...on petty fiefdoms

so there's this woman that works in the office.

and the bastard uses this term loosely because all i see her do is walk around these days and tell the bastard where he can and can't eat his lunch.

it's like this. after we got sold to a bunch of swedish people, they turned us over to the fucking hayseeds that they bought first. mind you they run their branch of our fair business from the second floor of a strip mall which ALWAYS strikes the bastard as good business sense.

anyway, they decided right from the get to redesign the offices which has met with disdainful results, dare i say, morale sucking results. one of these results was the loss of our lunch area. also known as the killing stuff monthly africa wing. but we discovered these conference rooms to eat in. and when one was free, we'd eat in it.

it got to the point that the exec assistant was booking conference rooms for us to guarantee us a place to eat.

now let me interupt by reading your mind: yes i am aware that the bastard can just GO OUT to eat like regular folk. well it's like this young shiteyes, the bastard works with people who like to take an hour out of their day to bullshit with one another over food. this is what you call GOOD FOR MORALE. it helps foster good work relationships. so there it is.

but the old bat caught on to this and put a stop to us booking the room. she sighted very logical reasons and we all collectively didn't disagree and we ceased booking for lunch. and when the room looks empty, we sit down and eat lunch.


well today we looked in, and no one was there. so we sat down and ate lunch. upon finishing, this ancient creature darkens my door and proceeds to give me grief about it. says that

"someone was training a new employee in there."

"you didn't look to see if the room was booked."

"so you people cant eat in any conference rooms, anymore."

and then she left. you know come to think of it, i could have sworn the room we ate lunch in was absolutely TEEMING with activity when we all collectively sat down and proceeded to eat. funny thing was, the bastard spoke with the people who had the room booked (because i can't seem to let sleeping dogs lie). they were done for the day. and then it hit me. i must have done something to piss the old crone off. oh well, i guess tomorrow, we'll have a picnic in our area.

people are petty, and i'm not excluding myself from that phrase. because the bastard is petty. very fucking petty.

—the bastard