There's Poop On The Boss' Desk
And no, it wasn't me.
The mice are back, bowel movements and all.
5 more shifts
And no, it wasn't me.
Our receptionist hasn't been on speaking terms with the new guy since he wrecked her workstation a couple of weeks back. You see, he thought it good at the time to load her system up with a bunch of software while she was getting a coffee. It refused to boot by the time she returned. I had to help him restore a backup to get things back in order.
Every time I bring up the report writer application, the new guy inches his chair a little bit closer to my desk. When I pull up my variable lists, he's already couple of feet behind me, breathing his brand of corrosive halitosis (Nabob + Chunk Lite tuna) down my neck. As soon as I start scripting the filter subroutines for our accounting data import, he's barking out orders and asking needless questions as if he owns the place.
An excerpt from a Ms. "babykitten's" cover letter:
In celebration of my impending unemployment, I'm planning on damaging my liver over at this fine establishment: