Monday, May 24, 2004
Hey, my grandma's dead too!
So one of my coworkers had a recent loss in the family, namely his grandmother. So he takes the allowed two business days off to grieve the loss and is supposed to return to work the following Monday. This means that grams was nice enough to pass on a Wednesday sometime allowing the survivors to take off the following Thursday and Friday, giving them a long weekend. Way to go grammy!
Except Monday came and went and nobody had heard from him. No call, no show. So we all decided that he must have been especially close to his grandmother. I think black men tend to be far more attatched emotionally to their mothers and grandmothers than most other races. personally, I saw my grandma's death coming a mile away. I mean she was damn near 70 and never did anything healthy in her life, people. Where's the shock here? Then comes Tuesday. Then Wednesday. This guy must really be suffering. I mean he's lost all ability to so much as use a phone and call his office.
Now I'm signing this bullshit "sorry you had to be reminded you're mortal" cards with each of my coworkers. I hate these things. It's like, "Hey Mike sorry about the pain you're in. Here's a shitty card we printed off of some shitty card making website. And look, we all signed it so you know it's heartfelt. Now get back to work".
Thursday has arrived and people are getting nervous. The question being asked is if anyone thinks he's going to come back. How is this even a question at this point? The man has been a no call, no show for four straight days. in the Army he'd have been hunted down, raped with a buck knife and shot five times for desertion. And he'd have deserved it because he should have been on the battlefield to stop an enemy's bullet from scratching their eight million dollar tank. Traitors are such selfish assholes.
Friday, people. Friday. Now we're coming to the realization that our beloved cart pusher might have abandoned us. Now comes the fun part, like rummaging through his desk and seeing what kind of illegal shit he had on his computer. What I love best is when the people who worked next to this guy for over a year start arguing over who gets the tape dispenser. American humanity at its finest.
And after work he calls me to say goodbye. Nobody has heard from this cat for over a week and we were all prepared to do our little solumn "I was sorry to hear about your loss". And in an office like this one, that's like admitting you're wrong. So he's calling me to tell me that he enjoyed working with me and that he hopes to see me outside of work. I never hung out with this guy. He's that really really black skinny guy who wants you to know how ghetto he is, though he's about as thug as Ernie singing "Rubber Ducky". And whenever I'm around him I'm supposed to play the role of that corny honkey who doesn't understand his ghetto reality. Black men, stop doing that! It's lame and old and it perpetuates only your stereotypes, not mine.
Apparantly, the loss of grandma was enough to tell him that he would be better off if he just up and quit his job without supplamental employment or any other way of feeding his daughter. Shit, that's deep. When my grandma died, I just wanted to know if I was going to get any money from the will or at least some sympathy pussy. Maybe I'm the shallow one, but I'll be the shallow honkey with a job.
|
Except Monday came and went and nobody had heard from him. No call, no show. So we all decided that he must have been especially close to his grandmother. I think black men tend to be far more attatched emotionally to their mothers and grandmothers than most other races. personally, I saw my grandma's death coming a mile away. I mean she was damn near 70 and never did anything healthy in her life, people. Where's the shock here? Then comes Tuesday. Then Wednesday. This guy must really be suffering. I mean he's lost all ability to so much as use a phone and call his office.
Now I'm signing this bullshit "sorry you had to be reminded you're mortal" cards with each of my coworkers. I hate these things. It's like, "Hey Mike sorry about the pain you're in. Here's a shitty card we printed off of some shitty card making website. And look, we all signed it so you know it's heartfelt. Now get back to work".
Thursday has arrived and people are getting nervous. The question being asked is if anyone thinks he's going to come back. How is this even a question at this point? The man has been a no call, no show for four straight days. in the Army he'd have been hunted down, raped with a buck knife and shot five times for desertion. And he'd have deserved it because he should have been on the battlefield to stop an enemy's bullet from scratching their eight million dollar tank. Traitors are such selfish assholes.
Friday, people. Friday. Now we're coming to the realization that our beloved cart pusher might have abandoned us. Now comes the fun part, like rummaging through his desk and seeing what kind of illegal shit he had on his computer. What I love best is when the people who worked next to this guy for over a year start arguing over who gets the tape dispenser. American humanity at its finest.
And after work he calls me to say goodbye. Nobody has heard from this cat for over a week and we were all prepared to do our little solumn "I was sorry to hear about your loss". And in an office like this one, that's like admitting you're wrong. So he's calling me to tell me that he enjoyed working with me and that he hopes to see me outside of work. I never hung out with this guy. He's that really really black skinny guy who wants you to know how ghetto he is, though he's about as thug as Ernie singing "Rubber Ducky". And whenever I'm around him I'm supposed to play the role of that corny honkey who doesn't understand his ghetto reality. Black men, stop doing that! It's lame and old and it perpetuates only your stereotypes, not mine.
Apparantly, the loss of grandma was enough to tell him that he would be better off if he just up and quit his job without supplamental employment or any other way of feeding his daughter. Shit, that's deep. When my grandma died, I just wanted to know if I was going to get any money from the will or at least some sympathy pussy. Maybe I'm the shallow one, but I'll be the shallow honkey with a job.
|
Read my Dreambook guestbook! Sign my Dreambook! |
|