In line with all of my talk about work and stuff, I found this little gem on my friend Erica’s blog.

Looking for just the right employees? Try this simple personnel test. Take the job applicants and put them in a room with only a table and two chairs. Leave them alone for two hours, without any instruction. At the end of that time, go back and see what they are doing.

If they have taken the table apart … put them in engineering.
If they are counting the cigarette butts in the ashtray … assign them to finance.
If they are waving their arms and talking aloud … send them to consulting.
If they are talking to the chairs … personnel is a good spot for them.
If they are wearing green sunglasses and need a haircut … IT is their niche.
If the room has a sweaty odor … perhaps they’re destined for the help desk.
If they mention a good price for the table and chairs … put them in purchasing.
If they mention that hardwood furniture doesn’t come from rain forests … public relations would suit them.
If they are sleeping … they are management material.
If they are writing up the experience … send them to the technical writing team.
If they don’t even look up when you enter the room … assign them to security.
If they try to tell you it’s not as bad as it looks … send them to marketing.

Oh, FEMA, FEMA, FEMA … you’re like the Cleveland Spiders of the government. [Writer's note: this baseball team finished the 1899 season with a record of 20-134, arguably the worst record ever for a professional team. Just a little baseball trivia for you there ... ooh, the random knowledge I keep in my head!] A federal audit has found potentially $1 billion in fraud due to the post-Katrina handout of $1000 cards to hurricane victims, largely due in part to people providing inaccurate, misleading, or incomplete information to the agency, sometimes multiple times. Where did all the money go? So far, all signs point to divorce lawyers, sex change operations, strip clubs, champagne, Hawaiian hotel rooms, and even a vacation to the Dominican Republic. Well, hey, as long as the victims didn’t suffer too much …

***

The Welsh have done it again. In an effort to create a ringtone that would repel young people, a firm has created what they say will be “bigger than the Crazy Frog” ringtone of a couple years ago. The trick? Only young people can hear it. Dubbed “Mosquitotone,” it is indetectable by anyone older than 25. Those poor school administrators. As if they didn’t have enough problems with neds.

***

A Nebraska man held on charges of sexually assault of a child was convicted of the crime, but doesn’t have to go to jail. Why not? He’s too short, sayeth the judge, claiming that undoubtedly the man would be unable to survive in prison. Instead, the 5′1″ pervert was given ten years’ probation, and made to promise that he would throw out his collection of porn. Now there’s justice for you. God bless America!

Someone left a dollar in the vending machine, because they were either a forgetful nincompoop or they felt like doing something nice for a stranger. I took advantage of it and bought myself a pack of Fritos, which I don’t need, but after having a Slim Fast shake for breakfast and one for lunch, I was craving something of substance. Defeats the purpose of drinking Slim Fast, really. Anyway, props to the random person who paid for my fatty, greasy corn goodness.

There is an elusive eyelash that keeps popping in and out of my eye at random intervals. I swear, those things have devious minds of their own.

Ch is out today, so it’s just me and Ranjith studying for our test … which is Friday. *dies* Actually, neither of us are really studying, but are instead taking practice tests and randomly quizzing each other across the room. Keeps you on your toes. We’re so obviously not in the mood for this, it’s not even funny. On a day like today, all I want to do is a) go swimming, or lie next to somewhere where swimming is an option, or b) relax somewhere where there is air conditioning and do something mindless. My idea of heaven: playing Grand Theft Auto on a big screen TV while floating around an indoor pool in an inner tube. Add a pina colada to the equation and make it Friday afternoon, and I would die with a smile on my face.

And an eyelash in my eye.

Read this post for a laugh. I thought I was going to choke.

During my breaks here at work (and there are a few - one cannot take multiple practice exams in a row without a little breather in between), I’m either messing about with this thing, or I’m reading random blogs. For the most part, I’ll spend a couple of seconds or so skimming one, realize the information provided is too personal for me to take an interest, and move on to the next one via the said person’s blogroll. Those types of writings can only really be appreciated by the person writing them, or the people who know that person, erm, personally. I have, however, decided that I’m a huge fan of those blogs written by people in the service industry. My top three right now are WaiterRant, The Insane Waiter, and New York Hack.

The first two are, obviously, written by waiters, one in NYC and one in the Midwest, both very capable in their own right and both amused/horrified/infuriated by the caliber of customers who enter each’s respective restaurant territory. If you’ve got a spare moment, I definitely recommend checking through some of their posts. They’re hysterical, yet poignant, and I’ve already found myself acting differently at restaurants because of them.

When I worked at The Seafood Restaurant in St Andrews, for the most part the customers were tame: little old ladies enjoying a leisurely lunch, European tourists, American golfers, and, on special occasions, students from the university. We very rarely had parties with small children (thank god), and had very few complaints, the biggest one that I can recall being that the oysters weren’t cold enough (which is ridiculous, really, because those oysters were like a party in the mouth). That’s not to say that working at the restaurant was boring; it was just pretty uneventful where customers were concerned. The kitchen, however, was kept up with sexual innuendos and bad jokes, which made up for everything, even when one mini Scotsman decided to serenade me with an Elvis song and then proclaimed himself to be “devastated and heartbroken” - and was serious about it, I found out later from a friend - when I turned him down for a date. Ah well. Working as a waitress/bartender was hard work, and tips in Britain suck, but then, we weren’t getting the $2.90 or whatever it is that waiters get in this country, but rather amassed five quid an hour, or almost ten bucks. Hey, every little bit helped when it came to funding my social life.

“I’m sorry, were you talking to me? It’s loud inside my head.”

I’m spending some time surfing the ‘net this morning, as the big boss man is out of the office and I’ve done what I’ve had to do this morning. So it’s all good.

Tween girl #1: So, like, apparently my brother is engaged.
Tween girl #2: Really? Since when?
Tween girl #1: I dunno, found out at breakfast this morning.
Tween girl #2: Didn’t he, like, just finish high school?
Tween girl #1: Yeah, but she’s, like, still 17 and she’s got a two year old so she’s way worse off than him.
Tween girl #2: Well, is it his kid?
Tween girl #1: Who knows? He’s not tellin’.
Tween girl #2: Probably is … what a man-ho slut wedder.
From OverheardInNewYork

Best. Label. Ever.

By the way, there is an extremely poignant post on Beauty and the Beltway from October 25 that I definitely recommend you to read.

“This was my choice, my answer, this was the only thing that would make the pain stop for me and for everyone that I had hurt …”

Read the rest here.