I just sat listening to a phone ring for thirty minutes.
This is the computer room extension at work. Where there's theoretically always someone on duty. Where there was certainly someone on duty when he paged me two hours ago. Calling in worked fine when I responded, and then again half an hour later, when I asked him to power-cycle a disk array. But when the disk array still wasn't back up, I'd let more than adequate time go by for it to sort itself out, and I needed someone to go look at the LCD on the box… no answer. For vaguely 1800 rings.
Look. I understand you're working third shift. I understand that that's not the most glamorous job in the world. But you're being paid, hourly no less and fairly well, to sit on your ass, watch Simpsons and Family Guy DVDs, surf pr0n, periodically load a tape for the mainframe, and once in a blue moon answer the goddamn phone so that I (who am salaried for forty hours a week and work sixty) won't have to drive an hour each way to perform a hands-and-eyes kind of task I could talk a poorly trained and belligerent monkey through. Being there is about 80% of your fucking job description, cocksucker. You knew what this was about when you signed on. If you don't like it, I don't care. Get the fuck out of MY kitchen.
Gah!
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