WTFU: An Intro

Welcome to beautiful, sunny WTFU-- the place where I live and work. It's a pretty nice place for the most part-- it's got its fair share of morons, but hey-- you name one place on the planet that doesn't and I'll travel there personally and prove you wrong. Stupid is as stupid does and there's not much that we can do about it.

As I said, the WTFU area is a pretty nice place. It's a little boring, but oh well. The problem I have with WTFU deals with my job-- I work for the university, and it's been a good experience, but sometimes I'd like to be one of those guys who brings a piece to work and... well, I don't think we need specifics here. Suffice it to say that I REALLY dislike a certain supervisor.

Ever seen a rolodex? Of course you haven't. They were obsoleted in the freaking 80's for God's sweet sake. A rolodex is a librarian's wet dream-- it's like a phone book, but one that some fucking imbecile decided would look better as a card catalog. Don't believe me? Take a peek:



Yep, that's right-- before the days of Outlook and Smartphones, we had to keep track of contacts on *paper*.

Ewwwwwww.

"But Boughnaa! What does a rol... a rolo... a paper thing have to do with your job? Or your super?"

Why dear reader, I'm so very glad you asked.

I couldn't say when exactly my office here at WTFU got computers, but it was certainly before my time-- they were here when I arrived. Now, I don't know about you guys, but when I hear that my computer can take something big and stupid and disorganized (like, say, a FUCKING ROLODEX) and turn it into something small and neat and sortable, I get up off my ass and transfer my shit over. That's just what you do. And since computers make nice address books, it seems logical to assume that something like a rolodex would have no business in my office.

Right?

So imagine my surprise when my supervisor drops one onto my deak one day. We'll call her Lachesis, since I know the Fate sharing that name was anal about measurements. Lachesis is the most obsessive, anal-retentive human being I've ever met. She's one of those people that you can't do favors for, because no matter how you do it... it will be wrong. It will be in the wrong color, or the wrong font, or too big or small, or any number of stupid nonsensical trivialities.

I usually wouldn't mind working with someone like this-- I'm fairly obsessive myself. I get annoyed when she's telling me why it's wrong for the fourth time, when at this point she could have easily just done it herself and had it finished and to her liking half an hour ago. That's when I get annoyed and start dreaming of strangling people.

So anyway, I get a rolodex. And I'm told to go through it, and mark any contacts contained therein that do not exist in our contact listing. Ugh, fine, whatever. There are literally hundreds of entries in this monstrous thing, and it takes me a good three hours to mark them all. Annoyed at having had to do this, but confident there's no way I could possibly have messed this up, I announce I'm done.

Then, life gets miserable.

I am now making my way through these stupid cards, and calling up anyone that is not in our listing... and asking if I can put them there. There are hundreds of contacts to call. The information on many of these cards is-- no exaggeration here-- ten years old. It takes ages to track down who I'm supposed to be talking to. And that's if I can get anyone at all-- many of the numbers are no longer in service. It's a symphony of stupid, and I'm the conductor. I hate my life. I quit.