Dear Mr. Baker,
As an employee of an institution of higher education, I have a few very
basic expectations. Chief among these is that my direct superiors have
an intellect that ranges above the common ground squirrel. After your
consistent and annoying harrassment of my co-workers and myself during
the commission of our duties, I can only surmise that you are one of the
few true genetic wastes of our time.
Asking me, a network administrator, to explain every little nuance of
everything I do each time you happen to stroll into my office is not
only a waste of time, but also a waste of precious oxygen. I was hired
because I know how to network computer systems, and you were apparently
hired to provide amusement to myself and other employees, who watch you
vainly attempt to understand the concept of "cut and paste" for the
hundredth time. You will never understand computers. Something as
incredibly simple as binary still gives you too many options. You will
also never understand why people hate you, but I am going to try and
explain it to you, even though I am sure this will be just as effective
as telling you what an IP is. Your shiny new iMac has more personality
than you ever will.
You walk around the building all day, shiftlessly looking for fault in
others. You have a sharp dressed useless look about you that may have
worked for your interview, but now that you actually have
responsibility, you pawn it off on overworked staff, hoping their talent
will cover for your glaring ineptitude. In a world of managerial
evolution, you are the blue-green algae that everyone else eats and
laughs at. Managers like you are a sad proof of the Dilbert principle.
Seeing as this situation is unlikely to change without you getting a
full frontal lobotomy reversal, I am forced to tender my resignation,
however, I have a few parting thoughts.
1. When someone calls you in reference to employment, it is illegal for
you to give me a bad recommendation. The most you can say to hurt me is
"I prefer not to comment." I will have friends randomly call you over
the next couple of years to keep you honest, because I know you would be
unable to do it on your own.
2. I have all the passwords to every account on the system, and I know
every password you have used for the last five years. If you decide to
get cute, I am going to publish your "favorites list", which I
conveniently saved when you made me "back up" your useless files. I do
believe that terms like "Lolita" are not usually viewed favorably by the
administration.
3. When you borrowed the digital camera to "take pictures of your
Mother's birthday", you neglected to mention that you were going to take
pictures of yourself in the mirror nude. Then you forgot to erase them
like the techno-moron you really are. Suffice it to say, I have never
seen such odd acts with a sauce bottle, but I assure you that those have
been copied and kept in safe places pending the authoring of a glowing
letter of recommendation. (Try to use a spell check please, I hate
having to correct your mistakes.)
Thank you for your time, and I expect the letter of recommendation on my
desk by 8:00 am tomorrow. One word of this to anybody, and all of your
little twisted repugnant obsessions will be open to the public. Never
f*** with your systems administrator. Why? Because they know what you do
with all that free time!
Wishing you a grand and glorious day,
Cecelia |
YIKES!
