Me At Work 2

Just so you know, I am totally psychic.  Yesterday, I posted that this was me at work this week:

I posted that because this week has been so busy, so stressful, and so surprisingly hellish that I couldn’t believe it was a) happening and b) not over yet.  What I did not know at the time of posting that gif was that things were about to get much, much worse.

Yesterday, I did not know the meaning of unbelievable.  Today, I am intimately, awfully, nauseatingly familiar with the concept.

Without naming the company or any other details that could possibly implicate me in an in-any-way-justifiable firing, let me just say this: if you’re a stupid, lazy, sonofabitch who enjoys taking full advantage of the competent people around you who are so afraid to be labeled as stupid, lazy sonofabitches themselves that they’ll catch and correct your mistakes (of which there are shockingly many) every single fucking day because they have no other choice, you would LOVE to work where I work.  You would THRIVE there.  I should warn you, though, that you must also be adept at climbing into the various asses of management, incapable of admitting when you’re (frequently) wrong, and generally unaware of the fact that everyone else thinks you’re a dipshit, up to and including people who don’t even work in your department, to the point where they will express total disbelief in the completely mystifying behavior of your management (who, as I mentioned, allows you to reside inside their asses).

Sound good?  GREAT.  I’ll save you a desk.

If you had asked me a year ago about the worst job I’ve ever had, I would have told you it was dog grooming.  I did it for a day.  It was disgusting.  The dogs weren’t the problem; I’ve had dogs my entire life.  If you can both bathe and inject a German Shepherd with insulin, your dog comfort level is to be commended.  Well…I guess I should say that most dogs weren’t the problem.  The dogs that were the problem were wizened little puntable turds who needed their anal glands squeezed before any actual grooming could occur.

I’ll say it again: they needed their anal glands squeezed.

Every dog has two small bumps on either side of its butthole.  These bumps contain a black, viscous fluid that smells like Satan’s balls.  Larger dogs release these glands naturally when they feel extremely threatened, like when they’re being beaten or are menaced by a vet who wants to clip their nails (this was one of my dogs, but to be fair to the vet, she was also crosseyed and required dog Valium when it was windy out).  Smaller dogs, especially the purebred, manmade, genetic-disease-infested ones that can’t exist in nature, can’t release these glands naturally.  I mean, I suppose they can, but it’s kind of a 50/50 shot of them releasing the glands naturally (after they get groomed, which means you have to start all over again) and them not releasing them at all, choosing instead to re-absorb that poison filth and die.  To prevent a grooming disaster or, um, a dead dog, you have to squeeze the dogs’ anal glands before bathing them.

How do you squeeze a dog’s anal gland, you ask?  Well, it’s actually very easy.  Positioning yourself near the rear end of the dog, you use your thumb and forefinger to apply a squeezing pressure on either side of the dog’s butthole.  In some dogs, the anal gland fluid comes dribbling out okay.  On other dogs, you basically have to squeeze-rape them from behind to get it out and hope like hell you don’t slip and touch their actual anus (it feels like dirty rubber, in case you were wondering).  And no matter how fast or slow it comes out, it stinks like shit and fat people sex, and until recently, my single day of dog grooming was my worst job ever.

Not anymore.  If any managers (not mine, though, WHY WOULD THEY BE HERE ANYWAY) are reading this, please know that the few will not always carry the dumb.  Sooner or later, the people doing all the work will stop, or leave, or allow the idiots among them just enough rope to hang themselves.  They’ll stop caring about how it makes them look, because you’ve been too busy overlooking them, anyway.

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About erineph

I'm Erin. I have tattoos and more than one cat. I am an office drone, a music writer, and an erstwhile bartender. I am a cook in the bedroom and a whore in the kitchen. Things I enjoy include but are not limited to zombies, burritos, Cthulhu, Kurt Vonnegut, Keith Richards, accordions, perfumery, and wearing fat pants in the privacy of my own home.
This entry was posted in Everyone Else Is An Idiot, I Hate, I Just Can't, Paychecks Are Important, Sads, WTF. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Me At Work 2

  1. behindthewpf says:

    Reason 1793 why I don’t want a dog. Gross.

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