November 01, 2005


If you were to randomly pass my office door on any given weekday (which you wouldn't, since I work in a locked-down facility complete with magnetic keys and handscan machines and burly uniform-clad African-American lesbians with guns), you would perchance to hear myself, or one of my co-workers, making a noise that you'd more likely expect to hear coming from a kindergarten classroom than a cube farm full to brimming with mature legal minds. Honk-honk! Beep-beep! Honk! Beep! Honk! Often, these noises are closely followed by a mad sort of giggling, and occasionally even something sounding suspiciously like a Bronx Cheer. No, we have not lost our collective marbles. We are simply signaling the imminent arrival or departure of The Bus.

There are two of my co-workers, in specific, for whom we make these asinine yet oh-so-gratifying onomatopoeic sounds, and you all know him, and her. In fact, I'll wager my last dollar that every single one of you reading this either has a Bus, or has had a Bus in your life at some point or other. And, no, this has nothing to do with dear Leslie, but everything to do with a no-talent cocksucking assclown who is convinced that making you look bad will cover his or her own inadequacies.

Derivation of the term? " she put the wrong covers on her TPS reports, and then tried to shove me under the bus by telling Robert that I didn't send her the e-mail. Can you believe that shit?"

We have this one co-worker, a rung or two up the org chart from where your faithful narrator currently rests, who is so notorious for this type of behavior that nearly everything she says and does is suspect. It's pitiful, really; somehow, under a previous regime, she clawed her way into a directorship, and now finds herself totally and completely out of her depth. She wanders the halls, a stricken, deer-in-the-headlights look in her eye at all times, wondering how you turn on that thing on her desk (a computer) and why nobody sent her the memo that it is not, in fact, still 1983. Oblivious to the target on her back, she seems structurally incapable of making a statement without shoving someone else under the bus. "Oh...did you mean for ME to do the research on that? I clearly remember John telling me that Fifi was supposed to handle that case." And then The Bus fixes her gimlet gaze on Fifi, expecting John to jump on her like scabies. Which he never does, of course, because he's not an idiot, and he hears a faint horn-honk, himself....and she just succeeds in making herself look like more of an outclassed loser, and getting in trouble for hearing things that never happened. Poor, poor Bus; I could almost feel sorry for her, had she not tried to pull that shit on me, once upon a time.

There's another guy I could mention, another Bus, just as transparent as the lady I mentioned above, but sneakier. Master of the dump-and-run, he'll throw a pile of work he's had four months to take care of on the desk of an underling at four-thirty of the post-meridian on a Friday, and run away to soothe himself at home, jerking off to his image in the mirror. Or so I suspect. Then, when that wearied and miserable underling shows up at eight a.m. on Monday, missing scraps of information that only the Dump-and-Runner could have provided, he'll tear strips out of said underling in front of his boss, hoping to excuse his own laxity. Of course, just like in the case above, it never works - because El Jefe knows full well that this guy has had four months to do the work and that he dumped it on Fifi at four-thirty of the post-meridian on a Friday - it just succeeds in engendering ill-feeling with Fifi and ensuring him an ass-chewing of his very own, behind closed doors. In fact, this Bus's days are numbered... I even have a personnel file in my cabinet right now, with the exact figure specified.

Honk, honk.

On the job, in the stream of life, you will find these people, these pitiful losers, frantically chumming the waters around you in the hope that they can swim away to safety before the sharks notice they're gone, expecting to lull the vicious monsters with the nibbling of Fleshy Treats composed of your genitalia. A true Bus has no conscience, either, so it doesn't bother them, the screams of the dying, as they paddle their (usually) flaccid asses to relative but short-lived safety. Sadly, the true Bus also has little native awareness of the fact that they are huge and glaring eyesores that the rest of us cannot fail to notice...and so they repeat their actions, over and over again, until they are shitcanned for good.

Speed the day, O Lord, speed the fucking day.

Posted by Queenie at November 1, 2005 08:49 PM | TrackBack


Posted by: Bane at November 1, 2005 10:04 PM

The thing that annoys me more than the Bus people is that these people get away with sticking around for too long due to corporate bureaucratic inertia (also know as "people having no balls").

It's easier to ignore a problem employee than it is to build the personnel file meticulously so as to be able to get "the lawyers" to sign off on the termination, satisfied that the risk of wrongful termination reprisal is manageable.

Posted by: wavemaker at November 2, 2005 06:12 AM

My current boss is a Bus. Not the short-bus type, but the creme-de-la-creme of buses...a tour bus for the stars if you will...

She is so absolutely full of shit and lies that I cannot believe that she still has a job. One month working under her and I've already made a move to get out.

I know the type of which you speak. I have tread marks on my back, to prove it.

Posted by: Dana at November 2, 2005 11:23 AM

Meh. Hide a bag of pot and a used pipe in their desk, and call HR.

Or a pistol.

Posted by: Bane at November 2, 2005 03:15 PM

BOL Bane.

So there ya have it Queenie!

Posted by: wavemaker at November 2, 2005 09:54 PM


Posted by: Bane at November 2, 2005 10:19 PM

Burst Out Laughing

Connotes a higher degree of amusement than a mere "lol."

As in, "Bane, you funny bastid."

Posted by: wavemaker at November 3, 2005 06:10 AM

It gives me hope to see the occasional Bus being "retired from service". There's a few in my office, too, of course.

Perhaps there ought to be an annual emissions test for Buses? Just a thought.

Posted by: zonker at November 3, 2005 08:33 AM

There ain't nothin like working for a owned company and one of the company kids is the bus...erghhh

Posted by: Kelly at November 3, 2005 09:53 AM

You mean they don't ALL spring the day's MUST-GOs s on you at 4:30?

Hello....I'm here ALL day....

Posted by: Jane at November 10, 2005 12:05 PM

You can't be 64745 serious?!?

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