Wednesday, September 01, 2010


Meathead (my manager) came up to the Desk o' Hate high atop Munich on the first floor of the Greenhouse building, smiling like he'd actually gotten a raise and holding a folder in his hand. "Congratulations!" he said, handing it to me.

What could this be? A list of trainings I can finally have? A transfer to a less shittastical office? Permanent home office approval?

"It's now ten years since you are viz ze company, " Meathead explained as I opened the folder. "You have zis now."

It was a full-colour, A4 certificate congratulating me on having held out for 10 years in this hell. Printed on an old colour inkjet (the banding was pretty bad). And signed by two people in HR I've never heard of.

"That's not all, is it?" I asked, trying hard not to show just how underwhelmed I was.

"No," Meathead replied, "Zair's more!" He was almost beaming. "You can have ze authorisation to order a 10-year anniversary pen."

"No bonus?"
"No, of course not."
"Not even five yo-yos to go get a beer?"
"No, you know zat zere is no bonus money like zat in $MegaCorp."
"A free day of extra vacation, maybe?"
"Well, I guess you can leave early today if you get all ze extra work done early."

Colour me underwhelmed.

A pen. A fucking pen and shitty "certificate". Be still my shriveled, black heart.


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In compliance with $MegaCorp's general policies as well as my desire to
continue living under a roof and not the sky or a bus shelter, I add this:

The views expressed on this blog are my own and
do not necessarily reflect the views of $MegaCorp, even if every
single one of my cow-orkers who has discovered this blog agrees with me
and would also like to see the implementation of Root Cause: 17-Fuckwit.