Oh baby, it's simply appalling

Seriously. HOW. MANY. HOURS can these silly Office Workers From Hell spend discussing maternity leave, pregnancy, and colleagues' reproductive issues? Every damned day for the last year, they have had the same conversation for at least an hour. It's as though they have yet to figure out that women have been having babies and still getting on with their lives for millennia. One of them actually asked the other where statutory maternity pay comes from. Every time she spawns, it has always just magically appeared in her bank account, I guess. They reached a mutual state of being genuinely appalled that after 9 months (yes, 9 months!), money stops coming in. After a year, they have to leave their cushy middle class lives to go back to a cushy middle class job that has been held for them for a year, where they bitch about their coworkers and buy designer handbags. Aren't you appalled? I mean really, it's appalling. Something should be done about this.
I'm sure that their cleaners, manicurists, and personal shoppers and other non-salaried people that make their lives easier would be equally appalled. Never mind that most women in the world do not get paid by the state to stay home and take care of their babies for a year with a guarantee that they will still have a job to go back to when they are ready.
Yesterday was Groundhog's Day. Apparently so is today. And tomorrow...and the next day.

Poor Train Buddy 2.0

This morning, TB2 had a ton of work and an imminent deadline. In order to ensure that I didn't distract him, I sat at the other end of the carriage and had a lovely chat with The Profs.
About 40 minutes in, TB2 staggered down the aisle looking shellshocked. The poor man had found himself surrounded by the Office Workers From Hell. Their inane chatter is impossible to tune out. Even the most committed reader will find their horribleness seeping into his brain. Poor, poor man. Hopefully, he will make his 1pm submission cutoff and the OWFH will get stuck in a lift.

6 of one, half a dozen of another

In what I thought was a crafty evasive manoeuvre to avoid sitting within earshot of the Office Workers from Hell, this morning I chose a carriage I don't normally travel in. Instead, I've been saddled with a grunting table hog who is incapable of covering his mouth when he coughs and am opposite the Retail Nightmares. The Retail Nightmares are basically the OWFH, but in non-designer clothes and with the power to fire the co-workers that they bitch about.
These women may have been the subject of a previous post, so apologies for any repetition. They are apparently regional managers of a mid-range clothing store (Dorothy Perkins or Topshop, I'm guessing). When they aren't talking loudly about their stocktaking and cumulative reports (shortened to "kyooms"), they are making incessant mobile calls. You know, the ones that inevitably end with "Hello? Hello? Oh, I've lost my signal" because we are on a train through the Peak District where there is no reception. They turn everyday words into Proper Nouns in a non-ironic fashion. This may be an effort to make their mind-numbing duties seem important. Example: We should complete the Disciplinaries next.
Where I work, any time there is an "important" policy or form with which we must comply, we refer to it as a proper noun in a tongue-and-cheek fashion to emphasise exactly how unimportant this exercise really is. These women actually believe that the Floor Maps of their jeans rack layout in each department is pressing information that Gemma needs to send over immediately.
I can't decide which carriage's occupants are more distracting and inane. But a change is as good as a rest, right?

Office from hell

I think I've posted before about the horrible catty women (and one bloke) that spend an hour each morning vacillating between horrible management speak and talking tons of crap about everyone in their office who isn't present at that very second.

Last week, Train Buddy and I were subjected to a very loud and desperatly boring conversation about pregnancy that made it quite plain that these women were convinced they were the only people to have ever gone through it. They also seemed to be of the opinion that it was the most fascinating subject in the world for everyone nearby. It was even more excruciating than a previous conversation they had that contained the following terminology (I'm not making this up): Quality issue, expanding remit, systems and processes, quarterly report, feedback, involvement in the decision-making process, going forward.

But this morning, there was a tiny ray of sunshine. Apparently on Friday, they had been engaging in their customary shredding of co-workers. After sparing no one from their manicured claws, a man introduced himself. As their new boss.

Cancellations

I recently was told by East Midlands that I couldn't receive reimbursements for cancelled trains during the course of my season pass due to delayed or cancelled trains without specific dates. Luckily for them, I've been keeping track on the handy blogosphere.

I'm currently sitting in a terrible station pub so I can use their plug socket after 2 cancelled trains. The third one is delayed by 20 minutes already, which doesn't bode well for it actually going. If I'm lucky, I'll be getting home at 9pm, only to turn around and leave again at 6:45am.

So far this delay has cost me £16: a sandwich and a coffee because I'll miss dinner, and now a pint for the sake of a plug for my phone. I also had to buy an £8 book because I've been stuck in the station for 2 hours and my laptop battery won't hold out for the whole journey. And I won't get to tuck my daughter in again.

Document that, East Midlands.

Coworker blues

Don't you just hate it when your travel companion is somebody you don't really want to talk to in the office and now you're stuck with for days because of some bloody meeting?

There are two coworkers travelling together this morning. She is reading Shakespeare. He is a bit of a used car salesman. Why can't he see that she just wants hime to leave her to read her book in peace? She's really working the the non-committal "I'm not really interested but won't tell you to shut up" gesture. If you're not familiar, this involves pressing the lips together while raising the eyebrows. The eyes say, "oh really?" but the mouth says, "I'm going to punch you in a second". The expression is accompanied by the slightest nod and affirmative uh-huh, all with only briefly looking up from the book. Eventually, as the pointed looks at her book become longer and her eyebrow raises become shorter, the man decides to stop bothering her.

The silence is evidently too much, and he gradually builds up from shuffling papers to agitatedly bouncing his knee; he just can't keep it in any longer. It's like watching a child play the quiet game. He spews out all the conversation that he's been storing up for the past three minutes and she resignedly closes her book.

In a little box

As we were hurtling along the countryside in the windowed box that is
my third home, two ladies were chatting about a funeral they attended
last week. They mustn't have been very close to the deceased, because
the discussion seemed to revolve around who was there and what they
were doing these days, rather than the dead person.
The conversation moved on to the funereal wishes of their nearest and
dearest. It turns out that everyone wants to be buried. "Not me. I
want to be cremated," said one.
"Why?"
"I don't want to be in a little box. I'm claustrophobic".

Pee break

Over the loudspeaker: "We are sorry to inform you that the toilets on
this service are out of order". Cue group of little old ladies giggling.
"The next available toilets will be in one hour's time". Travelling
grannies no longer giggling.
"Should you need to avail yourself of the platform facilities, please
make yourself known to the conductor and we will delay departure for
you". Travelling grannies now looking completely mortified.
"We apologise for inconvenience". Travelling Granny: "They'll be
apologising for incontinence in an hour." Cue group of little old
ladies giggling again.