Dear Mr. Dr. President of the University,
It has once again come to my attention that things are going awry in your Extremely Prestigious University. The secretary must have hidden my first letter to you, because she was afraid that you’d pull a Ronald Reagan and they’d all lose their jobs for sucking so hard.
As a recent graduate of your University, I want to let you know that your people there continue to haunt my soul. In particular, I hate your financial aid office. Thank God that some of your students are proactive, otherwise nothing would ever get done.
I have recently gotten a new job that required that I give them an official copy of my college transcript. I signed onto my.ExtremelyPrestigiousUniversity.edu, and found that in the two months since I finished my final semester, no one has notified me that I have a hold on my account, and cannot receive a copy of my transcript. Additionally, my diploma cannot be released between January 31, 2011 to December 31, 2099. Excuse me Sir, but does it not occur to your people to notify me by email or letter or God forbid, phone, that I owe you people $1000 in order to walk at graduation or, you know, receive my diploma in the mail.
Of course it doesn’t.
I weep for the students who aren’t as proactive as me. Of course, I called the University to get to the bottom of the matter. After 45 minutes, I was finally able to speak to a financial aid representative who told me of the alleged $1000 that I owe you people. Whatever.
The next week, to my surprise, a package comes in the mail from your Extremely Prestigious University. What is inside? My diploma! Good job, good job indeed! While I was not displeased to see it at all, I couldn’t help wonder which idiot in your administration had sent it, considering the fact that it wasn’t allowed to be released to me from “January 31, 2011 to December 31, 2099.” I swear, the right hand doesn’t know what the left hand is doing in there.
Anyway, later that week, I go in to pay that shit. In cash. One thousand pesos. I make sure to get a receipt. While I’m there, I put in a transcript request form.
I wait. A week passes, no transcript. Finally, your people call me to let me know that they can’t process my transcript because there’s a hold on my account. Well, well, well. What a surprise. Sir, this is why your mother told you to hold onto your receipts. After working the glitch out for them, I am promised that my transcript is being sent out “on Friday.” After four years of this bullcrap,I know not to hold my breath.
Lo and behold, that shit doesn’t show up for three weeks.
Congratulations on your smoothly-run University,
A Disgruntled Graduate
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
BOSSY-ASS BITCHES
Hello ladies and gents. It’s been a while, but I’ve decided that since I’ve stopped going to therapy, it’s probably best that I start updating the blog once again. I figure that I should just right in, rip off the band –aid, whatever you want to say.
Today we’re going to be talking about that bossy-ass bitch at my job.
In the past month, I have started a New Job at a New Daycare. Let’s say that I had one day of “training” before I was thrown into the busiest week that we have all year. I’m not complaining about this, because you know what? It’s the best way to learn a new system. I was trained well in a relatively short amount of time.
Now, about two and a half weeks after I started, a new girl started. I hadn’t had the pleasure of working with her until about a week ago, and boy, was she a charmer.
Actually, she wasn’t. She was a bossy-ass bitch. I mean, fuck, was she bossy. It started during check-in, and didn’t stop until I left the facility in the afternoon. This bitch was telling me what to do, telling me that “So-And-So likes it like this in her room.” Oh , I’m sorry. I’m too busy doing everything to really handle doing such-and-such that So-And-So likes done. Bitch, please. I know how So-And-So likes things done in her room, you don’t need to be telling me. If you would like to have it done immediately, then you can do it now. Do I look like I’m taking my sweet-ass time? No, I’m not. I’m trying to check three children into the room while you have your thumb up your ass.
It’s not like I don’t like to be told how to do things when I’m doing them wrong. But there’s no way that I’m checking three children into the room, labeling them, labeling their food, their diapers, their clothes, and you’re going to be telling me how it’s done. Can you not see it in action? I’m doing it now. Am I not checking all three in fast enough? Well then get up off your ass, and label some shit. I know you want me to start “transitioning the child” because Mommy’s about the leave, but you know what? This shit needs to be labeled now, and it needs to be labeled properly because if it’s not and it isn’t, we get in big, big trouble. I’ll leave the transitioning to you, thanks.
Additionally, it’s always nice for people to correct you in a kindly manner. This is how we learn. If I’m doing something wrong, by all means, let me know. However, what’s not ok is to condescend to someone that you’ve just met. For five hours. Hello, yes, I’m sorry, I know you’re fresh out of high school, so I’ll give you this little news flash: you are not the center of the world, and you don’t know it all.
Thanks,
B
Today we’re going to be talking about that bossy-ass bitch at my job.
In the past month, I have started a New Job at a New Daycare. Let’s say that I had one day of “training” before I was thrown into the busiest week that we have all year. I’m not complaining about this, because you know what? It’s the best way to learn a new system. I was trained well in a relatively short amount of time.
Now, about two and a half weeks after I started, a new girl started. I hadn’t had the pleasure of working with her until about a week ago, and boy, was she a charmer.
Actually, she wasn’t. She was a bossy-ass bitch. I mean, fuck, was she bossy. It started during check-in, and didn’t stop until I left the facility in the afternoon. This bitch was telling me what to do, telling me that “So-And-So likes it like this in her room.” Oh , I’m sorry. I’m too busy doing everything to really handle doing such-and-such that So-And-So likes done. Bitch, please. I know how So-And-So likes things done in her room, you don’t need to be telling me. If you would like to have it done immediately, then you can do it now. Do I look like I’m taking my sweet-ass time? No, I’m not. I’m trying to check three children into the room while you have your thumb up your ass.
It’s not like I don’t like to be told how to do things when I’m doing them wrong. But there’s no way that I’m checking three children into the room, labeling them, labeling their food, their diapers, their clothes, and you’re going to be telling me how it’s done. Can you not see it in action? I’m doing it now. Am I not checking all three in fast enough? Well then get up off your ass, and label some shit. I know you want me to start “transitioning the child” because Mommy’s about the leave, but you know what? This shit needs to be labeled now, and it needs to be labeled properly because if it’s not and it isn’t, we get in big, big trouble. I’ll leave the transitioning to you, thanks.
Additionally, it’s always nice for people to correct you in a kindly manner. This is how we learn. If I’m doing something wrong, by all means, let me know. However, what’s not ok is to condescend to someone that you’ve just met. For five hours. Hello, yes, I’m sorry, I know you’re fresh out of high school, so I’ll give you this little news flash: you are not the center of the world, and you don’t know it all.
Thanks,
B
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