SirenSongWoman
Cathlete
Dear Postal Management:
Thank you for watching everything I and my fellow mail handlers do, because people in their 30s, 40s, and 50s need A LOT of supervision. This whole master/slave thing REALLY works. I think I speak for all of us when I say thank you for worrying about everything WE do, like bringing drinks on the workroom floor (who needs water while lifting 40lb tubs full of mail all day?), and forgetting to put our timecards in the racks. All that third class mail sitting around waiting to be worked can wait until you're done focusing on our faux pas. But more than anything thank you for making sure we don't talk or take too long in the bathroom. And thank you for being concerned that our breaks take no longer than fifteen minutes. By the time we spend six minutes trekking to and from the break room, another two minutes waiting for the cashier to finish flirting with her boys, and waiting three minutes for our food to heat up (sort of) in the rickety microwaves, those four bites of spaghetti I get before racing back to my unit really hit the spot (umm umm, sustenance). But the most important thing of which we all are sympathetic is how tired you all must be, evidently VELCROED to the seats of your golf carts, in groups of two to five (discussing important postal business, certainly) and darting about the building on your giant tricycles while all the empty equipment keeps piling up in the middle of our work area, slowing us down as we step around it. In this way, you guys are so like Stevie Wonder (i.e., blind). The fact that you all are so much more concerned about what we're doing than how much mail is piling up in our understaffed facility (cut costs by cutting out the overtime, do more with less... what a plan) shows us just how much you care. You all deserve a prize. Oh wait. You're already getting those big bonuses. Never mind.
I love this thread.
Thank you for watching everything I and my fellow mail handlers do, because people in their 30s, 40s, and 50s need A LOT of supervision. This whole master/slave thing REALLY works. I think I speak for all of us when I say thank you for worrying about everything WE do, like bringing drinks on the workroom floor (who needs water while lifting 40lb tubs full of mail all day?), and forgetting to put our timecards in the racks. All that third class mail sitting around waiting to be worked can wait until you're done focusing on our faux pas. But more than anything thank you for making sure we don't talk or take too long in the bathroom. And thank you for being concerned that our breaks take no longer than fifteen minutes. By the time we spend six minutes trekking to and from the break room, another two minutes waiting for the cashier to finish flirting with her boys, and waiting three minutes for our food to heat up (sort of) in the rickety microwaves, those four bites of spaghetti I get before racing back to my unit really hit the spot (umm umm, sustenance). But the most important thing of which we all are sympathetic is how tired you all must be, evidently VELCROED to the seats of your golf carts, in groups of two to five (discussing important postal business, certainly) and darting about the building on your giant tricycles while all the empty equipment keeps piling up in the middle of our work area, slowing us down as we step around it. In this way, you guys are so like Stevie Wonder (i.e., blind). The fact that you all are so much more concerned about what we're doing than how much mail is piling up in our understaffed facility (cut costs by cutting out the overtime, do more with less... what a plan) shows us just how much you care. You all deserve a prize. Oh wait. You're already getting those big bonuses. Never mind.
I love this thread.
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