If brains were gunpowder, Stan couldn’t blow a gay sailor at Mardi-Gras. He’s addicted to video games, and red bull, and probably coke, and very likely date rape, and he’s one of those guys who will be an active member of his fraternity until the day he dies. He’s Joey from friends with acne.
He says he’s going to be an auditor, or an accountant, or something similar. Every other word out of his mouth is dude. He is a mouth breathing troglodyte, and God help the person or business who relies on him to make sure that they are doing their finances the right way. He probably thinks he can succeed based on his ability to construct a kick ass metropolis on SimCity, or something equally arbitrary.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Saturday, October 13, 2007
Profiles In Stupidity: Latoya
Takes no guff, wastes no words, has no brains. Wears a big gold tooth and shifty, beady eyes. Routinely takes time during her busy work day to put gas in her car or do some grocery shopping. Not on her appointed break time, mind you. Oh, no, why should she use her own time to run her personal errands when management allows her to leave whenever it’s convenient for her to do it?
Latoya has been serving as the acting head teller since our real head teller decided she couldn’t take it here any more. Not that they would actually make her head teller; she’s far to brash and rude (a.k.a. a Bitch) She wields her purloined station like the leader of the Kodan Armada with his pointy little scepter (so I’m a movie buff, sue me). She is our head tyrant, not our head teller.
Sample:
Me: Latoya, can I please get some tens?
Latoya: You don’t need no tens.
Me (perplexed): Latoya, my last client needed a hundred and sixty dollars worth, and I only have three tens left.
Latoya (nastier): You don’t need no tens.
Me (dumbfounded): O.K., then.
(Two clients later)
Client: Yes, I’d like this cashed out, and can I get fifty dollars of that in tens?
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t have any tens left.
Jean (rising from her desk like a shrouded, shrieking ghoul): What do you mean, you’re out of tens?!? How could you run out of a denomination?!?
Me (pointing at Latoya): Talk to Latoya. She wouldn’t give them to me when I needed them.
Latoya (with a nasty, death-wishing look in her eyes): Mutter, grumble, mutter…
There are four words to describe Latoya: Gash, Fucking, Stupid and Nasty. I’ll let you arrange them in any order you wish.
Latoya has been serving as the acting head teller since our real head teller decided she couldn’t take it here any more. Not that they would actually make her head teller; she’s far to brash and rude (a.k.a. a Bitch) She wields her purloined station like the leader of the Kodan Armada with his pointy little scepter (so I’m a movie buff, sue me). She is our head tyrant, not our head teller.
Sample:
Me: Latoya, can I please get some tens?
Latoya: You don’t need no tens.
Me (perplexed): Latoya, my last client needed a hundred and sixty dollars worth, and I only have three tens left.
Latoya (nastier): You don’t need no tens.
Me (dumbfounded): O.K., then.
(Two clients later)
Client: Yes, I’d like this cashed out, and can I get fifty dollars of that in tens?
Me: I’m sorry, I don’t have any tens left.
Jean (rising from her desk like a shrouded, shrieking ghoul): What do you mean, you’re out of tens?!? How could you run out of a denomination?!?
Me (pointing at Latoya): Talk to Latoya. She wouldn’t give them to me when I needed them.
Latoya (with a nasty, death-wishing look in her eyes): Mutter, grumble, mutter…
There are four words to describe Latoya: Gash, Fucking, Stupid and Nasty. I’ll let you arrange them in any order you wish.
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Profiles In Stupidity: Tracy
I've long hated when people interrupt you in mid sentence. It's just downright rude, and because I don't do it, more and more I find myself not contributing to conversations.
Well, today I met someone with Sudden Interruption Syndrome. One of the new girls at work, Tracy. I was in mid sentence, talking about the training program for the bank, when she launched into her statement on the subject. I stopped speaking and paid her her due attention. A few seconds later, she interrupted my next words with some of her own, and once again, I stopped speaking, listening to her. But the third time, I made a split second decision; I would continue to speak and see how long she would go on.
LITERALLY nine seconds went by with the both of us speaking at the same time, AND SHE DIDN'T GET THE HINT. Do you know how hard it is to continue speaking for nine seconds when someone is interrupting you mid sentence? I eventually had to give up, and finally, I just stopped trying to speak to her.
Well, today I met someone with Sudden Interruption Syndrome. One of the new girls at work, Tracy. I was in mid sentence, talking about the training program for the bank, when she launched into her statement on the subject. I stopped speaking and paid her her due attention. A few seconds later, she interrupted my next words with some of her own, and once again, I stopped speaking, listening to her. But the third time, I made a split second decision; I would continue to speak and see how long she would go on.
LITERALLY nine seconds went by with the both of us speaking at the same time, AND SHE DIDN'T GET THE HINT. Do you know how hard it is to continue speaking for nine seconds when someone is interrupting you mid sentence? I eventually had to give up, and finally, I just stopped trying to speak to her.
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