Vile HR Slappers

The hideous little bitches that are now in our Sydney HR department are the worst we have ever had.

They are just vile little cunts. No, seriously, they are. Vile little cunts.

I don't know if they are just the generation that have grown up with foulness, which has made them foul.

Or, if they are just so into their own careers, that nobody, and nothing, else matters in any way.

Maybe, they aren't getting any, that the men in their lives don't like them? As much as I am loathed to say women are defined by the men in their lives, which they are not, in these cases the guy's dicks would shrivel up and fall off if exposed to these awful, duplicitous slappers.

Where do they get them from? The bosses? Bitches are Us?

I've had run-ins with all of them today. I wanted to say to Boris, just keep these vile little snot-rags away from me. Sadly, you can't do that. I developed a strategy of just avoiding them, and some how these disgusting wenches went to the CEO. What the fuck? Just putrid.

The problem is that Fish Face and The Giant Ponytail will only listen to these harping seal cubs and act on what these lying little mingers tell them.

So, big breath, Christian.

But they are slowly, but surely, ringing the last skerrick of enjoyment I had in my job right out of it.

I should put their names in the freezer?

Oh, yes, I should, it would amuse me, if nothing else.

From Where Do They Get These DipShits?

We've got this new problem in Sydney HR named, we'll call her Lassie. 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, Lassie," 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.

Well, That Was Easy

Boris replied to my getting out of me doing her job email while she is away with, Okay, thanks for telling me. No phone call, just the email.

It seemed like a completely unsatisfactory answer to what I felt was a major issue, all at the same time being the best response I could possibly wish for.

I wondered momentarily, if she'd misunderstood my email, due to the complete calmness of her reply.

I dunno. I guess we will see. Ha?

I spoke to her a number of time during the day and she never bought it up.

It was a busy day sorting stuff out for the new year and we had lots of interaction despite me being at home and her being, well, I'm not 100% if she was in the office, or at home, wherever she never bought it up once.

So, that is good. Job done.

No reply from Josh.

Snatching Victory from the Jaws Of Defeat

I woke up worrying about the decision I made to fill in for Boris while she goes away for her annual 6 weeks holiday back to LapLand every year.

I think she goes beginning of August.

Okay, yeah, sure, I said I would do it.

What was I thinking?

Monday we had to have a meeting with the Big Poo and The Midget because HR's FishFace in Sydney escalated an issue to the both of them relaying her serious concerns, about a practise that we have always done.

Now, I'm not saying FishFace is a problem often forgetting procedures, or long standing practises that we have, no I'm not saying that.

(She is a fucking problem, that is what I am saying, let's be clear)

Anyway, that bought into sharp focus how I so don't want to work any more than I am doing now.

The PonyTail in Melbourne is also a problem.

You can add that to the fact that in the last 12 months HR has replaced existing staff with know-all millennial, straight out of uni not-actually-knowing-anything types who are all about promoting their own careers in the process of their day to day work, who will push every issue to the nth degree to get the answer they want, even if the answer they want is wrong. Couple this with The Midget's personality altering promotion in the last year where she micromanages us all now to an unbearable degree. Add to that we are now expected to turn up to the office 3 days a week if we are working full time. 

Boris and I say to each other regularly now that working for our company has almost become unbearable. The work/life/enjoyment has seriously deteriorated in the last 12 months, or so.

And I am beating myself up for the terrible mistake I made agreeing to work full time and take on her responsibilities, juggling HR/Finance/the Partners in a deteriorating environment for 6 weeks.

I sat in my lounge room at 4am (yesterday afternoon when the realisation hit me, I lay on the couch with Otto and dosed off in front of the open fire. Sam woke me at 5pm when he came home. I stayed awake long enough to eat dinner, but then went back to sleep until 11pm when Sam woke me to go to bed. So I had slept a lot) this morning writing out my resignation letter.

There is another minor issue too. They don't pay me a higher pay rate when I do holiday relief for Boris, my boss, which I don't care about, I get paid well. But, this year, I also didn't get a pay rise, or a bonus, either. The Big Poo called me and apologised personally for that, something about he pushed for it, but HR knocked it back. Really? Straight out of the mouth of the CFO of the Southern hemisphere. Really.

There I am working my 3 days, going to the office one day, not needing, or wanting to, do any more than that, being happy enough with my lot (despite the whinging) as it stood.

WHAT THE FUCK WAS I THINKING?

You idiot! You idiot! You idiot! You idiot!

So, letting Boris down because I said I would work, withstanding, at 6am, I wrote out an email saying that I had changed my mind and that I no longer want to do her holiday relief, rather than resigning all together.

She's got 4 to 6 weeks to sort out an alternative.

And although I feel bad about my lousy timing, I'm sorry, but it came down to me, or Boris in the end.

Weirdly, I won. 😐

She is going to be pissed off, sure. Oh why didn't I just say no 2 weeks ago. Stupid me. 

The Door Slammed You On The Fat Arse On The Way Out, Tony, You Just Didn't Feel It

I had to do some final remuneration figures for Fat Tony's demise, er, departure, all the tax routes breaks, the shit they package, etc, you know, that sort of thing.

After I had done them and sent them off, I saw that I'd made a mistake. Oh damn! So, I re-worked the figures and was about to send them to the Great PonyTail when I thought - my actual thoughts - this bitch will make such a song and dance about these mistakes, because, I am pretty sure, she is addicted to the drama, LOVES the drama, especially if it is vindictive and on someone other than herself. So, you know what, none of them are much smarter than a box of rocks, when it all comes down to it, and I pulled my finger away from the send button at the very last moment.

It's a couple of thousand K. Awe, poor Tony.

What to do?

Owning up to it, which is what I should do, is a bit like kicking an own goal with this lot and none of them have the capacity to look at those figures and pick up the error. None of them are Sheldon Cooper, lets face it.

Tony was the slackest arse around, always missing deadlines, and schedules and things he had to do, more often, than not, blaming it on anyone he could, other than himself.

If I own up, The Giant PonyTail will come down shrieking doing cartwheels through our department to the Big Poo's door, (she loooooooves running to The Big Poo) pointing and calling me a 'mistake maker' and demanding a Royal Commission into what went wrong like the odious cow that she is.

You know, my perverse side sees it as 2K for all your shit we had to put up with, Fat Tony, too incompetent to realise you've been ripped off 2K. It makes me chuckle, it really does,

The only one I have to be concerned about is The Midget, with her feverish little gaze, and her habit of pawing over the figures to find the very last morsel to shore up her yearly bonus. Oh yes, it is she I have to worry about.

Still. Shrug! The genuine joy it gives me to know I won in the end, Fat Tony, kind of out weighs being caught out by The Midget.

"Oh, really, a mistake, you say?" Vague look.

What is she going to do? I didn't get a pay rise, or a bonus, this year. (Are some of you wondering right about now that you may have worked out why? Oh, stop it.) so that threat is off the table. She can't demote me. Can she? Nah? No one below me, as such.

Sack me? Go on. It would at least make my mind up about my procrastination with resigning.

Does this make me look bad? Yeah, sure it does. But, it is delicious. (he rolls the S on the end of that word multiple times)

Let's just look at it as an allegory about kindness, or lack there of, in the corporate world.

Feeling Better

Boris called me this morning and asked me if I was feeling better.

"Yes, I'm feeling better," I said. "I just felt like I was going to be sick yesterday."

"I didn't think you looked well in our meeting (with the midget)," she said. "You didn't look like your normal self."

"Oh." No, that was me being pissed off. "I didn't feel good, no."

"Well as long as you are feeling better today."

Yes, I am home today. "Yes, I feel better," I said.

What can I say? I am a good actor.

And today? They all (not Boris) seem to have taken their stupid pills.

Monday in the Office

I was in the office begrudgingly. I had a meeting with Boris and The Midget scheduled to get me into the office.

I was going to take a sickie, i um'd and ah'd about that, as the sun came up, but I also wondered if Boris would reschedule for Tuesday making me to go to the office then.

Nyr! I couldn't risk it. It would be infuriating. I might just resign on the spot, and I still haven't quite decided to do that, or not?

Oh I know, no one procrastinates like I do.

We have an American chick in our department who never shuts the fuck up. It is a continual stream of American drawl yap from her.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

Why do I have to put up with this yappy halfwit, I asked the universe? Did her parents tell her she was beautiful too often?

I don't have to put up with this working from home, I find myself muttering to myself.

I started scheming to pull a half day sick day from 11am.

I left at 1pm. Lovely. 

Boris said, take care, when I told her I didn't feel well, almost made me feel guilty. Almost.

It was a spectacular day, great weather. (there is something about being out in the sunshine in the middle of the day, when you should be some where else, that is so satisfying)

I came home and played around with my old blogs.

After that, we took the dogs for a walk.

Two Days Before Xmas

HR smiling for their Xmas photo, of course Fat Tony isn't in the shot. Little Buddy died at his desk and the HR creatures didn't notice for three days

OMG! It is arse up and face down to get everything finished by the time the holidays are upon us.

What is it, two days to go.

It is so amazing to see that HR can actually pull their fingers out of their you know whats and get shit done when it benefits them. 

Those girls will be exhausted as they are actually doing some fucking work for a change.

I'm still trying to get over the fact that the way Boris dealt with the bitch pack while I was away was to give into them completely.

You know, we're the unlucky sods that do their firgures for them.

Clearly, when these whiny cows have come to Boris while I was away and her response has been, How deep can I lick it for you?

Where I respond with, pull up your knickers you filthy minger we're doing it my way.

I can tell, having received a couple of emails of demand from The Pony tail, clearly this slapper hasn't been kept in check while I was away.

Oh, it's going to take me years to undo all this again.

It may even be too far gone now?

Grrrr!

The PonyTail

Oh groan. What is the first thing I see when I sign intros morning? A missive from The Ponytail in HR.

It has come to my attention, blah, blah, blah, blah…

Oh, ah! If there is a problem, just refer the people involved to the people who can fix it, and stop making a huge drama out of nothing. 

Justifying my job. Justifying my job. Justifying my job.

I wrote four short stories, and rewrote just as many while I was on holidays, how gorgeous that was. How lovely, and real.

Oh, perhaps I could resign and get a job as a barman to earn pocket money and I could return to the story writing world permanently? Perhaps.

But, you know, who's going to employ an old barman? It was different when I was a barman in my uni days. It was exciting. Max and I were your gorgeous barmen types who the chicks used to hit on. 

"We come in here because you two are so good looking," they used to say. [even if I say that myself now] 

Pity the ladies didn't know that Max and I were too busy hitting on each other. We never really did get down to screwing each other, we were too, oh, I don't know what you'd call it? Too young and naive.

It is such a nicer world, home writing stories, than the concocted drama that is the fuel for HR to run on.

Ah, Ponytail, how I have not missed you, not for a millisecond. What was I expecting? Nothing, I wasn't expecting anything, but on the second day, first thing. Big exhale.

I Call A Meeting Of The Full Coven

Last thing in the day, It is the dreaded HR meeting. They all turned up, it was like a meeting of the full coven. The Pony Tail was there, with a pony pulled back so tight, she did look a bit ‘other species’. Fish Face turned up for the first time ever, looking tanned and bleached to the max. Fat boy Nick Watson was there. Taylor Swift was present. And all the minions. 

Only, Little Buddy was missing, but I think he is off on leave, be it of the stress variety, or another, well, he was looking a wreck at the last breakfast that I saw him.

Jasus, this must be serious, I thought, when I saw them all.

The newbies were there, all of them. They have an endless range of titles for themselves. HR Business Partner, or HR Magnificence, seems to be the newest. 

How many witches does it take to run one coven? I thought to myself. The HR chicks are multiplying like a virus in a pandemic. Did I hear an English voice, and an Irish voice, they seem to love an overseas worker, that’s for sure. I never really know why, as they usually turn out to know the least of anyone. (And that's saying something)

I’ve never seen Natasha Frump from Perth before, well, I mean she was only with us for 6 months and she was off on breading leave. And it is a long way away, after all. Big chin, bulbous nose, she truly shouldn’t breed, again. And did I detect a Slavic accent? Perhaps she is a spy? A bot? Perhaps, she’s not in Perth at all, it is such a long way away to check, after all, but is in a Russian call centre, the thought made me chuckle to myself. Thunk you, Natasha, this is the latest intel...

The bitches got their chance to, well, bitch. What they do best. Go on, get it all off your chests, ladies. They don’t feel like it should always be them to fix things. They don’t always feel the communication is two way, it comes from them, of course. They are always there to help, they’d like to feel that it is reciprocated. You know you can always come to us… said the spider to the fly. Yap, yap, yap. I’ve never known a group to hold onto grievances like this lot.

Do I have any issues? No, no I don’t. I wanted to say, unlike you cows, I deal with issues at the time of the issue and then I let it go. I don’t have any issues with any of you, other than the crap of which you might accuse any one of us at any given time.

Anyway, I’d lost focus by the end. Otto had been a dog looking for trouble all day. So, at the beginning of the meeting, I gave him one of his chew toys he hadn’t chewed for a while, and throughout the meeting he happily chewed that toy on the couch next to me. But, you know, as with anything HR it went on and on and on and on, and before it was all over, he’d started pulling the couch apart.

And then the meeting was over. Of course, they felt it went well, as they got to vent. And suddenly all their screens clicked off, seemingly all at once, like Endora throwing her hands up in the air and disappearing. 

And Otto looked up at me from the dismantled couch, with his big, stupid tongue hanging out his mouth. Big fun, is what the expression on his face said. If he’d spoken to me at that point like Scooby-Doo I wouldn’t have been surprised.

Monday

And now it is Monday morning, and it is cold and raining. Welcome to Monday morning. Cold and wet. 

Nyr.

I pulled everything together, I got it all done.

I question one of my colleagues who got stuff they sent to me wrong. I sent her an email asking her to clarify what she'd done. Unbeknownst to me, I was working off emails that excluded her original explanation of her work.

I cc'd in the other managers she had cc'ed in when she emailed me.

Then I found her original email at the beginning of the email chain, and I sent her a follow up email summarising what I understood she had sent to me.

Again, I cc'd in the other managers she had cc'ed in when she emailed me.

The next thing, I get a phone call from Boris giving me the impression that it was considered by those above me, I was stressing the colleague out who, apparently, is very sick.

I'd heard somewhere along the line that she has a serious medical condition, but I didn't know she was particularly sick from it at present.

She has been working all sorts of overtime, filling in for her boss who is away on holidays, so how sick is she?

I simply asked her to explain the work she had done.

"Really? What?" I said to Boris. "This is just asking her to make some stuff clear, why would this stress her out?"

"We can't be stressing her out."

"I didn't even know she was sick?"

"Please send any other emails like this to me first," said Boris.

Oh? What? "Sure," I said. Do you mean just to Cinnamon, or to everyone? I didn't ask? I let it go. 

What? Sometimes I just don't understand people's thinking? Or maybe even want to understand it. It makes feel like I just want to pack it in and do something else. You know, go do something else.

I don't know, am I over reacting? I'm not sure?

Is it just because it is Monday?

Er, Mondays.

The PonyTail Sucks Arse

Some of you might think this is childish, I know, but coincidently, my password came up for renewal, so I changed it to ThePonyTailisascrubber69 (I had to have a numeric) I know, but it makes me laugh every time I sign in, and isn't that what life is really all about. Making lemonade from lemons, turning a negative situation into a positive one, having a laugh when there isn’t anything to laugh about. 

She’s a big, Italian heifer our Ponytail, so presumably she’d have a big, strapping Italian hubby, Mario. I’m picturing her sucking his hairy arse, just like Italian guys like it, with him slapping the mattress and whooping in spasms of ecstasy. (I mean, she has to be good at something, she can’t just be a nasty, pompous, self-focussed, drama queen in every facet of her life, surely) Oh, yeah, I know, that might just be what is going on in my mind, sure. And I’m blocking out her face as I’m picturing Mario’s crack getting tongued, you can be certain of that.

Okay, so that might be a bit much. Chuckle. But, isn't that what life's all about, all the shit that makes you go, "Oh!"

Monday, Cave In Day

Monday. Back to work.

My Big Poo Bah boss was on my side regarding the issue with HR up until recently, in fact I was responding how he said to respond, but in the battle with The PonyTail he seems to have caved. She's told him that all the other law firms are doing what she wants done and he seems to have fallen for it. 

Ug! I can't quite believe it.

He has even repeated that the dialogue with HR hasn't been the nicest and we should try harder to be nicer to them. The dialogue not being friendly towards HR is translated as we're not jumping when HR demands it of us. That is what that means.

I can't believe he has fallen for them.

Grrrr!

Fuck it. I'm just going to keep my head down and stop interacting with them as much as I can. The only way to stop HR's most egregious behaviour is to ignore them as best you can.

It's annoying because they don't want to work with anyone, they just want people doing what they tell them. (I'm sure they would all vote for the bloat, orange bag of shit in the US, if they could)

Just know, when you go up against HR no one will have your back. They are an evil department all unto themselves, with certain powers of mind control, so it would see. They are a clutch of Vladimir Putin wannabes causing havoc in a company if they don't get their way.

And, of course, everyone else is to blame when anything goes wrong.

Don't You Hate HR? I Know I Do.

I've been having trouble with The Ponytail from HR the last day, or so, again. She has been drama'ing on, wanting me to do something for her which is really beyond the scope of her authority over me.

I'd already answered one of her minions about the issue. So The Ponytail, essentially, then sent an email of demand, demanding me to do what she wanted. And in the process, she cc'ed in my big boss, The Big Poo, you who is finance director of the Southern Hemisphere, or whatever he is. I don't know exactly.

So, I clapped back at her, essentially, asking why she thought I should do what she demanded, put nicely of course.

She sent back, essentially, the same email of demand, throwing her pathetic weight around.

My big boss cc'ed in every time, of course.

Anyway, I did the barest minimum of what she wanted, just to shut her up. And then ignored the rest of her nonsense.

"Whatever, Pony, whatever."

My big boss, The Big Poo, called me this afternoon, saying he was just about to run home when the rain came down, (yes, run home, and he lives in the middle eastern suburbs, some people are just high achievers and more) and he was just considering his options, so he thought he'd call me to see if everything was okay with me with Boris being away.

"Yes, fine."

"Oh good," he said.

He told me a few things that were coming up. We chatted about our dogs. Then just before we finished, he asked.

"Did you sort out that thing with HR?"

"Yes, all sorted."

"So, drama over?"

"Yes, drama over."

"You notice that I keep out of it."

I laughed. "They are drama queens."

He laughed. "Oh Christian, I don't think we are allowed to refer to HR that way any longer."

And then we both cackled.

The HR hags cc'ing my big boss to their pathetic attempts, usually, to slither out of something, or pass the blame to someone else, always makes me chuckle because I know how the Big Poo thinks about them.

"Too much drama," he would say. Privately, of course.

Fuck 'em.

Filling In Again.

Boris tells me she is going home to the motherland yet again, and she wants me to do her work for her, again.

Oh, sure, I say. 

I so don't want to do it, I really don't. I don't want work any more than I do now. I have no interest in doing that. No. Bugger that. But, I say yes because, well, I'm not really sure why I say yes. But I do.

I'm an idiot, maybe that is the best description.

I'm stupid, I should say no.

The big pooh bah does give me a bonus every year for filling in, I know that's why he gives me a bonus. 

So, that's why I do it, to get the bonus?

Well, not exactly. I'd be happy not to do it and not to get the bonus, really.

I can't even really say its because I am being nice. Groan.

The sad truth is probably because it just easier than saying no. Bottom line is, it is just laziness on my part.

Deteriorating Jimmy

When I went into the office Tuesday morning they’d put on breakfast for the staff, something they started doing to encourage the staff to come back to the office. They have a barista making everyone coffee, so I went to get coffee before I headed over to IT to get my new laptop. 

The first person I ran into was HR Jimmy. I call him Little Buddy He’s been with the company for roughly 12 months. When he first started, I remember thinking that if I was in the office more, I’d flirt with him, and if it wasn’t a work situation I might just hit him. (editor’s note – I wouldn’t do that, it’s just the thought that amuses me)

However, the last 12 months has clearly been hard on Little Buddy, as he looked terrible. Like really terrible. I started thinking, well, in my mind anyway, deteriorating Jimmy. 

What happened to you! That was the first thing that nearly came out of my mouth, but, of course, it didn't.

Clearly, the Pony Tail, Fat Tony and Fish Guts has been treating Little Buddy poorly, which is what they do. They eat the young.

We had a bit of a chat, none of which I really took in as I couldn't stop thinking, you look so bad, bud. You have to get out, clearly. Make a break for it! You have to escape, run away, mate, before it is too late.

Gone were the chirpy fresh good looks and the cool haircut and the cute, cheeky smile. He looked pale, and drawn and his hair was long and hanging down unkept.

I guess that is what happens when you have to hang out with those bitches from HR.

Signing Into Work

So, The Midget calls me early and wants to know if I am working.

"No, I'm not working."

"So, you weren't working yesterday?"

"No, I wasn't working yesterday."

What is with her, I think, why would she think I am working?

"You know Boris took two today and yesterday off."

"Oh, did she." I did know about yesterday, but I didn't know about today.

So, The Midget tells me she'd have to discuss it with the Big Poo.

"Okay," I say.

However, what The Midget wanted was something pretty simple, so I said I would do it. It wouldn't take long, and they are pretty easy brownie points to earn, I think. And, in a certain sense, justifies me working from home, if you stretch the credulity a touch. See, I do care about such things, sometimes. See.

I sign into work, I do the thing The Midget wanted. I send an email saying I'd done it, at the same time I see Boris is sending emails. 

Grrrrr, I think. Boris is working. Get your acts together people, I think.

I don't wait for a response to my email. I sign off thinking stop bothering me you twats.

Voicemail

I'm taking the dogs for a walk early, and work calls, I ignore it. I must have forgotten to take my work phone call forwarding off.

My phone tells me there is a new voicemail.

My damn phone provider doesn't seem to be able to turn off the voicemail on my phone despite me having contacted them many times to have it turned off.

I hate being beholden to voicemail. Any of my friends who call my phone tells me they have called and I just call them back. Anyone else, thinks they have left me a message and then it is up to me to call them back. It is on me. Calls, I probably wouldn't have answered and without my voicemail betraying me, I wouldn't even know they have made. I strictly do not answer numbers I don't know.

Working from home makes it a bit tricky, with my office phone re-directed, I have to answer calls in work hours when I am working.

Other than that, anyone who needs to get in contact with me, can send me a text message.

Otherwise, ignorance is bliss.

Later, my voicemail tells me it was The Midget from work. Why would The Midget call me on a non-work day? Why? Why? Why?

Later again, I remember Boris took today off, so The Midget wants me to do something. Damn voicemail.

My phone contract is up very soon, and I am giving up 450G of saved data to change to a provider who can switch off my voice mail. Fuck it.

I don't use my phone data. Having worked from home for 5 years, I use my laptop. Don't worry, I am addicted to my laptop just as much as other people are addicted to their phones. I just don't see why I would use my phone's small screen when I can use my laptop's large screen.

Okay HR, Your Help Won't Be Required Any Longer

I sign into work at 6am. I read Sydney HR manager FishFace's whingie emails first thing. More senior legal Sydney woman - what is it with senior Sydney legal women, I ask you? - pissing their pants over practically nothing.

Those expensive hoo-ha's pissing out liquid into their nylon knickers at the slightest affront that they feel. I imagine it as a scene from Little Britain.

They must be so rung out with the battle ground of our northern neighbour city that any little thing is likely to trigger them and set them off as monsters.

And then they can be as dumb as a box of fucking rocks with any explanation they receive.

To be fair, sometimes they can be as sweet as a kitten with a little sweet talking too, but so often it is the other.

I don’t think anyone is all that nice to them, in the pig fight that is Sydney.

And, of course, our love-a-good-drama HR team plays right into these entitled woman’s sense of outrage. HR throws petrol on the fire, not water, always in a self-aggrandising effort, to make themselves look better.

So, the first thing I do is cut HR out of any discussions I might have with those who feel wronged. You know, get rid of the super girl drama queen element, isolate them, make it one on one. And then, you know, I can fake sincerity better than just about anyone else. 9 times out of 10, I win them over and kind of jedi mind trick them out of any sense of having-been-done-wrong-by just by being even handed, and drama free. Calm, steady voice.

"This is not going to hurt. Trust me. See, what did I tell you, pain free."

And I get a "thank you Christian," from the apparently enraged Sydney professional, once HR's drama queen input has been removed from the situation.

Easy.

Now, wiping my hands together, another fire storm put out. How they cope with making important life decisions, I will never know.

A very senior lawyer doesn’t understand her financial documentation, despite junior HR people explaining it to her. It has been going on for some time, and she is not happy.

I was going to offer to give her a call, and perhaps I should have, but really it isn’t anything to do with me. Seriously.

Bottom line is, the senior lawyer is seeing a problem, where there is no problem. There is nothing wrong with the financial documentation she is referring to. She just won’t be told. So much so, that I am suspecting there is possibly some hidden agenda to all of her complaining. Maybe, she has been passed over for promotion. Maybe?

Now it looks like it has landed on Fish Face’s desk. OH Dear God, all hell is about to break loose if Dumber tries to appease Angrier.

Anyway, Boris, I would say stupidly, apparently, has taken it on. Good luck. She asked me about it and I had the good sense to say, “Really, what seems to be the problem?”

Boris, doesn’t know what the problem is yet, so she had no further questions.

Old Fillet-of-Fish Raises Her Ugly Trout Mouth

I have been having ongoing dealings with the incompetent bitch senior Sydney HR manager Fillet-of-Fish. She wanted some figures done, and as usual she has given vague instructions, and insufficient details, which is always her recipe for blaming you when things go wrong.

You know, the best outcome I can hope for when dealing with her is that I get to the end of dealing with her with my reputation relatively intact.

And she has been at it again. I supplied all the wrong figures to her, according to her. 

She called Boris and screamed down the phone at her, which had the opposite effect than she had anticipated, if she had any idea of what effect she was going to have.

"I picked up the phone and she just screamed down the phone at me, How could this happen? How could this happen? How could this happen?" said Boris. "I couldn't really believe it. All I could think was what is this all about. I was forced to ask her to calm down. Seriously," said Boris. She gave me a disbelieving look.

Apparently, Fillet-of-Fish gave the figures to some execs and they were wrong.

Lucky for me, I have leaned to never pick up a phone call from her. Any dealings I have with her have to be in writing.

I keep thinking it can't just be me who she does this to? Surely, she does it to other people? Surely, her incompetence will be found out. But it never seems to.

One of the other financial accountants, one who has a management position, said to me in the kitchen that I was lucky. 

I’d asked him how he was, you know as you do, and he said to me that he was exhausted and had too much work to do. 

We’ve implemented a new system and it’s been a long and drawn out process to get it right and finally now it’s up and running. I haven’t had much to do with it because I only work part time and I don’t have so much responsibility, but he has been in charge of the whole operation.

I said to him, oh why do you say that? Me being lucky and all.

He said, just working three days you’re lucky.

I said, it was a conscious decision from working hard at my previous law firm and just being shit on in the end, I decided that I would only work as I like to work, which translated to 3 days. 

He said I was smart.

I said, I’ve never regretted the decision.

He reiterated that I was lucky.

That's been my week, the spectre of Fillet-of-Fish potentially raising her ugly trout head at any moment.

And being, I guess you'd call it, complimented by one of the other guys.

And I am done for the week.