Saying Goodbye to The Swinger.

Holy shit, I made it home before The Beer Store closed - on a Monday - and what a Monday it was.

The Swinger was due back from a two week vacation today, except he's not ever coming back. He found another job while he was away.

He won't be missed, even though I've got mixed emotions at the parting. On the one hand I'll never have to deal with his bigotry, hear his Tickle-Me-Elmo laugh, or disinfect surfaces he's touched ever again. On the other hand, I've lost one of my best sources of blog fodder. 

My co-supervisor had the pleasure of cleaning out The Swinger's locker. I think they should have just encased it in concrete since there is no effin way anybody is ever going to want to store their lunch in THAT locker.

There are some things you cannot decontaminate enough to ever be near food which would be everything ever touched by The Swinger.

On the topic of disinfecting surfaces, it seems Mr. Skittles is under the impression he can rinse his mouth at the water fountain and then spit his swish water back in. That's just taking the whole "taste the rainbow" shit way too far.

I'm also going into my fourth week smoke free with only one tiny slip up. Or not so much a slip up as I just needed to confirm that cigarettes do indeed taste like shit. 

If you had ever met the asshats, you would understand how miraculous this is.

UPS, The Swinger and Ron Jeremy

Getting ready to go back to work after lunch today I stopped at the end of my driveway. I looked left, then I looked right. I let the vehicle coming from the right go by and as I was getting ready to pull out I looked to the left. There was the UPS man flying towards me.

The UPS man honked his horn - after I saw him.

I'm sorry I startled you UPS man, but let me reassure you. After struggling to keep my break up drama free, getting creamed by a UPS truck would not have made my day. If I'm going to try for some drama I can think of numerous more satisfying scenes to make. Not one of them would involve looking for a replacement vehicle. Cars cost money y'all.

The Swinger's Big Plans

The Swinger has the weekend booked off. It will be like a vacation for the rest of us.

He's got some big plans for his weekend off though. Now keep in mind that I had zero foresight on the huge amount of potential this guy had for blog material. Stupid me, I told him to keep his sexcapades to himself. So all my intel is second hand.

Yesterday someone told me all about him telling them all about his plans to spend the weekend partying with Ron Jeremy. That would be Ron Jeremy the porn star. So I said "well wait a minute - didn't that guy have an aneurysm or something?"

Holy shit I've got to Google this - finally I can prove this guy is full of it. Bullshitters bug me. It's like they're saying "you look stupid so let me string you a line."

Only when I got home, I couldn't remember "Ron Jeremy" was the name of the guy I wanted to Google. I Googled "fat hairy porn star" and got nothing that triggered my memory. Thankfully, no images burned into my retinas either. Then I remembered the name Ron. So I added that to my search string and found out that Ron Jeremy had been cleared by his doctors to resume sex.

I thought all was lost in proving The Swinger to be full of shit. Until I heard today's story - secondhand of course.

I guess now his birthday plans include visiting Ron Jeremy in the hospital.

So I Googled that aging porn star again at lunch. Now according to TMZ as of February 22nd, Ron Jeremy is healthy and hale and has his Doctor's clearance to pump away.

It's not 100% proof that The Swinger is full of shit, but I think if Ron Jeremy was in the hospital, the media would know.

PS UPS needs to paint their trucks a different color. I mean I know they're pretty big and all but that brown color kind of blends. I think they should go to a school bus yellow. It would complement the brown uniforms and be a lot easier to see.

PPS If Ron Jeremy is getting action there is hope for all the short fat hairy men out there.

PPPS The Swinger needs to make better use of Google so his bullshit is based on recent news. 

 

A "Fail" kind of weekend, spilled milk, and The Swinger

Saturday after work, I braved Walmart. The youngest needed socks and I was hoping for something to entertain me in my lonely spinsterhood. Can I still be a spinster if I've had children or do I have to be childless also?

After navigating through the other shoppers (Relax - there was zero bloodshed) I looked at a wall of books. Every one them of the Twighlight ilk, which wasn't anything I was in the mood for. So I picked the one that appeared to be different - Beautiful Bastard. If you've heard of it, you're probably already snickering right?

Because doesn't every just dumped woman want to read erotica?

Fine, I'll watch the movie I bought. Except the universal remote to work the DVD player is batteryless. I can't even blame the kids because I'm the one who stole them to use in the TV remote. Since I've got absolutely nothing to coax the DVD player past the menu screen into play, no movie either.

I found a book to read - other than Beautiful Bastard which is residing under my bed where it landed after sliding down the wall - and went to bed.

Value Village here we come

Sunday I stopped at Value Village on my way for Groceries - they've always got a lot of used books.

I also found this mirror and thinking it would look pretty neat painted black, I bought it. Then groceries, a stop at the Home Hardware for some black spray paint and I'm home.

The day is sunny, not warm but not frigid so I've got no excuses to NOT cut the lawn.

Except the mothereffing lawnmower would not start. My just bought last year, second pull guaranteed lawnmower. So I decided to spray paint my mirror and discovered I kind of suck at spray painting.

This is when I chose to go in the house and start reading the Dean Koontz novel I had also bought.

This is the "Woe is me, my boyfriend dumped me" part of the post. 

I won't hold it against you if you skip past this part.

I don't know why, but evenings are not too bad. I'm sad, but not "lose it" sad. Mornings (and by morning I mean anytime before 3 pm) are brutal. Which I guess is just more proof that I'm not naturally a morning person. This morning it seemed like I was going to be closer to okay. Then I drove to work and saw his truck was home.

Did I forget to mention that part? Yeah, we live within walking distance of each other and will regularly need to drive past each others houses on our daily routines.

My emo Brain: Why is he home? Did something bad happen?

My logical Brain: He did mention something about having to take a night shift for a guy on vacation.

My emo Brain: Well how is he going to pick up his kids on Friday if he's on afternoons.

This is where my logical brain gave my emo brain a slap across the cheek

My logical Brain: Not. Your. Fucking. Problem.

Then, while at work someone asked me if I had plans for vacation. Which I did - two weekends ago. In fact The Polish Guy and I were even discussing when we would take our vacation. Then Wednesday he dropped off all of my stuff.

I'm kind of guessing that means he's not planning on taking us with him this year.

I've written those hurtful words "I've been dumped" but I up until this morning I had not been able to say them. I just couldn't do it without losing my composure.

I managed to get the words past the lump in my throat, and told her why I had no vacation plans at the moment. I did not cry. I even held it together through the meaningless platitudes that people make when they're sad that you're sad.

Not even an hour later I flipped the bitch switch over something trivial. Then I had to apologize for being an asshole, but at least I didn't snot and slobber all over an employee's shoulder.

That would be unprofessional.

Cockroaches and spilled milk

Another trigger for me has been seeing the one lady at work and remembering her little homily from Barbados of "There be a cockroach in your milk." Apparently, this is what they say when a woman is having a sneezing fit.

Why do I even worry about this? It's not as if I have any reason to believe he was two timing me.

Besides, should it even matter at this point if "some other woman be doin' yer man"? Another woman is not going to make him any more not attracted to me. It's like worrying about getting more pregnant if you have sex while pregnant. Obviously he's "just not that into me", so why even worry about it? Why look for answers in the inexplicable? Why care so damn much over someone who obviously no longer cares for me?

It's like crying over spilled milk.

The Swinger is back at My Half Assed Life

The Swinger's got some big weekend plans. Whenever I felt weepy, I would picture him in ridiculous role playing costumes. Emphasis on ridiculous so as not to trigger my gag reflex. Alternately, I would wait until I caught the other Shipper/Receiver's eye and make like I had the guy on a leash and collar with a whip in my hand.

Whicha!

It got me through the day.

So Tantalizingly Out Of Reach

I work six days a week - every week. Being the type of person who works to live and not the type who lives to work, I sometimes resent the whole every Saturday thing. But I get up and go - every Saturday.

A lot of times we're done packing at a decent time. Today, we were done at 2:30.

Just early enough for me to start getting excited. But first, I have to wait for the shipper to clear the floor. The single, no family and possibly no friends shipper.

The dilemma is, I want to help him out. I mean of course I do, since the faster his work gets done the sooner I'm out of there. But if I help him out he starts yakking. Apparently he can't walk and chew gum at the same time, or at least he can't work and talk at the same time.

I've had him actually turn the lift truck off climb down and give me a demonstration of what 20/60 or 60/20 or who gives a fuck vision is. It pretty much boiled down to objects may appear closer than they are. I have no idea if this is the true definition or not - mainly because I don't give a shit.

I keep checking the time on my phone. It's moving fast, I sure wish my shipper would.

Finally he's almost done, except he completely stops working to tell me how the rules for emission testing diesel engines have changed and he might have to say goodbye to his car. Again, I really don't give a shit.

Finally at 3:45 - yeah that's right, 1hr 15 minutes to load a single trailer - he's done.

I ran a few errands and arrived home at 4:30.

I've decided Saturday afternoon naps are forever out of my reach. Thanks Swinger Dude.

How about a pity vote for my lost nap? Go vote for me at Circle of Mom's Top 25 Funny Mom's contest. Maybe get your friends and family to vote too - since I'm nowhere near my goal of making it into the top 100. You can vote your favorites every day until February 13th. 

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The Most Ridiculous Thing I Heard Today

So Swinger Dude is back from his four day party. Sorry I've got no details to share. No, wait a minute, I'm thrilled I have no details to share.

Except that I guess spending your holidays at a swinger party makes for some sort of post holiday let down. So see! Swinger Dude isn't so different from the rest of us.

My co-supervisor took the supreme sacrifice of asking Swinger Dude what was bothering him. Really - this is a huge sacrifice - on par with say giving up chocolate, coffee and booze all in the same week.

Swinger Dude's chosen rant of the moment? He's convinced that Scooter (not his real name of course) is gay and has been giving him the "eyes". This is sheer ridiculousness on so many levels.

Just for starters if Scooter were gay, I hardly think that Swinger Dude would fit anybody's idea of hot - male, female, gay or hetero. Just sayin.

Then there's the fact that Scooter was probably at some point in the birthing process deprived of oxygen. He has some physical signs and he's a little delayed. For all of this? There's one thing Scooter loves more than anything. Pretty girls. We have to be careful who we have him work with because if they are too pretty he'll spend his time blushing and flirting instead of working. But you know what? Scooter shows up for work EVERY DAY. He does the most boring jobs day in and day out and yet he still shows up for work the next day. He drives his e-bike to work in most weather, gets chased by a damn German Shepherd and shows up to work.

So as far as the "eyes" go that's probably just instinctive self preservation - as in when is this firecracker gonna blow. Because if there's one thing Scooter can't do, it's hiding his feelings for a crush.

The real irony here? Who is Swinger Dude to judge anyhow?

So no Swinger Dude, I will NOT be giving Scooter a warning.

Asshattery At Work

If you don't know who Swinger Dude is you need to pour yourself a drink and then go here first. Okay now go have your drink, I'm sure you need it, and then go here.

Are you back? Sorry about that by the way - we're still friends right?

Alrighty then. So Swinger dude has a different idea of how the holidays should be celebrated. His idea of the perfect Holiday Celebration is to attend a sex party. Now I'm sure there's another name for these things, but hey we're all small town folk and well, it's just kinda icky so we don't really mind being dorks on this one.

The day starts with me, The Comedian, and Shakespeare all working together. The Comedian is new to the place so the conversation goes something like this.

The Comedian: So Swinger dude was telling me all about his big weekend plans. Something about a sex party. 

Shakespeare and I laugh (a little bit guilty on my part since as much as I want to I really can't warn people about Swinger dude. Or at least I haven't figured out how to work it into a conversation.)

The Comedian: Who talks about stuff like that at work? And really, if he's so into it why isn't the guy in porn doing what he loves? 

The Comedian: Seriously, if that was me and I had the equipment for it I'd be in movies making money, but I got stuck with the white man’s package. 

Me: Okay, but Swinger dude starring in a porno would be like Jack Black starring in a porno. 

The Comedian: Exactly!

Shakespeare and The Comedian are laughing their asses off. Me? I'm laughing and gagging. Yeah I know I said it, but seriously didn't you just vomit a little bit in your mouth picturing Jack Black in a porno?

At this point Swinger dude comes over to us.

Swinger dude: Would you mind covering your mouth when you sneeze?

Swinger dude does his blah, blah, blah thing and then leaves.

Me: Did I sneeze? Because I only remember laughing, gagging and in general trying not to piss myself. 

The Comedian: My wife has an issue with that. One morning I was just getting ready to leave for work and she pulls in the driveway. So I asked her why she was home. 

The Comedians Wife: I pissed my pants on the way to work. So I told the supervisor I forgot something at home. 

The Comedian: But seriously, someone should get S&M dude a big chocolate dick for Christmas since he's such a dick. 

I tried to find a picture to go here but Google would only give me pictures of real dicks so now I'm feeling a little vomity again.

At this point Swinger dude wants to get in on the party since we're all having so much fun. The conversation turns to cars and car engines and I drift away since the other two are pretty much stuck standing there listening to him. I mean really the best way to save yourself is to trip whoever is with you right?

Finally Swinger dude heads back to his work area and I head back to the real conversation.

The Comedian: You know, my step-son is seriously into cars and I'd love to take Swinger dude there sometime. I think he'd really enjoy it.

Me: Yeah, but you would have to take him with blindfold and a hood over his head so he could never find his way back. 

The Comedian: Well my step-son he's a pretty laid back guy. You know he's about 6 feet tall. 

The Comedian: Okay so it would be a really bad idea to take Swinger dude there. My step-son might not be too happy with me.

The Comedian's Step-Son: Hey, you wanna come get your buddy? I've tried everything but the dude just won't take a hint and leave.

Me: Isn't it terrible? Seriously, I've had the guy follow me to the washroom and wait outside the door so he can keep on talking when I come out.

Shakespeare: It doesn't matter what you do, he just keeps talking.

Me: It's like he just doesn't see the desperation to get away on people’s faces.

Me: I've tried not making eye contact. I've tried turning away from him and talking to someone else. He. Just. Doesn't. Get. It.

The Comedian: Seriously Half Assed, there should be a section in the Employee Handbook about this guy. 

1. Do Not make eye contact.
2. Do Not ask him what his plans are for the weekend.
3. Do Not mention cars unless you are really into cars. 

Me: He does have his uses. If you are ever racing someone for the bathroom and they're winning? Tell them Swinger dude was in there. They'll turn around and walk away.

Shakespeare: Break time is taking forever to get here.

Me: What? You're not enjoying this conversation. 

Shakespeare: I laughed so much, now I'm hungry.

How To Make Simple Complicated

So I work in a tomato packhouse, with a guy who is a swinger and maybe a submissive. Not that this is a flaw, unless of course he shares details. Which he did. Swinger dude is also the most aggravating human I have ever met. I now get to spend more time with with him 6 days a week than I do my family.

Swinger dude also loves to brag about his IQ of 140. Which means nothing to me, since it's not as if he's building rockets or curing cancer - dude, you work in a packhouse so you are NOT a genius.

We spend so much time at work that as much as possible I like to get along and encourage people by commenting on their positive contributions, especially after any reprimands - which Swinger dude requires almost daily. The reprimands that is. NOT the flattery since the little fucker's ego already outweighs him by a couple of hundred pounds.

Once, only once I made the mistake of saying that Swinger dude could look at a box and know the count instantly. This is what came of that comment.

Cue up the Law & Order music just because I hear it in my head every time I read that last sentence.

Some of our product is shipped in 15lb boxes. Before packaging each individual piece is graded by weight and then depending on the weight a set number are put in a box. 

One fruit/veggie in every dimple should guarantee a 15lb box. The problem is each size has to be palletized separately. So at the end of the line somebody has to figure out the count which could be anything from 14 for the ginormous ones to a 52 for the little ones.

Once I made my fateful statement of how Swinger dude could just look at the box and say the count he felt the need to elaborate on how he did it. Apparently he sees the arrangement of rows and the number in each row and instantly knows what the count is. If he had stopped there I would be in awe of this ability.

Swinger dude loves to talk so of course it didn't stop there. Oh hell no. We had an entire afternoon of him doing his "Tickle-me Elmo" impersonation complete with the shaking up and down (picture that shit in bondage gear folks!). His maniacal laughter and talk and talk and talk. About shit NOBODY gives a flying fuck about.

In the end he devised a "method" to make it simpler for us stupid folk to do what he could do.

So I tried to figure out his method. Let's see, 14 count - a row of 3 and a row of 4, and 4 rows all together. Something is off there. The 16 count and the 18 count work. Call me stupid but I don't fucking get it. Plus has anyone ever heard of a Demon? And how does this shit relate to cars anyhow?

Swinger dude wants to tell me about his brilliant method and how people are using it. Dude they are laughing AT you, not with you. Most of us (as in everybody except YOU) just look at the liner.

In order to spare myself a one hour dialogue on how his "method" works I turned around and told him that it's simpler to just look at the number on the liner. His reply? I'm color blind - I wouldn't know. It's all the same color! How does being color blind stop you from reading a raised number on plastic?

After that afternoon? I now have three workers ready to start a bidding war on the one job that doesn't require them to work in his area. I could get rich off of this folks.

Also? The last time EVER I try to soften a reprimand with a compliment.

I Wish I Never Heard This

Please let me start this post by apologizing for the images I am about to burn into your brain. In fact - before you start reading you need to find a happy picture that you can use for brain bleach after you are done.

No not THAT one - quick pick another!

So I work with this guy who loves to talk. So much that he just doesn't know when to quit.

Less than a month into this new job I come to find out that he's been discussing his weekend plans. No biggie, everybody does that right? Sure, but not everybody's weekend plans include attending a swingers party.

I personally did not have to hear any of the details but the idea still left me feeling squeamish and vaguely nauseated. I don't care to picture anybody doing the nasty but somehow picturing a short heavy man doing this type of nasty is even worse. He looks a lot like Jack Black - just in case you too wanted the visual.

End result, I tell him that sharing his sexcapades at work is unacceptable and consider the topic closed. I move forward to dealing with his other issues. Primarily - small dog syndrome. Truly the guy is a firecracker with a very short fuse and he spends most days daring someone to light it. Either way, he goes on vacation for a week.

On his FIRST day back from vacation, this train wreck of a conversation took place.

Him: So and so was telling me to do this that or the other thing. I turned around and said "I don't want to have sex with you"

My Brain: Please tell me you are full of shit and did NOT really say that to a co-worker. It's the end of a long day and I'm tired and I don't want to deal with the motherfucking paperwork.

And then I try to race walk fast enough to get away from him. Of course, no such fucking luck, he's stuck to me like white on rice.

Him: I have a reason for saying that to people when they start telling me do this or do that.

My Brain: Oh, you mean you have an excuse for being a rude asshole? I thought it was just your personality, or maybe your bigotry. Whatever, you probably didn't really say that and you're just blowing smoke up my ass.

Him: I have a very specific reason for saying that. It's because when people start telling me what to do it's hardwired into my sex-drive. That's why I tell them I don't want to have sex with them.

I swear to God the world stopped revolving for a heartbeat while my brain tried in vain to convince me I did NOT just hear what I think I heard. I mean it could be just exhaustion screwing with my head right?

My Brain: What the fuck did he just say? Is he trying to tell me he's a submissive or whatever the fuck you call it? Are you serious! Who the hell just drops that kind of bomb into a conversation?

I start race walking away from him as fast as I can.

Only he's still right behind me like a tick on a dog, and THEN he drops this bomb.

Him: So now you know why I say that, but it doesn't apply to supervisors.

My Brain: Wait, WTF does that mean? If I tell him what to do he's going to get turned on?

Since then I have this image of a short fat hairy man in leather straps and shit, as some woman stands over him with a whip. And I see this image EVERY fucking time I see him or hear his psychotic clown laugh, and I vomit a little bit.