It's time for some show and tell!

The last few weeks have been phenomenally interesting to say the very least.

One of my blog reading chickadees emailed me to tell me she can't believe I actually get this kind of crap in my work inbox on a daily basis. This wasn't the first time somebody posed this type of question, and while I find it incredibly flattering that people think I have the kind of wherewith all and *creativity* to make this shit up (as if!) I decided maybe it's time for a little show and tell.

I decided to take pictures to PROVE that I'm not making this crap up. 

So guess what? 

Today's posting is complete with pictures to help "aid" in my story telling adventure.

First off, my Monday last week started off with full blown Monday-like shenanigans. 

The dumb-ass cleaning crew my boss has had on the payroll for 15+ years continued with their usual inane dickery of moving shit around and not putting it back where it belongs. It's their favoritist trick, the "moving of things". Nothing is ever where it is supposed to be, OR where you left it, which is oh, I DUNNO, probably WHERE YOU WANTED IT TO STAY PUT. It's like going on an Easter egg hunt to find your personal possessions every Monday morning, only THERE ARE NO BUNNIES OR CANDY-INDUCED HAPPINESS. 

I find this particularly offensive as I used to own and run a cleaning company back in the dark ages in Northern Nevada. And I tell you what, if I ever had the NERVE to set a picture frame back down in the wrong spot, my fussy customers would come UNHINGED and leave me a nasty note for our following return visit indicating such debauchery was HIGHLY UNACCEPTABLE. So the fact that they get away with it on a weekly basis, freakin' PISSES ME OFF.

Last Monday though, I was madder than a wet hen as they'd somehow managed to drop my desk calendar down behind my desk and I was damned determined I was going to get it back. 

Here's a pic of my very important calendar I shopped 3 office supply stores to get so you have an idea what I'm talking about. It's one of the few you can find on the planet that stands on one's desk as I'm technically not allowed to put holes in the wall at work (yes, we're a little on the anally retentive side...):

Here's the hole they shoved it off into, dropping it half way down the wall:

Said hole runs maybe a full 1.5" in width, making it exceptionally challenging for me to retrieve my cherished, scribbled-upon prized possession. I naturally did not let this deter me, however, as I grabbed my trusty $8000 Huntington Learning Center green plastic ruler and went to town. (Yes, that is what I have to show for the 8 grand we dropped on the kid one year for tutoring. A plastic green ruler. That and some A's and B's on her report cards and some extra brain cells rattling around in her noggin'.) 

A few minutes of struggling later, I'd managed to stick the ruler through it, scoop it up and fling it up the wall, catching it with my left hand. Only problem was, I suddenly couldn't get my right hand unstuck from the space. I don't have very large wrists, but after all the frantic activity and pressure not to drop the $4 calendar and $8000 ruler all the way to the floor, I must have swollen up something fierce. 

So there I am, panicking like a dog with it's head stuck between the bars on a rod iron gate after it finally figures out how to get it's head through to get the tasty looking cat on the other side of the yard. I'm by myself (as on most days I'm usually the first one there), I've got a 300 lb. desk keeping my hand locked against the wall and I'm starting to get all worked up into a full blown bitch panic. My cell phone is within reach of my left hand but I started thinking "Just who the HELL do I think I'd be calling to come "rescue" me? The only people that have a key to this place are 30 minutes out, minimum. I'm totally fucked." 

So I plopped myself on my desk (as I couldn't sit down in my actual chair at the angle I was stuck in) and sat there staring at the retina burning, goldenrod-colored wall in disbelief. 
"Fuck you Monday," I said out loud, which reverberated down the hall into nothingness.

Then suddenly getting pissed off, I yanked my hand out as if the building was I fire and I was gonna go down with it.

I think I should have filed a worker's comp claim considering I'm in the right spot and all, working at an insurance company, don't you? My wrist was swollen, cut, and bright red for about 7 more hours. I tried to "man up" about it, but really, I HATE that cleaning crew. Damn inconsiderate douchecanoes.

So now, on to the next set of pics. As you can imagine, my day did not improve from there on out... shocker!
Here are some of the lovely things I snapped pics of to show you, my faithful readers that no, in fact, I do not have the cojones to make this shit up.

This high-powered exec decided to send his resume in the font of a 5 year old:

And then some engineering student decided I would need FOUR-FUCKING-TEEN PAGES of charts of every topic known to man that not only does NOT interest me, but has no bearing on the position he was applying for:

Next, this yay-who decided to YELL AT ME THROUGH HER RESUME WITH 42 PT. FONT:

Yes I changed her personal info. Although it would've been hella funny if she'd submitted it with "Name Here" on it, no?

By the end of that horrible day, I'd come to the awful realization that I still had a small stack of idiots to wade through... including this dude that I'm 99.9% sure made up his name just to fuck with me:

Jeff "Bras Well" Ummm really dude? Come. On.

So really, people astound me. If you're a job seeker reading my blog... PLEASE do NOT do anything I've listed here OR in any of the other 142 posts I've written. I beg of you. Us recruiter types and hiring managers you have come to loathe JUST CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE.

Until next time ... peace out my peeps!