(no subject)

Lately I've been trying to convince myself that even though working at the House of Gas is slowly destroying my will to live, it's really not a good idea to leave before I've found another job. So this morning, Grantil and I were making the dread journey in together, amidst our own pitiful attempts to shore up each others spirits in preparation for the soul-sucking morasse of pain that awaited us:

Grantil: Well, we do get three days off every week. I mean, that's not bad, most people don't get that.
Froodle: Yeah, I actually sat down and worked it out, and we spend more days of the year away from work than we do at work.
Grantil: Seriously?
Froodle: Yeah, it works out as 180 days on, 185 days off. I mean, you have to count bank holidays and vacation time, but still.
Grantil: But how many vacation days did you add? 'Cause they say 23, but it's really less than that because they count eight hours as a whole day.
Froodle: Yeah, that's 19.89 days for us.
Grantil: Oh my God, you actually did it properly! You should be on Numb3rs.
Froodle: I should. I'd be like, "Using science and fucking retarded analogies I have calculated an algorithm that scientifically proves that our jobs are shit and we should all bunk off and drink coffee and then maybe gang-bang Charlie."
Grantil: That would be the best episode ever.
Froodle: That's what every episode is like anyway. They don't say it explicitly, but it's pretty clear the whole point of Numb3rs is that everyone wants to gang-bang Charlie.
Grantil: We need to go and work for the FBI.
Froodle: Seriously. We should say that in our exit interviews. "Qutting due to lack of gang-bangable mathematicians."
Grantil: Awesome. I'm putting that as a "suggestion for improvement" on my next Employee Engagement survey.

I didn't want to bring him down by pointing out that King Gas and the Royal Court of Price-Hiking Money Grabbers Who Can't Even Buy Us Decent Computers never listen to those suggestions, so I changed the subject to "non-fatal accidents we could get into that would prevent us from going to work." Incidentally, if somebody wanted to bomb the Crown Point around 9.40 tomorrow - I will love you forever, if I survive.

God, I hate my job.

(no subject)

Lately I've been trying to convince myself that even though working at the House of Gas is slowly destroying my will to live, it's really not a good idea to leave before I've found another job. So this morning, Grantil and I were making the dread journey in together, amidst our own pitiful attempts to shore up each others spirits in preparation for the soul-sucking morasse of pain that awaited us:

Grantil: Well, we do get three days off every week. I mean, that's not bad, most people don't get that.
Froodle: Yeah, I actually sat down and worked it out, and we spend more days of the year away from work than we do at work.
Grantil: Seriously?
Froodle: Yeah, it works out as 180 days on, 185 days off. I mean, you have to count bank holidays and vacation time, but still.
Grantil: But how many vacation days did you add? 'Cause they say 23, but it's really less than that because they count eight hours as a whole day.
Froodle: Yeah, that's 19.89 days for us.
Grantil: Oh my God, you actually did it properly! You should be on Numb3rs.
Froodle: I should. I'd be like, "Using science and fucking retarded analogies I have calculated an algorithm that scientifically proves that our jobs are shit and we should all bunk off and drink coffee and then maybe gang-bang Charlie."
Grantil: That would be the best episode ever.
Froodle: That's what every episode is like anyway. They don't say it explicitly, but it's pretty clear the whole point of Numb3rs is that everyone wants to gang-bang Charlie.
Grantil: We need to go and work for the FBI.
Froodle: Seriously. We should say that in our exit interviews. "Qutting due to lack of gang-bangable mathematicians."
Grantil: Awesome. I'm putting that as a "suggestion for improvement" on my next Employee Engagement survey.

I didn't want to bring him down by pointing out that King Gas and the Royal Court of Price-Hiking Money Grabbers Who Can't Even Buy Us Decent Computers never listen to those suggestions, so I changed the subject to "non-fatal accidents we could get into that would prevent us from going to work." Incidentally, if somebody wanted to bomb the Crown Point around 9.40 tomorrow - I will love you forever, if I survive.

God, I hate my job.