We've got this new problem in Sydney HR named Caroline. I really think she suffers from OCD. I can't be sure, she might just be an anally fucked up retentive monster, but, with my history with Manny, the feeling is OCD that I get.
She asks me to confirm every singe interaction that we have, that recently I said that I wouldn't.
"I'll deal with it, Caroline," you loser, I think, "You don't need to be involved any longer."
Then she asked me to relay whatever conversation I have when dealing with the matter, so she could make notes.
Again, I said no.
She is so pathetic that when I was trying to have an email conversation with her about some figures, the other day, she kept cc'ing in The Midget to the email.
WTF!
All I could think was, what are you doing, you pathetic cow, can't you deal with something on your own merits, without clinging to those above you.
Recently, she asked me to confirm something completely useless, just like her, and I thought, Oh, piss off you moron, and I didn't confirm it.
She sent an email to the head of HR and The Midget telling them how I failed to confirm something for her.
Boris is getting kicked by The Midget and is now prefacing what she has to say with, I-can't-deal-with-this-any-more, blah, blah, blah.
The problem is, ever since Brun died, someone as sweet and real, and lovely as Brun, suddenly dying, I don't really care any more. If someone as good and pure as Brun can be taken from us, you know, pointlessly, what is the fucking point to anything, really.
I don't know if that makes sense, but it makes sense to me.
So, I don't care. I'm dangerous - desperately trying to think up a better expression - oh, so fucken dangerous, listen to me, when I don't care. Jasus!
Anyway, whatever, you know this means war. Well, you know, quiet, immovable, uncooperative, war. I'm done with her.
Where do they get these pint sized Hitlers from? I think it must be a prerequisite to work in HR. Or is that having half your brain removed? Yeah, I'm not sure which.
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