The Wobblers – A Tale Of Two Bosses.

It was the worst of times, it was the worst of times.

The Wobblers have been at me today. Ah, it makes me want to throw up. Revolting, obese, mouth-breathing bitches breaking my balls for no other reason than the fear that I might one day show them up for their ineptitude. As if I give a shit. 

The Wobblers is the collective term I apply to my two bosses. Fuck, one would be bad enough but I have two of the rotten things. I call them The Wobblers because that’s what they do best – wobble. If you tried to make people out of blancmange and hate you’d make my bosses. You’d also be a complete arsehole and I’d fuckin’ hunt you down and kill you. 

My immediate boss, L.F. Ant, is a morbidly obese balding woman in her early 30’s with Bell’s Palsy so her face looks like half of it has gone on strike and is trying to run away. Who the fuck would blame it? As a result she can’t talk properly so I’ve put up a $50 bounty to anyone who can get her to say I was born on a pirate ship in public – no-one’s attempted it yet. I’m not a superficial human being and I don’t ordinarily judge people for their looks but unfortunately L.F.’s personality is even more unpleasant than her grotesque appearance so I feel justified in vilifying her vile exterior. She is very stupid, almost illiterate, completely incompetent and a mean, angry bitch. She’s got these fuckin’…I don’t know, they’re like bed sores, on her elbows… from holding her enormous bulk off the desk. It’s fucking horrible. She sits in her office munching Cheese & Bacon Shapes, Rasberry Bullets and anything else that comes within arm’s reach of her. Fuck I wish she would just choke to death.

Unfortunately, today was not the day. Instead of choking to death quietly in her office, she decided to give me my first bollocking for the week. I suppose I should be thankful I missed it yesterday. I usually get bollocked for something on Monday, when this first started happening I actually thought I was doing something wrong but now I know it’s just that two days of not bollocking anyone and the disappointment of yet another sexless weekend of binge eating and self-hate needs an outlet. It would seem that kicking piss out of your employees alleviates the pain of an empty existence.

Today’s bollocking began as a passive-aggressive rebuke over what she felt was an inappropriate comment – I acknowledged to a respondent that a question was poorly written. I’ve learnt it’s better to nod and smile rather than engage in any debate with L.F., she doesn’t have the academic skills to hold a cogent argument so you just get in worse trouble disagreeing with her. So I agreed I should have been more professional – if it happened again I’d do exactly the same thing, of course. Unfortunately, it didn’t wash. She really wanted to have a go at someone, and even worse, I suspected she wanted me to put up some resistance. This was very dangerous – you know that Hippapotamus kill more people than lions? It all came out, a back-catalogue of all my transgressions over the past twelve months. You were late on thith day…Tho-and-tho had to thpeak with you on thith day…I ekthpect a lot more from you…you’re ekthperienthed enough to know better… I could fuckin’ see her glancing over to the spreadsheet of misdeeds she obviously had open on her computer. I stuck to my plan – nod and smile, agree and apologise. Don’t run, she’ll chase and kill you. In the end she could see she wasn’t getting anywhere, she started to tire, she was about to let me go when her boss walked in. 

Her boss, my second, is Pat Schwerk, a not-quite-so obese South African woman in her 60’s. Not as stupid as L.F., she is bureacratic and thoroughly misanthropic. If she was green and wrote poetry, she’d be one of Douglas Adams’ Vogons. She’s got a squint so one eye looks through you and the other skews off into another dimension where I suspect she receives her orders straight from a source of immense evil.

What’s going on here? Brilliant! The whole story comes out again and all the patient back-peddling was for nothing. Two bosses for the price of one. Tag-teamed by fatties – I’ve been Wobbled! Fuck it! What am I eight years old in the head master’s office? This drives me mental. I want to scream into their faces THE QUESTION IS BADLY WRITTEN, YOU ROTTEN FUCKING BANSHEES! IT’S ABOMINABLY WRITTEN BECAUSE THE SPEC WRITER IS A MORBIDLY OBESE FUCKTARD JUST LIKE YOU TWO LOUSY SHIT-SUCKING SLUTHEADS!!! WHY DON’T YOU JUST KILL YOURSELVES? WHAT DO YOU HAVE TO LIVE FOR, YOU EVIL CUNTS??? FUCKING DIE!!!

But I need my job, thus conscience does make cowards of us all, or I’m scared to be without it. I continue to apologise and placate and the situation gradually subsides. After a time I can back away slowly and return to work.

Back at my booth, after a three seconds of being thankful I got out alive, reality descends on me like a brown cloud – they’ve won, they might as well have my balls one each in jars on their desks. I’m back out at work minus some spirit, without my balls, having taken shit from hideous beasts and I’ve come away with a bunch of their self-loathing. It’s not mine, I don’t hate myself normally. They’ve achieved something incredible. Evil, but completely incredible – they’ve transferred some of their self-hate to me. This is intolerable, it’s really fuckin’ sick, they are using management as their therapy. They must be stopped. DEATH TO THE WOBBLERS!!!

9 Responses to “The Wobblers – A Tale Of Two Bosses.”

  1. Death to wobblers indeed. Alas….you are in the most unfortunate position of working for them, rather than vice versa. I honestly wonder how people with their intelligence (or more appropriately, lack thereof) manage to be bosses in the first place.

    I would respectfully disagree with your conclusion that because you just smiled and nodded at their bollocking, that they’ve somehow “won.”

    Bollocking you did not make them drop the weight or improve their looks, it did not make them more intelligent (in reality, that is; in their own minds, I’m sure they felt smarter than you)

    I’m sure it did not motivate you (wry grin) to work harder for them.

    All of the above are what I would consider measures of managerial “victory.” In all three instances, as far as I am concerned, they failed.

    I could be missing the boat entirely. Who knows. I’ve never had the same experience in a workplace like you have. I’m 24 years old and autistic; the first paid job I had ended recently (because I moved back home), I worked 1 or 2 days a week for a few hours as a tutor for special-needs college students. Vast difference.

    The Integral of athenivanidx

  2. They didn’t win, they lost. They are still the same and you are stronger. Do you really care if they think they won? I hope not. They may have won the day in their minds, but they obviously have lost the battle.

    Love the writing; keep it up. Maybe someone should buy Wobbler 1 the Barenaked Ladies CD “I was born on a pirate ship”.

  3. And I thought I had the boss from hell…clearly not! Therefore, I count my blessings! On the flip-side: That post was too deadly… guess we aren’t going for anger management classes yet!

  4. Old Gregg Says:

    Chin up, Buck, don’t give the Wobblers the satisfaction of an inner victory. Just keep on internalizing your rage and spilling it out here, and you’ll come out swinging.

    “…and the other skews off into another dimension where I suspect she receives her orders straight from a source of immense evil.” – that is possibly the best thing I have ever read, ever, in the history of reading.

    A+

  5. “…and the other skews off into another dimension where I suspect she receives her orders straight from a source of immense evil.” –

    I agree! That was the best thing I have ever read!!!!! I literally spat my clown food mccrafe coffee over my keyboard.

  6. It’s 3.40 am, I should be in bed, but I’m here cacking myself instead… L.F.Ant and the Vogon… I’m sure I’ll be laughing in my sleep too (when I finally fall into bed, exhausted and full of mirth).

  7. The great pleasure I have had reading this blog so far is now amplified as I used to work for the Wobblers too. L.F.Ant… classic.

    I would die if I ever went back there. I admire your endurance.

  8. Someone once told me his theory on company promotions. It goes something like this: back in the day (whenever that was), promotions were granted based upon competency. These days, however, they are based upon seniority (read: not experience, but longevity) and the ability to kiss ass. Once these fucktards are promoted to positions of supervisors, they realize they are technically NOT more competent than those working beneath them, and this makes them paranoid. They assume everyone beneath them is jealous of their position and would wrest it from them if possible. To compensate, they foster an environment similar to what’s going on in their heads: paranoia. They do this by giving easily misinterpreted instructions, vague policies, random punishments, and covert sabotage. I was once told by a petty supervisor in a supermarket where I worked as a cashier that I had better improve my performance because there had been complaints. I asked, from staff or customers? She said customers. I said, what did they say? She said, what did I mean? (As though asking for clarification was NOT was she was expecting.) I asked, did they complain I was too slow, gave the wrong change, packed their bags poorly, was rude, refused to go out on dates with them, what? She just repeated there was a complaint. I stated that if I wasn’t told the nature of the complaint, I had no idea how to improve, and that I was sure she was telling me about it because she wanted me to improve. So I asked the other cashiers that typically worked alongside me (it was the overnight shift) what they thought. They said I was fine. I mentioned the “complaint” thing. They said there were ALWAYS

  9. complaints and I should not worry about it. I asked, if anyone here sees me do something inappropriate, let me know. They made a point of praising me at the end of the shift, and every shift I worked there after that point. I lasted there another week or so and I was suddenly not scheduled anymore. I didn’t really mind losing that job: it was minimum wage, irritating, THE SUPERMARKET WAS FREQUENTED BY MY STALKER, and I had a supervisor that was a doofus. My experience there somewhat proved the theory that guy had given me, though. I suspect that is how the Wobblers became supervisors: they kissed the right asses and had just outlasted other applicants.

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