Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Surrounded by lumps, and it's too damn hot

DiceGimp is back. See if you can follow the musical guards:

DiceGimp was sent back from Kitimat because the strike is on pause (he claims it's over with great authority, but he didn't even know it was at an aluminum smelter, so we can doubt his sagacity), but Indian Guy is doing his job. So DiceGimp is doing Buffalo Kisser's shift despite not being trained for it, ever.

Of course, you'd think that would be screwing Buffalo Kisser, but his company needed him at a different site for three days, so he's there. But since that shift is only eight hours, and his normal shift is twelve hours, he'd be making less money. So they agreed to pay him twelve hours (with the attendant overtime calculations) for each of those three eight hour shifts at the other site, DiceGimp is doing his shift, and Indian Guy is in DiceGimp's shift. Got all that?

With the range of buildings opened up to DiceGimp, he managed to dogfuck all over the site instead of in his usual spots. He'd have me believe he was working his ass off, but I saw his report and once again he appeared to have simultaneously done a series of interior patrols and had tea with me. Neat trick, that.

When I pointed out to him that he'd never been trained for this shift (doors, alarms, locks, where to be in the mazes upon mazes of rooms and corridors), he defensively said that he knows nearly half of what he needs to know. He was serious. I cry for anybody who thinks they're getting their money's worth security-wise.

Indian Guy is, as I mentioned on my previous post, incredibly lazy. And since he only plans to be doing security for a few days (he's sure the work slowdown of container trucks will stop next week so he can start doing that instead), he figures he's got nothing to lose by just sleeping the whole shift away. What does he care if someone catches him? It's not like he's going to keep doing it.

But with access to anywhere that DiceGimp can get him, he still bangs on my door to let him in so he can sleep in my area! Sure, implicate ME in your uselessness!

He seems pretty miffed when I don't let him sleep, and threatens to find some other place to sleep. I double dare him to, and that's the last I see of him for several hours. ;)

Interestingly, the contract all of those monkeys have with Evil Property Manager's company is up, and it hasn't been renewed. Other security companies, including my own if you can believe it, have been invited to bid. We've seen various uniformed manager-types outside the various buildings in the recent mornings, snapping pictures. No word yet on whether the bike patrol guys' company is also making a bid.

Supposedly our president mentioned to Barney that if we get the site, he'll get to be S/S of it. If he goes for it, he won't be able to simultaneously be S/S of my site. I wonder if any good of this can come to me. ;)

More pro-Rimmy stuff from work, the manager who is sort of in charge of us (but not formally, and she hasn't spoken to us yet, as she's based in another city) is apparently pleased at the reports I'm sending to her contacts at my site, bypassing the obfuscations of Barney. I've also drawn up a plan to secure our electronic access which has been approved by her immediate assistants, and she's coming to visit next week with a hate on for Barney and him not knowing she'll be there. So he won't have time to get the shoe polish on his tongue. Might be fun.

Isn't it strange that if I had parties like this, with kids of this age, it's just make me a creepy weirdo? Of course, fourteen is the legal age here for consentual sex (unless something has changed), so I could only be charged with supplying the alcohol and drugs to minors.

Not that I'm into little kids or anything, I'm just saying that there must be a lot of people who don't feel they were popular in high school, and I wonder how widespread tapping your kids' friends actually is.

Ooooookay, you're looking at me funny. I'm going to slowly back away now. :P

One last thing - today I saw a guy with an absolutely incredible combover. And my question is, why do these guys do it? They can't seriously think that it looks good, or that people can't tell. Plus, having half a meter of hair greased and oiled to glue it to the rest of your bare scalp is just... weird. I wanted to just reach out and snip that stuff off, but of course I didn't. Mostly because I wasn't carrying anything sharper than my keys.

So, any theories on the combover phenomenon?

3 Comments:

Blogger kibilz said...

Ok Dice Gimp going to be security for a strike? Oh please clone him into a vast army of strike security!

I am sure you are aware of Kitimat's rep as a strong militant union town?(http://www.voices-for-change.com/articles/page.asp?id=26) He doesn't come accross as a thick skinned kind of guy? I really wonder how/if he would/could have handled himself....

7/27/2005 1:29 a.m.  
Blogger Jay said...

When I started reading, I assumed this would be a Rimmy-sized post, so I went and got a bagel first. What is it about you that inspires the "better lay in some preserves for the winter" type behaviour?

Anyway, the funniest part of a comb over, in my opinion, is when it's not over the head. When it's just hanging down, shoulderlength, on the side. That is hilarious.

7/27/2005 2:23 a.m.  
Blogger Rimmy said...

Kibilz - DiceGimp has gone and come back. He got flown up for a total of two twelve hour shifts. And nothing happened, of course.

They really aren't looking for skills when they need a bunch of guards in a hurry, they just need warm bodies. Which means you end up with a worse than useless situation if anything happens.

Jay - the standard Rimmy-sized post is immediately below this one, entitled "Dawn came late this morning, but when she came, she came HARD". Get your bagel for that one, unless you already read it. ;)

And even funnier than the comb over hanging down is when the guy has spent years growing it, so that when he coils it up top it actually has significant depth, like some sort of advanced fungal growth. Icky!

7/27/2005 9:48 a.m.  

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