A new story got run once, and then
Throwback Thursday, it's back once again!
To the Shark, this I'd blurt!
Now I won't win a shirt,
If I did, that'd be shirt number ten.
Okay, I can't count. I did this from memory. It probably would be harder to find rhymes for the story that go with "eleven" ..
Link to the story of the story
There's no laptops? Just read this doc then.
The next day it all happened again.
So just why am I here?
It's for billing, I fear.
So today I earned shirt number ten!
Here's the menu where doctors will dine.
"Could you please check your spelling?" I'd whine.
It gave all of the staff
Down in IT a laugh,
And it earned me my shirt number nine!
"All those errors? I just cannot wait.
I'll ignore them!" that user would state.
With those logs, I've a clue
How those orders got screwed,
And they helped me win shirt number eight!
Yes, the sound of her jaw, it could deafen.
But then she was in scheduling heaven.
So now everything's ducky
Because I was lucky,
First this, and now shirt number SEVEN!!!
That computer was sure in a fix.
No response from my usual tricks?
But not only did I
Bring that box back alive,
I have also earned shirt number six!
Where I’ll interview, our BBB
Gave an “F” for all readers to see.
With so many
dislikes,
There’s already two strikes.
When the guy didn’t show up, strike three!
At a hospital help desk one fall.
While involved in a tech support call,
One of our DBA’s
Came to me in a daze
And awaited my aid in the hall.
So I asked her, “Now, what’s on your mind?
What is causing your wits to unwind?”
“I’ve a mouse that is dead!
Not the tech kind, instead
It’s the fuzzy, disease-ridden kind.”
She had seen me the previous day
Take one out that had wandered my way.
It walked into my trap
And in just a quick snap
It was turned into toast, as they say.
To her office, we then went inside.
“There’s the vermin!” the DBA cried.
Right there, under her desk,
Looking slightly grotesque,
Was the mouse that had just up and died.
So I got out a pan and a broom
And I took the mouse out of her room.
All her fears, I allayed
As the rodent I laid
In the dumpster, its garbage-filled tomb.
That's my story, since there is no more.
Yes, I ushered that mouse out the door.
I am also quite high
With the knowledge that I
Am now looking at shirt number four!
I know the story was a bit lame in comparison to other stories published, but it really was sort of experiment to see if Sharky would publish the story as a limerick if I submitted it as one. The original email text:
|
At a hospital help desk one fall. While involved in a tech support call, One of our DBA’s Came to me in a daze And awaited my aid in the hall. So I asked her, “Now, what’s on your mind? What is causing your wits to unwind?” “I’ve a mouse that is dead! Not the tech kind, instead It’s the fuzzy, disease-ridden kind.” She had seen me the previous day Take one out that had wandered my way. It walked into my trap And in just a quick snap It was turned into toast, as they say. To her office, we then went inside. “There’s the vermin!” the DBA cried. Right there, under her desk, Looking slightly grotesque, Was the mouse that had just up and died. So I got out a pan and a broom And I took the mouse out of her room. All her fears, I allayed As the rodent I laid In the dumpster, its garbage-filled tomb. |
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I had this actually happen to me back in the fall of 2002 when I worked the hell desk (the spelling IS intentional) at a hospital. Today I got on Bing maps to view the place, and when I got the birds eye view, I found the pictures of it was when they were demolishing that infamous 100 year old factory building. I only wish I could have been operating the machinery myself... |
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|
In supporting the printing plants Asian,
I had used my best gifts of persuasion
Just to be reimbursed,
But instead I was cursed.
It won't be a part of the equation.
So I said to my manager, “Fine,
I am not one predestined to whine.”
But I no longer hurt,
For I’m getting a shirt!
Yes,
indeedy! This story is mine!!!
| Yes, this story is indeed
mine! This happened at my previous job that I started about five years
ago. When I found they wanted me to support these Asian plants, I
asked if the company would reimburse me for using my equipment and
connection. My previous employer gave it to me without even asking, so why
not? I was told flat out that the president would never go for reimbursing
me, and I left it at that. Then in late 2006 when I found out that my
manager's assistant was getting her home internet paid for by the company
(and she did not have to support production for Asia like I did), I
pressed the issue. I submitted this on January 27th in response to Sharky's plea for new stories. When I loaded up the Tank this morning and saw it was my story, I immediately emailed Jim's Creator - titled the message "Be kind in the tank today" and my entire message was "Shirt #3!!!" He emailed back that he was probably going to recommend that I be FRIUED, but I really like the angle he wound up using in his response with Vegas and a naked dancing Wayne Newton. (Not the visual, personally, but the comedy content!) I told him I was working on the day's rhyme, stating that is was weird to be writing in the first person actually about me. He suggested I put the fact in the poem that it was my story. Between JTB and me, I think we both had a pretty good day in the Tank. I smiled at the one post today from textechgeek complementing both JTB and me for our commentary today. Little did he know how much teamwork was involved in our posts. And...this is my third shirt - my first was for September 12, 2008 (the company president who burned up the computer), and CW was nice enough to send me a shirt for "The Day Before Christmas." |
Wayne Newton the way we prefer to think of him. |
by O2BIrish 12/22/2008
T'was the day before Christmas, and all through the firm,
There’s a rumor a’swirling that’s making folks squirm.
An email came out that raised everyone’s hair.
It’s all to confirm: “Jim the Boss will be there.”
The temps were all bustling with pain in each head,
And keying in figures ‘til each finger bled.
And I being keen and expecting much trouble
Poured me a stiff drink, and then I poured a double.
The morning was bright when the day had begun,
But clouds had all gathered to block out the sun.
All the flowers were dying we planted last summer,
When up came a limo that looked like a Hummer.
Then out in the parking lot dogs started barking,
I heard the receptionist glumly remarking,
“With visits like this, things are looking quite grim.
Our luck is not with us, it looks just like Jim.”
With a little old driver, just like Morgan Freeman
In “Driving Miss Daisy,” I then spied the demon.
With fire in his eyes and a sneer on his face,
He then yelled at the top of his lungs to the place:
“Accounting! Production! And Marketing types!
Bring sales projections, promotional hype!
There’s no money to spend, so I’m making the call.
So stash away! Stash away! Stash away all!”
As he entered the office my head started reeling,
The plants began wilting, the wallpaper peeling.
The fluorescent lights started buzzing and snapping
And started to dim from his energy sapping.
He strode to the board room with purposeful strides,
While underlings swiftly turned tail to hide.
The managers gathered, not making a sound,
As Jim the Boss offered his wisdom profound.
He was dressed in Armani; with eyes looking shifty,
He lit up a Cuban cigar with a fifty.
I swear as I looked at his case in his hand,
His laptop had sported the Etch-a-Sketch brand.
His eyes – how they squinted! His mood, unforgiving.
He acted like everyone owed him a living.
He wanted to smile, but his scowl seemed to linger.
He smelled just like someone had pulled on his finger.
The Cuban he held in lips dangled ashes.
He wanted to know where the company’s cash is.
“We’re not making money, you must get the hint!
We’re missing our goals and we’re sure not a mint!
We must make concessions, there is no disputing.
We’ll need to make cutbacks; we do, sure as shooting.
So cut back the benefits, perks and insurance.
We must give the stockholders profit assurance.
We must cut back costs, so we have to do more.
So we’re sending our tech support calls to off-shore.”
Then after he made us all feel like crud,
He left and he slammed the front door with a thud.
Then he got in his limo, this inhumane screamer,
And I somehow thought he’d soon buy a new Beemer.
But I heard him exclaim through the squealing of tires,
“GET BACK TO WORK, MAGGOTS, OR EVERYONE’S FIRED!!”
Pre-O2B
days by about a month.
