Category: Work

It would be pretty fun to check this out with my brother and sisters: Goonies 20th Anniversary Celebration
Combined, we must have watched that movie at least fifty times. Plus, I think the little stereotyped Asian kid inspired me to become a gadget freak.

Recently, dealing with changes due to the new fiscal year have taken up my time at work, and today was no exception. Into my Inbox flies a matter of great concern to the corporate higher-ups: They say we have been bad monkeys, and our poor “upbringing” and “manners” are marring the company’s precious image as of late. Severe breaches in company protocol have been observed, thus they are compelled to remind us of the following:
– Morning exercises are mandatory.
– Break time is finished when the bell chimes.
– Drink vending machines may only be used during break time.
– Eating and drinking are only allowed in break rooms, during break time.
– Drink bottles and cups cannot be placed on desks.
– Talking in the hallways is prohibited (especially idle chatter).
– Walking with your hands in your pockets is prohibited.
I must admit, I am a serious violator on every count. A rebel, have you. At least they didn’t say I had to take my crack pipe off my desk… Ha!

Yesterday was my company hanami. I didn’t feel much like drinking from noon, so I went at around four-fifteen. It’s only about fifteen minutes up to the top of Magata-yama, where it was being held, so I bought a tall can of Asahi at the bottom of the hill and hiked up. I looked for my party for half an hour and they weren’t there, so I sat under a secluded grove of sakura, sipped my beer, and went back home.
The people at work obviously have no idea what a real hanami is.

Was listening to Van Morrison late last night and got caught up in memories when the said track played.
When he first started his practice, my father often accepted barter when his patients couldn’t afford treatment. One man brought in a couple jars of Tupelo honey from his own beehives. Naturally, when I heard this story a couple years ago, I asked my dad how it tasted. “Sweet,” he said.
When my pal T’s father opened a cram school thirty years ago, many of his students came from poor families, so he also accepted fresh produce or other various goods as payment. That’s so cool.
When I think of how impersonal and insignificant office jobs are in the modern world, it makes me fucking sick.

I just reviewed a technical journal describing recent work-related accidents in our industry (electronics manufacturing) and came across an incident I coincidentally heard about from another source a few weeks ago. Last month, a manager at a (whatever) factory blew his stack at a worker who was welding together a steel support during factory expansion. He tore this guy a new asshole and made some threats, and told the worker to complete the job before he returned. The job wasn’t finished when he came back, so manager dude decides he’s gonna show the worker how to do the job right… Except he had no formal certification for welding (and thus no formal training on record). Perhaps you see where this is going.
His hair caught on fire. He was not, however, seriously injured. He was also not able to cover up the incident (apparently not for lack of trying; I wonder how he explained the wisps of smoke emanating from his head) and I am just guessing that his “overzealous micromanagement” was grounds for dismissal. Considering the materials he was working with, I think this lesson, if indeed learned, came relatively cheaply.
Dumbass.

Due to unforseen circumstances, I just spent a whole half an hour 43 minutes supervising forklifts loading a huge truck with our products. You may recall that this is not one of my areas of specialty. Or it wasn’t until today, at least. Now that I can add Forklift Supervisor to my resume, I just might be able to relax a little and can die knowing I am a true leader of… operators. Plus, it was highly educational.
I learned that oncoming traffic respects vehicles with sharp-pointed steel arms protruding from the front. I also learned that the bald, white rubber tires on forklifts combined with a smooth concrete floor make for awesome power slides. Other than that, it was hard to pick up some of the nuances and whatnot, because I was too busy CONCENTRATING ON THE JOB AT HAND, FULFILLING MY WORKPLACE RESPONSIBILITIES, and really wishing I could be LEADING BY EXAMPLE.
I have learned that supervision, for the most part, is for suckers. It turns out that you just sit there bored out of your fucking mind while the peasants toil away and tell fart jokes, which may sound like fun, but sucks big nuts in reality. If you can get past that, you may be ready to be a supervisor.
Your role as a supervisor is simply to be there, and be ready to perform harakiri later if your guys screw up too badly. So you have to stay on top of them and treat them like they’re little children. This is not so hard, because the thing is, they begin hating you and will be jealous of the benefits and respect earned by your increased rank, such as being able to leave your desk without telling people where you’re going. Petty drones.
I was basically born to do this job, I think. For instance, as I supervised to the best of my ability, some of the operators asked if I was sleepy, but I told them the “spaced-out” look on my face was from being concerned with holes in the ozone layer caused by hydrocarbon emissions and would you PLEASE GO THE FUCK BACK TO WORK ALREADY! What, do you think yen grows like seaweed or something? Time is money, money is time! Jeez.

Thou art a vile pimple on the arse of humanity, yet it pains to smite thee thusly…
Were it not for the heinous afflictions suffered unto thine colleagues, thou might err justly on the side of righteousness and bear forgivance!
But… Two separate incidents marked with the same gross display of incompetence in the space of a fortnight?
Woe!
Woe, I say!
A pox upon thee!
…

The guy I work across from, Angry Hiro, spent the whole day teaching a particularly inept vendor a lesson by yelling at them on the phone for ten hours straight. I am currently trying to recall the funniest combinations of “dumbass,” “dipshit,” and “fuckhead,” and spent most of the day cracking up with my coworkers. Angry Hiro even used our amusement to belittle them, holding up the receiver and yelling shit like, “Do you hear that? They’re laughing at YOU! ASSHOLES!” In between bouts, he was popping these little white pills like mad and wiping sweat off his brow with this gaudy brown-and-black checkered hanky embossed with a Chanel logo.
When I asked him what the pills were for, he barked, quite proudly, “ulcer!”
It is a testament to the twisted state of corporate life to realize that I can respect that. Dumbass.

Sender: Justin Yoshida
Subject: razor blades
bring them to work.
It’s not what you think, whatever that is. I want to use them to improvise cutting blades for a Thompson cutting machine.
In other news, I am off for eight days starting in approximately one hour. Do you have any idea how long the next 60 minutes will seem?
In case I forget about the internet for a while, Happy New Year to you all!

I always plan to tie up loose ends and complete x amount of work by the end of the year; by the time Christmas rolls around my productivity dwindles to slightly above absolute zero and I’ve unconsciously convinced myself that all but the most critical issues can be postponed until work resumes.
This is my fourth or fifth salaryman Christmas, but the most annoying thing about the winter season in Japan, even more than work, continues to be Wham’s “Last Christmas” resounding throughout shopping malls, train stations, and other public gathering places near you.