right now, and I can’t do any account maintenance right now. I’ve already called the Help Desk, and they’re working on it.”

“What do you mean ‘It’s down’?”

“It’s down.”

“What do you mean by ‘down’?”

“It’s not up.”

“Huh? How can your computer not be up?”

{I actually pondered that question for a moment. It was too compelling. She presented a very existentialist question here - is it hypothetically possible for a computer to not function? Are computers really perpetual entities, like energy, that never really disappear, but reform in another state? Could I be the one in error?}

Hell no.

“Basically, I can’t even look at any accounts. I can’t even get al of my programs to load. I can’t do anything.

“What does that have to do with me?”

“It means that I can’t look up your account, much less close it or open a new one.”

“So what can I do?”

“Well, I would normally tell you that you could visit the _________ location, which is pretty close to here, but they’re on the same server as we are, so their systems are down as well.”

“Do you have any other branches?”

“Yes, but all of the branches in the Houston area feed off of the same server. it’s a pretty small company.”

“So what can I do?”

“I’m sorry, but we can’t do anything right now. The Help Desk said they were working on it, and hoped to get it up within the hour. You can either wait in the lobby or let me call you when the systems are back up, assuming we’re still open.”

“So when will the system be up?”

“Again, they said that they hope to have it up within the hour.”

“Can you call them to get an update?”

“I just called them 5 minutes ago. They said that they would call me when we were back up. I doubt that their answer has changed in 5 minutes.”

“Try your computer again to make sure.”

“Come on…”

“I really need this done today. I can’t come back any time during the week.”

{Grr… I turn my monitor around so that she can see… type username…type password… ENTER}

“See this? It says ‘Network currently unavailable. Please contact Help Desk at xxx-xxx-xxxx’. It’s not up.”

“Well, somebody should be able to do something. Where’s your manager?”

“He had to leave town for an emergency meeting. That’s why i’m here.”

“So you’re the manager now?”

“As close to one as you’ll get today.”

“This is bullshit!”

“Yes, it is.”

“Where’s your regional manager?”

“The regional office is closed on Saturdays. Besides, he never works on Saturdays. Lucky him…”

“Grr… there has to be some kind of recourse for this. I can’t believe for one minute that nobody in any division of this bank can help me with a simple issue right now.”

“Again, if you want to wait around for a while, we can see if it comes up soon.”

“When is it coming up?”

“I don’t know. If I knew the answer to that, i’d tell you that the system will be up at whatever o’clock. But I can’t.”

“Well, i’ll just come back in on Monday and close everything and take my money to another bank.”

“Okay - we’ll see you on Monday.”

{Knowing tha Monday is a holiday}

The moral of this story is: when “the system” is down, there’s not a gott-damn thing that we can do. Just grin and bear it. Beeyotch.

I hate my fucking job.

 

[Solidous_Snake]

So these time killers you find are true stories n shit?