Bereavement leave

Bring down the numbers

Our CEO Stan noticed that bereavement leave was up 1.09% over the last decade, information which I provided from my new data mine. I own the mine and Miss Cynthia Axe is the miner. 

Stan observed that "HR must be sure that no one fakes bereavement. Bereavement is not an orgasm, Gloria. It needs to be real. Send me your plan how to police this issue in a timely manner, so as to drive the days lost to bereavement down".

I put on my thinking cap and nothing came to mind. I asked Ms Axe and Hugh White (the white heterosexual boy who manages Diversity) what the current procedures are.

At present, a nerd or clerk is entitled to bereavement leave if he (or she for that matter) gives a 2 weeks advance notice, or provides a picture of the grave or the stiff, signed by a notary and a man of the cloth, as long as he is not a child molester. In case of a legitimate death, we provide a Greyhound bus ticket to the funeral, one way, and a phone charger. The leave itself is 4 days for Canadian and Americans. And five days for other more remote locations.

I reviewed this policy, which seems quite fair. The only change I made is that "only 2 deaths per quarter are permissible, so as not not to make too much of a good thing. Killing the same relative twice is subject to the death penalty."

I smsed Stan about the policy change, and then I called my 140 year old mother, who was feeling down in the mouth with sore knees. She is a ballet teacher.

Compassion is my middle name

Comrade Carl travels on British Airways

Our chief nerd, Comrade Carl Marks, returned from a trip abroad which included a visit to a key client, who is unhappy about the delivery delay of our new release. The goal of the Comrades' trip was to announce yet a further delay.

Comrade Carl flew British Airways, business class. The comrade texted me from the flight that "BA hires cabin crew who don't speak English, kibinimat". Later he corrected himself-the cabin crew are Glasgow based.

Comrade Carl sauntered into my room and plopped down on the couch. I never shared the fact that I have a couch in my room. The couch is for nerds who have  a "well-being" crisis.

More on that later.

The comrade asked me,"Gloria, HR is the grand yarn master of them all. How would you announce such a delay of delivery if you had to do my job? What cock and bull story would you tell"?

I was about to answer when Carl continued. "No one dares tell the Brits that there is no solution for Brexit, which was voted in by the peasants. No one tells the world that Gaza and Israel will be at war for at least another 300 hundred years, or more, if you ask me. No one except yours truly has the balls to manage complexity!"

I asked the Comrade how he broke the news to client. Comrade Carl replied, "I used a Russian solution. We told them that we had delivered the solution twice yet their staff was too ignorant to install it. They asked for proof, and I told them that the proof is in the mail. Then we smoked a joint, I gave them a thick manila envelope, and came back home, spoiled rotten by those Scottish lassies on BA".

Comrade Carl fell asleep on my couch, and snored like my Dad used to.