So, someone has sent yet another anonymous letter to the CEO regarding the clusterfuck that is The Cubicle Asylum.
The GM is not pleased. He summoned all employees, broken up in to small groups, to the conference room, where we were interrogated and informed.. but this time, something was different. He was visibly shaken. Whoever did it, told the CEO that everything is broken, which is true. The also said that the GM was trying to run this place in to the ground and that everyone was afraid to talk to him about their concerns, feeling they'd lose their jobs if they opened their mouths.
I don't know who it was, but I wish I had their cajones.
We're also pretty sure they tattled on him for spending two hours at each plant most days, spending the rest of his time sitting in front of the video poker machines in town. He didn't tell us that part, we just figure if someone went to the trouble of telling everything else, they probably told that too.
The GM has needed a good ass chewing for a long time and I think he got it. Peppermint Twatwaffle has been on edge as well, it's a fair bet that she had an inch or two gnawed off her hiney.
Since the bomb dropped, all the burned out bulbs in the office have been replaced. The light in here has been like a cave for about two years. They've ordered a new time clock, for which Lulu, who keys all the payroll, is truly thankful. She's had a mess on her hands for some months. The burned out paint line oven has been completely rebuilt. Peppermint Twatwaffle and the Purchasing Troll met with a robot dealer yesterday, they were getting prices on a replacement. Ours has been broken and pieced back together with duct tape and a prayer for about five years. A service guy came out and worked on both printer/copier/fax machines. The paging system is fixed, making my life easier and the toilet... thank you sweet baby Jesus.. after about five years.. now flushes without you having to stand and hold the handle down for five minutes.
This has all happened within a week's time.
I love when the shit hits the fan and I'm on the back side of the splatter.
Anywho, I'd better go sell something to pay for all this crap. Ya'll have a good one. We'll talk again soon.