goodknight411
Contributor
I recieved this in an email today. Thought everyone here would get a chuckle.
Dear Mr. Baker,
As a graduate of an institution of higher education, I have a few
basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors
have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel.
After your consistent and annoying harassment of my coworkers and me
during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are
one of the few true genetic wastes of our time.
Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance
of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is
not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was
hired because I know how to network computer systems, and you were
apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees,
who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and
paste" for the hundredth time.
You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple
as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never
understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it
to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as
telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality
than you ever will.
You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault
in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may
have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have
responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their
talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of
managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone
else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the
Dilbert principle. Since this situation is unlikely to change
without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to
tender my resignation. However, I have a few parting thoughts.
1. When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal
for you to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to
hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly
call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I
know you would be unable to do it on your own.
2. I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I
know every password you have used for the last five years. If you
decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favorites list",
which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless
files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed
favorably by the administration.
3. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your
Mother's birthday," you neglected to mention that you were going to
take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to
erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I
have never seen such odd acts with a sauce bottle, but I assure you
that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the
authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell
check please; I hate having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation
on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all
of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the
public. Never f*** with your systems administrator. Why? Because
they know what you do with all that free time!
Wishing you a grand and glorious day,
Cecelia
Dear Mr. Baker,
As a graduate of an institution of higher education, I have a few
basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors
have an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel.
After your consistent and annoying harassment of my coworkers and me
during the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are
one of the few true genetic wastes of our time.
Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance
of everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is
not only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was
hired because I know how to network computer systems, and you were
apparently hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees,
who watch you vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and
paste" for the hundredth time.
You will never understand computers. Something as incredibly simple
as binary still gives you too many options. You will also never
understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and explain it
to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective as
telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality
than you ever will.
You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault
in others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may
have worked for your interview, but now that you actually have
responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their
talent will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of
managerial evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone
else eats and laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the
Dilbert principle. Since this situation is unlikely to change
without you getting a full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to
tender my resignation. However, I have a few parting thoughts.
1. When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal
for you to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to
hurt me is "I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly
call you over the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I
know you would be unable to do it on your own.
2. I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I
know every password you have used for the last five years. If you
decide to get cute, I am going to publish your "favorites list",
which I conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless
files. I do believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed
favorably by the administration.
3. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your
Mother's birthday," you neglected to mention that you were going to
take pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to
erase them like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say I
have never seen such odd acts with a sauce bottle, but I assure you
that those have been copied and kept in safe places pending the
authoring of a glowing letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell
check please; I hate having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation
on my desk by 8:00 am tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all
of your little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the
public. Never f*** with your systems administrator. Why? Because
they know what you do with all that free time!
Wishing you a grand and glorious day,
Cecelia
