Want to hear the most annoying sound in the world? Listen to Little Bookman laugh

Stupidity on overload

I can't wait for Thanksgiving.
Yes, I'm thankful for the time I will be spending with my family, but I'm most Thankful for getting the hell away from Little Bookman.

Hate is a strong word, so let me say I can't stand this lying idiot.
Here's the latest act of stupidity.

At Wonderland, we all have a computer that we have to use, it's password protected. But everyone who works here is supposed to have the password.
Well, one day, Little Bookman decided to change it and not tell a soul.

What kind of fuckery is that? So, me and the other sane employee in this joint were like, what in the entire fuck is going on here.
Then a week later. YES a whole week later.
The little Bitchbaby says, oh the new password is ZYX, instead of XYZ.

I would give up eating all of my favorite Thanksgiving foods if I could have Friday and Saturday off so that I wouldn't have to look in his face.
I need a vacation!
I need a new job!
He should quit!

Take your sick ass home

I hate cold and flu season. Hate it.
Other than the chance of catching a cold or getting the flu, there is always that one coworker who will drag his buffalo butt ass into work when he is filled with germs and spread it around like it's a freaking pu-pu platter.

Yes, in case you're wondering, I'm talking about Little Bookman.
This is the second cold and flu season that I've spent in Wonderland. And once again, his lying-I got to go let my mother-in-law in the house and I ain't even married-ass is sitting up in here coughing, sneezing and snotting.

Go home!

Yes. This is when you take your ass home. Not when you fake a motorcycle accident, but when you are sick and putting other people at risk. And by other people, I mean me.

My immune system isn't what it used to be. I get a cold, oh it turns into the flu.
But here you are, with a legitimate excuse to use A SICK DAY and you're spreading your germs like you normally spread lies.

Cough one more time and I swear I might drown your ass in Lysol or Clorox.

Don't believe me? Ask my roommate from my freshman year of college what I can do with a gallon of bleach.

Lady, I don't know you or your husband. . .

From the files of, you're bat shit crazy:

Phone rings at Wonderland.

I'm called over the intercom, call on line one.

Me: Thanks for holding, how may I help you.

Crazy Lady: How do you say your name.

Me: Pronounce my name.

CL: I've been trying to figure that out. You sent my husband a birthday card on my birthday. And I just wanted to let you know he is not a single man. He is not separated. I don't know what he's been telling you.

Me: Excuse me? I send my customers cards all the time.

CL: Well this was a very personal card.

Me: Ma'am, I we send birthday cards to customers.

CL: How did you get our information?

Me: Did you ever purchase an item from Wonderland?

CL: No.

Me: *Looking at the phone* Well, you came up in the database.

CL: He's not worth having and if you want to take him off my hands, that's fine.

Me: I don't know your husband and there is nothing going on there.

CL: So, your manager would approve of you sending this card.

Me: He sure would. *Thinking, bitch this card came from the Dollar Store and it was .50. How personal can it be?* What does the card say.

She reads it and in essence it says, Birthdays are days when the clouds roll away. Happy Birthday to a special person. It was actually kind of inspirational, which goes along with the alleged "Christian based" philosophy of Wonderland.

Me: OK. I've sent out plenty of those cards.

CL: I've called your cell phone and you wouldn't answer, so I decided to call you at work.

Me: OK. *Thinking, if I was fucking your husband, why would I send him my business card and why was I dumb enough to put my cell phone number on my cards? UGH!*

CL: Well, I'm going to keep checking into this.

Me: All righty then.

Spell checks my resume.

Words you wish you could use at work. . . In my case, say out loud.

Credit—http://en.webfail.com/f0de3ae82c1

Rare Sunday Post

No words, because this picture says it all about Wonderland

Don't push me because I'm close to. . .aww damn!

Little Bookman actually took me there today. First of all, it's Saturday and I'd rather be any place else than here. I'd like to be hanging out with my college friends at Smith. I'd like to be wrapped up in front of the fireplace reading a book.

I'd like to be sitting on hot stones in Hawaii getting molested by a zombie sea creature than to be here, but I digress.

So, customer, who we will call Mr. Asshole, come in. Little Bookman instead of minding his business is all in mine.
My face is:

Because I know this lying little limping imp didn't just say: "Did she get you set up?'

1. Don't believe your Linkedin Profile, you are not a manager, not a senior consultant. Hell, you're only here because the manager CAN'T fire your ass. 

2. You're the one who allowed product to get stolen. 

3. You're a damned liar and your breath smells like the inside of a pig's ass.

So, don't question how I do my job. Don't come behind me like you're a manager. 

This was not going to stand. Not today. 

ME: Little Bookman, when I'm talking to a customer, I don't need you to come behind me.

LB: What are you talking about? 

<Insert eye roll>

ME: WHEN I'M TALKING TO A CUSTOMER, I DON'T NEED YOU TO GO BEHIND ME. MIND YOUR BUSINESS.

LB: All I asked was if everything was all right.

ME: YOU ARE NOT A MANAGER. IT IS NOT YOUR BUSINESS

LB: Whatever, you don't know who you're talking to.

ME: A damned liar. STOP WITH THE LIES. 

Drops the mike and walks away calling him every stupid motherfucker in the book in a loud whisper that I know he heard. 

Basically, you, your mama and the horse you rode in on. 

I don't have time for this! 

Logs on to Careerbuilder.com 

Serial liars do it because they can

Little Bookman is a liar and everyone knows it.

But no one calls him on it.

Take today for instance: Tuesday is usually my peace day in Wonderland because Bookman ain't here. So, imagine my disgust when I walked in and there it was.
Not so awesome sauce!

Anyway, I clock in get ready to start my day —or start reading the new Beverly Jenkins book, to be honest—and my manager asks me if I'm taking a day off this week.

*Blank stare*

Why not ask me if I'm going drink coffee today? WTF? He goes on to say that Little Bookman was under the impression that we were going to alternate days off. 

If that were the case, why would I be here now, was my initial thought. Then I remembered something: Little Bookman and I used to have the same day off before everyone else jumped ship. We, in front of the manager, said I'd be off on Wednesdays and Buffalo Butt would take Tuesdays. This alternating crap is something this mother. . . .must have dreamed up while eating a bucket of chicken and drooling.

Allegedly, there is a house closing this week. And here's the thing, had you asked if we could switch days, I might have agreed.

OK, total honest, hell no I wouldn't have. But at least I would've known what kind of bullshit that was coming up this morning. I mean, seriously, you lie like the dirty under the rug and no one calls you on it.

Until today. I told the manager, we never agreed to anything like that and hell yes, I'm taking my day off —because I have a job interview.

*Drops the mic, logs on to Careerbuilder.com.*

When the wife shows up . . .Creepy coworker STFU

Here at Wonderland, we work with an outside company for some of our jobs.
There is always one dude with this company that's just creepy. You can ignore it because you don't see them everyday.

But every time you see him, he makes some kind of borderline sexual remark. Oh, black looks so good on you.

You're too pretty to be mad.

I pull all the honeys.

Obviously your mirror is showing you something different than what the world sees.
Insert Kanye shrug.

So, the other day I was eating in the cafeteria, because it was free and the way my checking account is set up, I can't turn down a free meal. So, Creep McGee walks in with a woman. Check that, his woman. His wife.

He shot me a look that was like, please, please don't say anything. The old me, the one who liked drama in the work place, would've have said —What do you think of my outfit?

But watching the sweat build on his five finger forehead as I sat that slowly eating my salad and carrot sticks was so much fun.

Then I went to get my drink refill and she was at the drink machine. Nice lady. I spoke to her and told her that the tea here isn't good. Go for the fruit punch. Then I went back to my table and tossed my tray.

He still hasn't said a word. I wish the wife was here everyday!

Lies my coworker told me . . .

Mondays are hard enough with out having to deal with someone's flights of fancy. Well, that's what my day has been like today. Little Bookman started the day with a Quaker Oats bowl full of lies.

Sunday, he said, he was in a motorcycle accident.

But when he walked into Wonderland, 38 minutes late, there wasn't a visible scratch on him. Is he made of teflon?
The story about the accident changed depending on who he told it to — it happened after church. But he had on his riding pants and jacket.
Really? That's how we go to church these days?

In one story, he had to get his pants leg cut off. But there was no damage, yet doctors said he'd have some swelling. But they didn't give him crutches. He was hobbling around on a cane. Moaning with each painful step.

So, where's the pain medicine?

 After all, a jeep pulled out in front of you and crashed your little boy motorcycle and this is the second accident that you've had this month!

As it turns out, he's not taking any pain meds, but he was hurting so badly that he dipped about fifteen minutes after arriving to work. Could it be that the fact that the manager isn't here made his pain worsen.

So, then another coworker comes over and says, did Little Bookman send you a Linkedin profile request.
I nodded.
"Did you look at it?"
"Nope."
"Oh my, it say he's a senior consultant at Wonderland. That he has two engineering degrees and he got them both in four years."
Really?
So, you even lie on your Linkedin profile — as if people aren't going to check! And it you are THAT smart, why are you here?
It's too early in the week to be reading from the book of lies!

So, I've decided to list the lies Little Bookman has been caught in since I started at Wonderland:

1. My mama had a stroke. 
2. I'm married.
3. I'm late (On Martin Luther King Jr. Day) because I had to take my son to school.
4. My girlfriend had a hysterectomy. 
5. I'm closing on a house (this has been used three times).
6. I did security at the Super Bowl.
7. Today is my dad's birthday (twice in one year).
8. My mama had another stroke.
9. We had a lot of people in here last Super Bowl Sunday (Wonderland is thankfully closed on Sundays) 
10. I speak Spanish. (All I've ever heard him say is Si.) 

Scammed at Wonderland

I've been debating telling this story, but every day it gets funnier and funnier.
I can't help it, I got to tell it.
Guess it's the reporter/storyteller in me.

So, pregnant lady comes into Wonderland and Little Bookman waits on her. She purchases a product. Little Bookman, as per usual, doesn't get everything he needs from this woman.

Well, when he gets the items that he needs to finalize the purchase, it turns out that everything --and I mean EVERYTHING --is fraudulent.

Ever read an Eric Jerome Dickey book with the character Arizona in it? Yep, that's just what this chick did in real life.

So, cops have been called and Little Bookman is walking around looking like Boo-Boo the fool.

I know you're wondering why this is funny to me. Well, I'm going to tell you. See, Little Bookman loves to talk about this military intelligence background he has. Um-huh. If he's what the military is using to catch terrorists, no wonder we're losing.

There were several red flags, but Honey Boo Boo Chile ignored them. Why? Because he's an asshole and a liar. That's why he got got!

#BitchBaby: How in the world did Shonda and crew meet my coworkers?

Things are bad at Wonderland. So bad that the Mad Hatter, AKA the owner, sold the place. Who knows what kind of Voldermort owners will be running this hell hole next.

While polishing my resume Thursday night, I was watching the hit series, How To Get Away With Murder and heard the perfect description of my coworkers and bosses.

#Bitchbaby.

Oh, yeah. If Bitchbaby is in the dictionary, Mr. Poodle's face is right next to it, followed by Little Bookman — who is skating on thin ice with me today.  I have to keep telling myself, Orange is NOT the New Black.

I'm not about that jail life, especially when I know this fucktard is doing shit to piss me off on purpose. So, did I dump a half of cup of coffee in his seat? Maybe I did, or maybe he just pissed himself.

Anyway, when I heard the term Bitchbaby, I knew exactly what they meant. Someone alway complaining, but wants all the glory. That's these folks to a T!

I think for the rest of the day, I'm going to practice my resting bitch face, which will probably morph into this:

By the way, Happy Saturday.

When you don't care for someone, his breathing just annoys you

It's been a minute since I've had something to say about Wonderland. I've been trying to turn lemons into lemonade.

What I really want to do is squeeze lemon juice in little Bookman's eyes. When you lie as easily as you breathe, it just makes it hard to deal with you —even on those rare occasions where I have to talk at this clown.

Let me take you back to Monday. I woke up late, needed to shower, get dressed and make it to work without being super duper late.
I wore a dress. It wasn't a mini dress, but it wasn't a maxi dress either. Knee skimming.

I get to Wonderland and there is no water for coffee. So, in my dress, I go get this big ass water bottle to hook up to the coffee machine — which is the best thing about this place. I'm strong, but that thing is heavy. I get to the machine, I'm about to hook it up and here comes Bookman.
"Let me that for you."

I'm thinking, you SOB, you could've gotten this when I was struggling carrying this shit. I shot back, "I got it."

He goes to the manager and then the manager calls me into the office and tells me that I need to be careful when bending over. He prefaces this by saying,  "This is a sensitive subject and I should probably have someone in here. . ."
I asked him if he wanted me to go home and change since my skirt length was such a problem. He said no. I told him, I'll gladly go home.

Anyway. Little Bookman, who has halitosis and smokes, which causes his breath to smell like the inside of a dead man's ass, tells another coworker that the manager was the one who said something about my skirt and he didn't know why I was mad because he was trying to help me out.

Nah, son. You're being a pervy perv perv!

Sorry married man in a mini-van, but Scandal got you all messed up

And as adventures in Wonderland go, today was the first time I've ever had a customer be this stupid.

Mr. Miami Married man was sitting in the waiting area of Wonderland and all I did was offer him a cup of coffee. Next thing I know, he's asking if I'm married, if I have kids and all kinds of questions that have absolutely nothing to do with the product sold at Wonderland.

He said he didn't come to buy anything. Was getting something fixed on a product he'd already purchased. He goes on to say that he's married with four kids. Great. Good. I'm looking for a manager or somebody to call me to do an inane task. Nope.

His product is ready. He asked for a business card. This was the first time that I regretted having my cell phone number on that thing.

Here comes the text messages:

Him: Hey beautiful. Pleasure meeting you.
Me: You as well. Hope you have a great rest of your weekend. (Trying to keep it professional!)
Him: Looking forward to seeing you again. Let me know if you would enjoy that.

Now, I love Scandal. But never in my life have I wanted that fiction to become my reality. And let's be real, there was nothing attractive about you and the fact that you're a bartender on a side of town that I never ever hang out on means I won't see you unless you bring your product back in here. Hopefully, you'll bring your wife too.

I'm doing my job, why are you worried about it?

I do my job at Wonderland, even if I don't like it.
Would I rather be writing, hell yes.

But today was one of those Fridays where I said, I'm going to work to work. I'm not going to let the little rats called coworkers bother me today.

I put on my suit and tie —cause I can rock a suit and tie just like JT when I want to — came in and hit the phones.

So, I got a customer to come in and pick up a product. I get the product ready and Little Bookman is skulking around. He asked the manager if I'm selling that product. WTF do you think?

Then, I'm talking to my manager about another customer and who comes to stand at the door, needing nothing, just being nosy? You got it, Mr. Poodle. If these stupid sacks of skin spent more time doing their jobs, they wouldn't have to worry about what I'm doing and why I'm a big bag of awesome and they are not!

Could it be? I have a real life hater

Some times it pays to be nice. I was nice today and found out Mr. Poodle is a real life hater —and I'm not even Obama.

While I may hate Wonderland, I do my work. And I work on my laptop.

Mr. Poodle to the manager that I'm sitting over here writing about. Nah, fool I'm blogging about the lot of you. You lazy, deranged smelly bastard.

See, Mr. Poodle has a laptop as well, he sits on Facebook all day, calls himself publishing a magazine that NO ONE has ever seen and he doesn't do his work. This fuck-face is old enough to be my daddy or Jody.

The old me would drop super glue in his seat accidentally on purpose. But, I'm just going to hit him with some flea powder.

Really? The Wonderland blood drive

So, they're trying to do a good thing at Wonderland today. There's this blood drive.
Yay. Let's save some lives.

However, I can't and don't understand why Ms. Blondie walked in the door and asked, do I sign in with you. Clearly there is huge man in all red sitting at a table with a bunch of blood drive information on it. I'm sitting in front of a computer.
I have on all black because I'm in mourning since I still work here.

I'm not in the mood for this.

There's a sign at work that says excuses are for losers

Then my managers must be the biggest losers in America.

All I hear are excuses and see the finger pointed at me.

Here's a finger:

Sing it 2Pac! 

You know that one co-worker . . .

• You know that one co-worker you'd rather hit with a brick than say hello to
• You know that one co-worker who you smell before you see
• You know that one co-worker who has been doing your job for a shorter time than you but knows every damn thing
• You know that one co-worker who's breath smells like he ate a diarrhea sandwich with a side of shit fries. 

It's too early for this. And by the way, Happy Saturday. 

Oh, but I'm wrong?

In Wonderland, you're supposed to smile and nod. Be happy when you've been pissed for months because you've been lied to by management, you work hard and people who don't do a damned thing gets rewards.

Sometimes you snap.

Sometimes was today.

I was having a conversation with a manager and Little Bookman gets all up in the middle of it. Bruh, no one is talking to you.  Seriously, I haven't said more than two words to you since July. Shut the hell up!

So, my manager said the words that a pissed off woman loves to hear: angry, black woman. Then Bookman laughed and hell was unleashed. Turned to Bookman and said: "Wasn't Nobody Talking to you!" 

And I know, this was horrible grammar, syntax and the like. 

So the manager tells me to come here, as if I was his teenaged daughter. 

I replied, "I am not your child and you won't talk to me as such!" Grammar back in tact. Then I walked into Wonderland and packed my shit. 

I didn't quit. 

Unfortunately, I'll be there in the morning. 

Work place nightmares?

We've all had that one job. Let me tell you about the few months I spent in call center hell.
There's this place in South Charlotte called iQor.

What is iQor, you ask? The ghetto of call centers. And I don't use the term ghetto often, but this is one time where it FITS.

Located in the headquarters of a national department store, people who work for the "blue" company shiver when they see the iQor employees come their way. As a matter of fact, day one of training, my class was told the story of a chick who was fired for stealing bacon from the cafeteria. Bacon. Hidden. In. Grits. Job gone.

One day, we went out on the floor — as a part of training to see what the job would be. Two employees tweaked down the middle of the aisle. Why was I here? Oh, yeah, my unemployment ran out.

OK. It's just a job. I have a career. And I had an interview in my field. So, we got into the actual job after training was over. 

All of that stuff you learned in training was a waste of time because it was all wrong. 

I'm not going to say everyone who worked there was crazy, but 95 percent of them, including the Supervisors were. 

Case in point, a supervisor and an employee had a conversation on the floor, while people were on the phone trying to get folks to pay their light bills, about the employee's plans to get her girlfriend pregnant with her baby daddy's sperm and a turkey baster. 

Yeah. 

But the coupe de merde came when a white woman —who thought by the insertion of her baby daddy's black penis gave her some special entrée in to the black race asked one day, why couldn't she say the N-word. 

I told myself to keep quiet. 

Myself didn't listen. 

"Brittney, why don't you go home and say the N-word."

"I can say what I want."

"You say it in here, you won't say it again."

Here comes the Supervisor telling everyone to be quiet as if this was Mrs. Carmen's Day Care center. I looked at this black woman and said, "You need to tell her to shut up."

Her reply, "Cheris, I'm talking to you too."

"You need to tell that girl she needs to watch her mouth because she has one time to drop the N-word."

Then some other folks got up and loud. And what does Brittney do? She starts crying. But still popping that yang about she can say what she wants. 

I quit a week later. Then I started at Wonderland. . .From Shit to shitter. 

Tell me about your work place nightmares in the comments below. 

Shady boots: Mr. Poodle has messed up now

Part of my function at Wonderland is to call and email people so that they will buy the product(s) we sell.

I like to email people, because it's quasi-writing. We're not always busy, but this past Labor Day we were. So, a couple I'd been communicating with for about eight months came in to finally buy their item. Yay me.

While I was working with them, Mr. Poodle scampers over looking like the rat from Harry Potter, talking about I had guests. Who are they, I asked.
He points to this lady. A lady I've never seen in my life. I asked what was her name and he kept pointing like a broken Kewpie doll.

Really, jerk face? One, I'm busy. Two, how about getting some information before you talk to me! 

I go over to the lady, she was supposed to come see me the next day. Mr. Poodle proceeds to take over. Did I tell you that I've been talking to this lady for two months. 

And then, this fool is supposed to be sick. But as soon as these people say they're coming in to get their product, he hopes out of the flea bag doghouse where he was — OK, I don't know where the poodle was, but he wasn't in the hospital. 

But guess what. He only gets half of the money. BLAM! That's what happens when you're Shady Boots! 

I really don't care for any of y'all

Once upon a time, I worked in a place where I actually liked my coworkers and my boss. We'd have lunch together, we'd hang out after work and they all supported my dream of becoming a published author. And by support, I mean they bought my books.

Thinking the grass was greener on the other side of the highway, I left that job. I did it for the money and for three years, I was happy as a lark. Then my boss left and all hell broke loose. A new guy was hired, the company went bankrupt and I found myself unemployed.

That would've been awesome if I had money rolling in from books every week. And I have to admit, maybe I've grown accustom to a steady paycheck and that's what is keeping me from doing the full-time author thing.

And, I need health insurance. OK. But I digress.

So, after a year of unemployment and a job in the call center from hell. iQor — yeah, I said it!
I started at Wonderland. Since I'm still employed there, I can't name the place, yet.
Here's a typical day there.

First, you walk in the door and you smile at the customers. Then you're hit with some stupid question or comment.
Example: Is that your natural hair color?

WHAT DO YOU THINK?
Another stupid question: Can I touch your hair?
Really?

Moving on from the customers, let me tell you about the cast of clowns I work with.

1. Little Bookman.
Dude is 25 and has done more in the Army than my dad did in his 30 plus year career. He's a ranger, he's in military intelligence, he's with the CIA, FBI, NYPD, and most importantly, the L.I.A.R.S. Club.
We were cool until his true colors came shining through. Like, he lied about being my frat brother. . .WHO DOES THAT?

2. Mr. Know it All
Here we have a 21 year old who has been doing this job for seven months and is already thinking he should be a manager. Manage these, dude. Really? When he's not selling, he whines and pouts like a petulant child who's never gotten his ass whipped. I'm talking with a Hot Wheels track type of whipping. Then he complains when he has to help some one, but expects others to bow down and show him how to keep the shit tracks out of his drawers —but he never says thank you.
3. Mr. Irrelevant
This guy just started working in Wonderland and he walks around talking about the most inane stuff in the world. Who cares about a 1983 Bentley when the game is on. Sir. Why. Are.You. Talking. To. ME?
And then he's one of those creepy guys who has to lean in to talk to you. Bruh! I'm going to need about 18 feet of personal space.
4. Mr. Poodle Man
This gentleman has allegedly been in the business for 20 years. But he doesn't know how to do this job. And he is supposed to be some publisher of a magazine, which I've never heard of or seen. But everyone around Wonderland knows he has pictures of half naked women in his iPhone 4. Yes, 4. Not even a 4s.
And no one seems to realize — but me —that he smells like a sick poodle.

I really don't care for anyone of them.

Old Spice and Obama haters

There are two type of people who shop at Wonderland. Men who bathe in Old Spice and Obama haters.

I understand everyone isn't going to love the President. But some of the Old Spice Obama Haters blame this man for their bouts with gout. But were you in the Armed Forces? Nah. Did you sign up for Obamacare? Nah. And you haven't been to the doctor? Nah. Why are you mad, son?

And what's crazy is, my coworkers in Wonderland engage in conversations with the loony toons, revealing that if we didn't have uniforms, they'd probably wear sheets to work.

Revising my resume as I type.
Later, my manager is watching.