The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip

 

GB as a cartoon?

  At work, I have a partner.  It's the setup that's been mandated for the contract I'm on.  I'm not obliged to explain which contract, company, or agency at this time, nor will I mention the Kansas-born person I normally work with, who has a bit of a wholesome, farm-boy look and is best described as very "Colorado Springs" in depth and character, which is fine enough.

Dude!

  Now, because of an opposing crew's wife's schedule change, it made his life supposedly difficult on weekends to get a sitter so I volunteered to go back to work with a guy for a short while of 3 weeks which is ending up to be 3 months.  For some reason, no one else could accommodate a schedule swap for a bit so I, being the brave adventurer and bard that I am, volunteered the peril.  As Bones from Star Trek III says, "I'll choose the danger!.. ...it's hell of a time to ask..."

  I almost quit because of this munchkin from Alabama.  He looks like a cross breed of Barney Rubble of The Flintstones and speaks like Boomhauer from King of the Hill.  Needless to say, he's annoying, and dumb.  He wrecks systems by deleting files he shouldn't and vexes the crew to no end with assured authority and self-righteousness.  His writing is the same as his speaking, with extra apostrophes and capitalizing letters at random.  He worked in the US Army for 20 years and has a vile record of insubordination, failure to complete basic tasks, and an overall pity-frack.  What gets me worst is he's a pathological liar as well, for no good reason.  He makes up everything he says, such as that he owns 5 bulldogs when he actually owns 3 pug half-breeds (not with bulldogs it turns out).  He doesn't remember his wedding of 3 years ago whatsoever, except that she was his high-school sweetheart.  Turns out this is not the case, he met her in Arizona about 6 years ago.  He's 45 years old, though he could have potentially graduated high-school at age 39 finally. 

  GB is known to "dip" which is illegal.  He sneaks it, then spits and misses the trash can, and gets the wall, floor, himself, others.  Gross.

He also claims to have several bachelor's degrees and worked in "Em Eye".  (MI) which turns out to be "Military Intelligence".  Brags heavily about it.  When questioned what the hell that meant, such as "Army Intel" I figured maybe it was a joint-service intel command of some kind, but no, just army personnel there, but that it was classified and he couldn't talk more about it.  Turns out he was a cable-monkey, with a spool of coax on his back and laid cable.. for 20 years.

  You ever meet these kind of folk?  Braggarts that have a failure in life kind of way about them?  Ugh.  So.. I've written a diary as an outlet.  I started it a few weeks ago so it'll give some fire to this blog.  There are no exaggerations here, just honest facts.  I'll keep his name as GB for now to make up some initials to protect the easily wounded.  I'll usually add a bit of information before the diary entry..

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 1

GB admitted this evening that he buys animals from the SPCA on 8^th St. and then systematically maims them by stomping on them until they can barely move, then throws them over the fence to some neighbor’s dogs.  That’s pretty much a felony charge count for each animal mutilation, and it officially makes him a psychopath, especially since he’s openly admitted to the crew he’s done this recently 3 times.  I’m not kidding.  I have witnesses.

  On the other hand, GB's a pathological liar, as he had admitted to me that he owns 5 bulldogs, but it turns out he actually has cross-bred hybrid-pugs.  He also admitted he has 5 bachelors degrees, so there’s that as well.  Still, this quite pushed my buttons for about a good 20 minutes that he a potential felon, though, in hindsight, I don’t think he has the guts.  Ah, fun.   GSE of the month!

 

 

 

 

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 2

 

Today, GB used his pocket knife he uses to cut food with to clean his fingernails, then surprisingly cut off a rather good set of chunks of his own skin off his dry, cracked hands for 30 minutes.  The collection of hard, dry, quarter-inch slices were then eaten and chewed.  After this was accomplished, he then wiped the blade on his dirty pants and refolded the blade.  All-in-all, an hour ordeal.  He then shit deeply and passionately into his pants and sought Funyuns. 

 

Longer still, a TT&C workstation’s display was acting-up.  Following a clean-up, he tried to adjust the screen’s resolution because its boarders were not “quite right” for 3 hours.  I’m sure there’ll be an epic log entry.   I will not adjust it for consideration of my colleagues.  I refused to help him except to suggest “xsetmon –display”, as he wouldn’t tell me what was going on, but he cut me off because he wanted to change the background screen default for the PSO console.  I suspect this will cause significant confusion in an NIO situation, but whatever.

 

I moved the trash/spit can next to him so I could hide in the corner and sit and monitor the system (and GB).  By doing this, he could not Brazilian-BBQ-style approach me at fast and furious speed or be in his typical, desperate pacing-path so he could not suddenly reach over me to do something he suddenly needed to get to as he often does.  I had placed it next to the edge-console.  He then fussed and moved it no less than 6 times in different locations and paced furiously, not knowing what to do and spat into it, missing repeatedly.  Another pants shatting occurred.

 

During a down-time (due to a “situation”) of a few hours he was typing an awful lot when nothing was happening the entire time, tarring and zipping files and moving them, I know not where or why, as no one asked him to do this.  It was not logged.  I’m certain he’s profoundly retarded and a specimen for consideration at the Smithsonian.

 

Mike, Master Bard

 

 

 

Out.