mind expanding nonsense

Posts tagged ‘work’

Fun at Work


OK. I’m still working in retirement for my former employer, fighting crime for the Probation Department. I call the place the House of Pain, after the H G Wells novel “The Island of Doctor Moreau.”  But in stead of fighting crime, I’m fighting boredom. Because I’m doing the same damn thing over and over and over again. As B B King sang, “The thrill has gone.” I think it was day three of being back, when thirty years of doing this (same old) shit triggered Automatic Pilot to kick in.

Now, my blogging has started to suffer – Work sucks the creative juices right out of ya. And, sitting in a cubical four hours a day, grinding out bullshit doesn’t really lend itself to red-hot war stories. But ol’ Hansi, with a feeble, yet devious mind, came up with this brilliant idea. How do I make Work Fun? Or better yet, how can I have fun while giving the illusion that I’m doing work??

I work in a bureaucracy wherein appearance takes precedence over substance. [That sounds like someone I know who’s running for president]. So…how can I spend four hours having fun, basically doing nothing, while getting paid for it? Hey Tea Party taxpayers, don’t get pissed, just think of this as one of them “reality shows” where people are being paid just to be their own stupid, asinine selves.

So, how do I  start my day? Well spending 45 minutes dreaming up this bullshit and writing it down is a good start. “Hansi. How do you get away with that?” Well, like a good magician, work is all about slight of hand and mis-direction of peoples’ attention. I’ve got a pile of “rap sheets” laid out in front of me filling my desk, with other “to do” piles nearby. It looks like I’m working at a feverish pace, but actually I’m cranking out the rough draft of this post. Ooops…My supervisor just walked by; better take a work break.

Five minutes later: Phew….glad that’s over. My desk is now fully camouflaged with papers and files all over the place. Total chaos, and in Probation-land chaos = really busy. Here a pile, there a pile, everywhere a pile pile. Old Hansi’s bent over [but not like in the bent over where ya gotta grab your ankles], and working his arthritic fingers to the bone. That reminds me. My fingers are getting a little stiff; better go to the bathroom and run some hot water over em. Especially my thumb, which has been up my kiester most of the morning.

Ah…that’s so much better. Time for some computer work. One of the perks at work is that I get to listen to my blues music on earphones and tune everything else out. Right now I’m listening to a tune called “Voodoo Love”. I know. Sounds luscious, and how appropriate. Cause it’s mug-shot fantasy time.

Everybody on probation has a seven digit “person number”; yes you are a number and not a name.  And in a person’s (sorry, a number’s) “Person Summary”, there are yet even more numbers: Sheriff’s booking #; rap sheet #; DMV # etc.  And… a Mug Shot, which is the picture they take of you, celebrating your entrance into jail. And since I’m sitting on a massive drunk driver caseload, I get to see folks at their absolutely shit-faced, inebriated best….cool

So what better way to waste time than to spend it fantasy-land, making up stories about the people (numbers) that just got busted.

Poor Sara B. Looks like a deer caught in the headlights. From closing down the bar to County Jail, something went wrong on her way home to the trailer-park. Wonder if running that red light, pulling up over the curb and barfing on the cop when he asked to see her drivers license had anything to do with her plight. She’s cute, but I’d hate to be inside her head the next morning.

Mr. Harrison. Mr. Harrison. 50 something, unshaven, hair a mess, wearing a stained t-shirt. Sure it’s OK to have a couple of beers after a day of yard work. But when ya hop on your deluxe mower and drive it to the Liquor store for another 12 pack,  leaving a path of destruction (and lawn clippings) in your wake, you’re gonna draw attention to yourself. And please….wipe that shit eating grin off your face.

Sometimes just sitting in front of the computer spaced out, having a 60’s flashback is fun too.  “Excuse me while I kiss the sky”

Well, today has been the best day of work I’ve had to date. I even managed to cut down my production by half.  Wonder if I can get it down to 30% work, 70% play? Something to shoot for… A goal…And, you know it’s good to have goals.

Fun at Work


OK. I’m at work, the House of Pain, fighting crime. Really, I’m fighting boredom. Because I’m doing the same damn thing over and over and over again. As B B King said, “The thrill has gone.” I think it was day three of being back, when thirty years of doing this (same old) shit triggered Automatic Pilot to kick in.

My blogging has started to suffer – Work sucks the creative juices right out of ya. And, sitting in a cubical four hours a day, grinding out bullshit doesn’t really lend itself to red-hot war stories. But ol’ Hansi, with a feeble, yet devious mind, came up with this brilliant idea. How do I make Work Fun? Or better yet, how can I have fun while giving the illusion that I’m working??

I work in a bureaucracy wherein appearance takes precedence over substance. [that sounds pretty good, better write that one down]. So…how can I spend four hours having fun, basically doing nothing, while get paid for it? Hey Tea Party taxpayers, don’t get pissed, just think of this as one of them “reality shows” where people are being paid just to be their own stupid, asinine selves.

So how to start my day? Well spending 45 minutes dreaming up this bullshit and writing it down was a good start. “Hansi. How do you get away with that?” Well, like a good magician, work is all about slight of hand and mis-direction of peoples’ attention. I’ve got a pile of “rap sheets” laid out in front of me, filling my desk, with other “to do” piles nearby. It looks like I’m working at a feverish pace, but actually I’m cranking out the rough draft of this post. Ooops…My supervisor just walked by; better take a work break.

Five minutes later: Phew….glad that’s over. My desk is now fully camouflaged with papers and files all over the place. Total chaos, and in Probation-land chaos = really busy. Here a pile, there a pile, everywhere a pile pile. Old Hansi’s bent over [but not like in the bent over where ya gotta grab your ankles], and working his arthritic fingers to the bone. That reminds me. My fingers are getting a little stiff; better go to the bathroom and run some hot water over em. Especially my thumb, which has been up my kiester most of the morning.

Ah…that’s so much better. Time for some computer work. One of the perks at work is that I get to listen to my blues music on earphones and tune everything else out. Right now I’m listening to a tune called “Voodoo Love”. I know. Sounds luscious, and how appropriate. Cause it’s mug-shot fantasy time.

Everybody on probation has a seven digit “person number”; yes you are a number and not a name.  And in a person’s (sorry, a number’s) “Person Summary”, there are yet even more numbers: Sheriff’s booking #; rap sheet #; DMV # etc.  And… a Mug Shot, which is the picture they take of you, celebrating your entrance into jail. And since I’m sitting on a massive drunk driver caseload, I get to see folks at their absolutely shit-faced, inebriated best….cool

So what better way to waste time than to spend it fantasy-land, making up stories about the people (numbers) that just got busted.

Poor Sara B. Looks like a deer caught in the headlights. From closing down the bar to County Jail, something went wrong on her way home to the trailer-park. Wonder if running that red light, pulling up over the curb and barfing on the cop when he asked to see her drivers license had anything to do with her plight. She’s cute, but I’d hate to be inside her head the next morning.

Mr. Harrison. Mr. Harrison. 50 something, unshaven, hair a mess, wearing a stained t-shirt. Sure it’s OK to have a couple of beers after a day of yard work. But when ya hop on your deluxe mower and drive it to the Liquor store for another 12 pack,  leaving a path of destruction (and lawn clippings) in your wake, you’re gonna draw attention to yourself. And please….wipe that shit eating grin off your face.

Sometimes just sitting in front of the computer spaced out, having a 60’s flashback is fun too.  “Excuse me while I kiss the sky”

Well, today has been the best day of work I’ve had to date. I even managed to cut down my production by half.  Wonder if I can get it down to 30% work, 70% play? Something to shoot for… A goal…And, you know it’s good to have goals.

The House of Pain

The House of Pain strikes fear in my heart, as it should yours if you are one of the animals reading my blog.

The  “House of Pain” was in the classic 1933 movie “Island of Lost Souls” which was based on H G Wells’ story, “The Island of Dr Moreau”.  This version featured Charles Laughton as a mad scientist who was busily changing animals into humanoid creatures. This painful transformation took place in his laboratory called the “House of Pain”, which all the creatures feared, and were threatened with, for not walking upright, or eating flesh (a big no no on that lonely isle). Their response was “Are we not Men?”….No they were Devo.

Well this isn’t so much about that great flick. It’s about going back to WORK; excuse me for using a ‘four lettered word’ in mixed company. When I was fighting crime as a Probation Officer, back in the Golden Age of Corrections, me and my PO buddies would call the Probation agency “The House of Pain”. Not so much for what we inflicted on our clients, but for the fact that we hated it, felt our supervisors were narrow minded ass-covering dumb-shits, and the administration (Admin), full of shit. And like all good, barely humanoid creatures, we’d much rather prefer a leisurely life filled with eating, gossip and fornication, over a life of drudgery, cause that’s the way we were treated.

Well I hung in there for 30 years ( thirty god-damned, miserable, mind numbing, sucking the life out of you years). Good thing I survived intact and am now enjoying the creature comforts of retirement, however lacking in fornication it may now be.

Actually, I retired seven years ago, but after six months of retirement, went back to work for Probation as an extra-help DPO. I worked in our local juvenile facility (prison for kids) as a Corrections Officer. Kinda like in all those Prison shows like “Lock-up Raw”; except this was more like ‘lock-up medium rare’. I actually liked it. What a testosterone laden environment. And speaking of jiss levels, I got to work, and bullshit with guys half my age and break up fights, by spraying combative homeboys in the face with pepper spray…OC. What a contact high that was for old Hansi’s ancient ass.

Well, that got old, especially after I had to break up a fight between two ninety pound pre-pubescent 12 year old boys in a quad classroom. The fight wasn’t bad, almost a joke.  What was bad, was getting down on my arthritic knees and trying to handcuff these little turds, while my legs were cramping up on me, and then getting up again. That’s when I figured “I’m too old for this shit”. So I then worked for my old boss on a bank DUI (drunk driver) caseload, doing mindless paper work. That was more estrogen laden.

Well, all us retired guys who were working extra help, finally got weaned from the County tit in 2009, when we all got laid off due to the financial crisis. [At least I got layed.] And ‘thank you Jesus’, I was put out of my misery.

BUT… and here’s the scary part. My old boss recently told me they were going to call back retired folks for a limited time only to clean up some of the massive case loads that are barely attended too. The House of Pain!!!!! And would I be interested??

Now I usually don’t share a lot of personal stuff here, except for my hallucinations. And I don’t intend this to be a blog about “My dysfunctional life”.   Nope, my hallucinations are about all the crazy shit that comes to my mind after getting properly medicated.  But, am I out of my frickin’ medicated mind, for even thinking about going back to the House of Pain??

The money could be good, hours that I choose, no actual probation work (screwing with people and threatening them with my own little “Cottage of Pain”).

Well I sent my application in. We’ll see what happens. The best part is: resuming my duties as a crime fighter could provide a mother load of blog material.  Downside is, I can’t tell anyone there about my Blog. If ‘Admin’ read this shit, they’d fire my ass. Hey… that could be ticket out.. Kinda like a get out of jail free card.

There once was a PO named Stover

Who was treated worse than my dog named Rover

Many years did pass

Of taking it in the ass

So he changed his name to Ben Dover.

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