![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
I'M AWESOME. And sarcastic.
Oct. 17th, 2008 02:30 pmI ordered paper the other day because we were down to pretty much none. I ordered 16 boxes. Whenever we get paper, it's brought straight to my floor, and put away, and I sign for it.
TODAY, the paper was brought to the mailroom, on the 24th floor. The receptionist (Keesha) didn't realize the paper was for me (she says) until after he unloaded the first eight boxes of paper in the mailroom and went down to get the rest. I had to go upstairs and stand in the elevator bay waiting for the guy to get back, which I did for about twenty minutes. He still hadn't come back. Keesha told me I could borrow the handtruck, and get one of the guys to help me take the paper downstairs, because the people UPSTAIRS would open our paper. They would. I have no doubt.
Of course, today sucks. Boss was in a meeting (and I really didn't want to deal with him anyway--more on him in a bit), Luis and Dennis were training, Joseph's not in, Carl was at ACS, Earl (as frail as he is, I wouldn't have called him at all) was in the field, today is John's pass day, and Steve was floating around somewhere. I didn't want to get anyone from AQC to help because I suspect someone over there's been using our paper, and the last thing I wanted was to advertise its arrival. I said "screw it" and started loading the paper onto the handtruck myself.
Loaded up all eight boxes. Tried to push. Realized that with that much weight on the cart, the front wheels go flat. Had to get ANOTHER cart with different wheels, move all the paper to that one, and push it out. Guess who's in the elevator I get? The delivery guy with the REST of the paper. (And the boss, who from that point decided to ride with us and put in his two cents rather than go wherever the hell he'd been going. 9_9) I told him to go back in because we had to take the paper down one floor, and squeezed my cart into the elevator. He asked if I had the paperwork I needed to sign. I ran (with an aching lower back) to Keesha's desk at the other end of the hall, picked that up, and ran back.
It was okay after that--the guy put the paper where I wanted it to go. Dona and I also discovered that his English probably SUCKS, although numbers are the same in Spanish as they are in English, so that had nothing to do with him not bringing the paper to 23.
And now I sit here with a hurt back. If it's not better later on, training at Ollie's might have to wait, because I cannot bend down and can barely walk without pain. (This saddens me, because I want to see Nevada again. And several other cats too, but mostly Nevada. I love him. I might be able to go and just not do a lot of bending, but I don't know. Hoping I feel better by then. I don't have to be there until 6.)
Anyway, the boss: He came downstairs from his two-hour meeting (held on 24). Dona said he went into his office, came back out, and was messing around my desk. (Said Dona, "like he was trying to see if you'd come in to work." Because the sketchbook being out and open and the bag sitting under the desk and the e-mails I sent and the two timesheets sitting on his desk were no indication.) She told him I went upstairs to get the paper because Keesha called me to catch the delivery guy and redirect him. Boss says, "Well, you know, they get paper upstairs, too."
Now, here's the million-dollar question: Why the HELL would I go upstairs to get SOMEONE ELSE'S PAPER?
I swear, people think I'm just exaggerating and being annoying when I complain about him, but he's really like this. He's easily one of the most scatterbrained people I know, and what's so aggravating is that he thinks he's God's Gift to EVERYTHING, even when the gears in his head don't turn well enough for him to understand basic concepts.
TODAY, the paper was brought to the mailroom, on the 24th floor. The receptionist (Keesha) didn't realize the paper was for me (she says) until after he unloaded the first eight boxes of paper in the mailroom and went down to get the rest. I had to go upstairs and stand in the elevator bay waiting for the guy to get back, which I did for about twenty minutes. He still hadn't come back. Keesha told me I could borrow the handtruck, and get one of the guys to help me take the paper downstairs, because the people UPSTAIRS would open our paper. They would. I have no doubt.
Of course, today sucks. Boss was in a meeting (and I really didn't want to deal with him anyway--more on him in a bit), Luis and Dennis were training, Joseph's not in, Carl was at ACS, Earl (as frail as he is, I wouldn't have called him at all) was in the field, today is John's pass day, and Steve was floating around somewhere. I didn't want to get anyone from AQC to help because I suspect someone over there's been using our paper, and the last thing I wanted was to advertise its arrival. I said "screw it" and started loading the paper onto the handtruck myself.
Loaded up all eight boxes. Tried to push. Realized that with that much weight on the cart, the front wheels go flat. Had to get ANOTHER cart with different wheels, move all the paper to that one, and push it out. Guess who's in the elevator I get? The delivery guy with the REST of the paper. (And the boss, who from that point decided to ride with us and put in his two cents rather than go wherever the hell he'd been going. 9_9) I told him to go back in because we had to take the paper down one floor, and squeezed my cart into the elevator. He asked if I had the paperwork I needed to sign. I ran (with an aching lower back) to Keesha's desk at the other end of the hall, picked that up, and ran back.
It was okay after that--the guy put the paper where I wanted it to go. Dona and I also discovered that his English probably SUCKS, although numbers are the same in Spanish as they are in English, so that had nothing to do with him not bringing the paper to 23.
And now I sit here with a hurt back. If it's not better later on, training at Ollie's might have to wait, because I cannot bend down and can barely walk without pain. (This saddens me, because I want to see Nevada again. And several other cats too, but mostly Nevada. I love him. I might be able to go and just not do a lot of bending, but I don't know. Hoping I feel better by then. I don't have to be there until 6.)
Anyway, the boss: He came downstairs from his two-hour meeting (held on 24). Dona said he went into his office, came back out, and was messing around my desk. (Said Dona, "like he was trying to see if you'd come in to work." Because the sketchbook being out and open and the bag sitting under the desk and the e-mails I sent and the two timesheets sitting on his desk were no indication.) She told him I went upstairs to get the paper because Keesha called me to catch the delivery guy and redirect him. Boss says, "Well, you know, they get paper upstairs, too."
Now, here's the million-dollar question: Why the HELL would I go upstairs to get SOMEONE ELSE'S PAPER?
I swear, people think I'm just exaggerating and being annoying when I complain about him, but he's really like this. He's easily one of the most scatterbrained people I know, and what's so aggravating is that he thinks he's God's Gift to EVERYTHING, even when the gears in his head don't turn well enough for him to understand basic concepts.
