The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 7

 

Bath time for GB, stinky boy!  Why do you smell like you shat on your hands?

 

  GB came in quite late (near exactly top of the hour).  Most jobs would fire you in an instant, but I guess he's kept as a sort of an experiment.  Even his changeover was getting antsy.  GB shows up in a huff and he immediately and unusually went to the alcohol-based hand-sanitizer and seemingly gave himself a bath!  He ignored us and bee-lined right to the Purell.  He started with his hands and used most of the alcohol-rich container, wiping his arms, face, breast, chest, and neck.  At first, I thought cleaning one's hands immediately after arriving without even sitting down or taking-in a changeover briefing was unusual.  This ablution was apparently paramount!  Zenith importance!  I can only wonder why.  I suspect he neglected to shower that morning, as is custom from what his old counterpart, GG, who'd carpool with him explained.  He often woke up woefully late.  It seems he neglected Life again here.

 

 

  GG would carpool with GB in GG's Mercedes.  GB would demand they stop at McDonald's to GG's horror, as it's a rather clean car.  GB would then order a non-menu item, a ham & cheese biscuit.  McDonald's really doesn't have that item and we all know that if you order off-menu things get sticky real fast.  GB also can barely speak English because he's from Alabama and is apparently 11 tenths mongoloid.  GG explained most of the time they didn't understand GB and they'd have to go inside where GB would throw a fit and sometimes get what he wanted, though most of the time not.  It's amusing to think that GG wouldn't order the item for him as he was more eloquent though with a thick Pilipino accent would have made some sort of sense.  If McDonald's denied him, they'd rush over to 7-11 where GB would buy every "taquito" they had on the roller.  I can just imagine two eyes and fingers barely reaching up to look at the rolling taquitos (as GB is 4 foot negative 4). 

 

Not sure why GB doesn't die of scurvy.

  GB would gobble 6 or 23 in GG's Mercedes and a Omni Big Gulp soda that would splash around like a watersports porn video.  GB would then eat the other 98 of them at work, along with what meager breakfast his wife made for him (as he's on a diet) and then order from the chow hall as well, and in-between an entire box of candy-bars.  This is no exaggeration.  He buys from the snack fund an entire 36 candy-bars, offers a few to the crew on-duty, which decline as it's usually around 6am, and then he eats the box's worth but hides the fact he's doing it, waiting strategically for someone to not see him do it.  Sometimes he walks into another room, pockets filled with candy, returning with wrappers he carefully discards in the trash.  Apparently he explained earlier-on when his wife's in the shower he'll run off to 7-11 (not taking the car as the engine heat would arise suspicion) and buy dozens and hide them, giving some to his 4 year old son, telling him, "You know what to do, son!"  The boy knows and runs with a fistful of candy-bars and eats them shirtless in a closet in the dark.  He's teaching his son to do this.  Both should be put to sleep now.  Seriously. 

 

 

 

  He also mentioned he gets sick because his son catches the flu from daycare understandably, but that his son climbs his leg, up his back, and licks his neck.  What the?  Yep.  In normal practice, it's a right-of-passage for a son to climb up a standing father and lick his neck.  A ballad in C-minor with a bluegrass feel:

 

Neck!

Come-on, son, just lick that neck! 

Heck of a neck, don't miss a speck! 

Come-on, son, don't give a heck,

 Jus' rise on up and lick that neck! 

 

Put down that dumb old playing card deck,

Jus' come-on, son and lick that neck! 

Heck of a neck!  Don't miss a speck! 

Don't jump off and try to eject,

just climb-on up and lick that neck! 

 

Neck a neck a neck a neck!

Lick a neck a neck a heck!

 

Just like a chick that might go peck

Or a tired ol' dog that's a living wreck,

Jus' come-up son and lick that neck! 

Don't say "yeck" just lick that neck! 

Lick that, lick that, good ol' NECK!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Yeah.  That's my life, kids.  Yep.

 

 

 

  Today was Clappy Hands day it seems.  Today, he clapped his hands continuously for over 30 seconds repeatedly.  By saying "repeatedly" I mean to explain that these very loud, 30-second bouts happened over 38 times today.  The clapping was usually quite disturbing against the quiet of the room, frightening everyone with the unexpected and unwarranted unnecessary suddenness of it.  A slow, loud clapping, just out of nowhere.  I asked him why he was applauding himself, that he didn't do anything successful.  This seemed to bother him and he mumbled angrily to himself, though the noted observation did not prevent him from continuing all day.

 

 

 

  It must be said, if it hasn't before, that he sleeps quite a bit for 30 minute stretches.  It's rather peaceful during that time.  He's not exploding like a Chinese firecracker factory, and files are safe from his unending moving and tarring for no reason but his own sense of computer justice, though some snoring he accomplishes is equally as loud as when he's awake and just "breathing".

 

 

 

  I hide in the corner now.  I don't bother with attempting to answer the phone as he just bounds over me like an ape and answers it out of my hands or pushes me aside to get to the console I'm at.  I notice he never has any monitoring screens up so he has zero situational awareness.  Often, he'll tilt his head like a dog to some alarm on the main screen, then delete it.  He has no idea what he's doing.  People ask why I'm in the corner, I explain if I put my back to the wall, GB doesn't need to bound through me and past me to get something right behind me, and I'm safe.  Still, GB will rush over to right next to me to get or do something, often to simply stop, look at the wall, nod, then about-face and run back to his seat.  There's no escaping his Tourette's-based nervousness like some Brazilian Steakhouse server with skewers of death.   He'll often try to sit in a seat but his head will "twitch" and sometimes he'll shake it like a dog all cartoon-like, though nothing's happened, though he acts as if he's recovering from a cartoon mallet-strike.

 

 

GB at rest is distracting.

  It is also of note that he'll open-mouth cough on the computer screen, throwing chunks of food and chew-tobacco (an illegal substance indoors if used on this base) in a "hack" spat.  No effort is made to stop his incessant eating-cough.  He's always eating candy bars or crackers or something.  He peeled an apple's skin with his toenail-knife today.  Filthy and vile.  Toe apple scum?  What a treat son!  What a treat!

 

 

 

Out.

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Days 5 & 6

As spoken from Dante's Inferno: "It's him!"  GB.

I'm putting names of individuals as random initials to not "call anyone out", just in case someone's pee-pee starts a' achin'.  Don't want no "pee pees" a' achin' if ya know what ah' mean.  Ahem.

GB on a job interview as he performed in an out-of-package Arrow shirt in 2011, creases still in-place, unwashed.  Needless to say, he didn't get the position for Lead-GSE.. twice.

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 5 (continued)

It must be said, as it hasn’t before, that GB takes a nap from 2 to about 4am, feet on the table hard, slammed without any reverence, and snores.  GB snores loudly, both awake and asleep.  This is a common occurrence, and usually after a fine meal his wife prepares for him that he dissects.  He dumps-out portions he doesn’t like and substitutes them for candy-bars and/or various bags of chips.  In the course of an evening he might eat $20 worth of sodas, chips, and candy-bars, though it’s hard to determine as he sneaks them in the sense that he hides the fact he’s eating quite carefully.  He often drops these things on the floor and eats them regardless.

GB at work at 2pm.

She may condemn you as a "Chicken Fracker"

  GB also talks to himself; not the typical, “Now let’s see here..” kind of thing, but more of complete paragraphs and deep-rooted conversations laced with opinions.  Catching only portions such as, “The basketball needs to ketchups (then quietly whispered even more-so, repeated)” can be confusing to an on-listener, especially when neither ketchup nor a basketball is on the TV or anywhere else in any way.  These mutterings go on for hours.  More concerning is the explosive onomatopoeia of sighs and claps and whistles, obviously derived from chewing paint as a child (or now) and is an honest and obvious sign of Tourette Syndrome.  He continuously paces into things and people quickly and alarmingly, usually stopping suddenly inches away, pretends to consider something, then about-faces and marches off.  It’s quite worrisome.  No matter where I sit myself he’ll suddenly and unexpectedly run towards me, consider something over me or around me and suddenly need to get that item for no reason.  It's quite disorienting, as it happens nearly constantly.  During his "considering" he turns his head to one side, nods to himself, mumbles an odd agreement with himself, and quickly about-faces and marches slowly off, satisfied.  Imagine you attacked every 15 minutes this way!  I usually try to find the safest corner and hide there, but somehow, though nothing is near or around me, he'll charge it like a pack of wild puppies on cocaine and PCP.

 

 

 

  Today, we were told to leave the HTC alone but he performed a software stop on it, then called FEJ afterwards despite my recommending him not to (which he agreed with until I went to get a water at HW).  He closed the tunnels as well.  I asked if he had un-remoted the workstations and he said he had, but when I checked an hour later, I noticed he had not.  I’ll let him drown on that one.  Liar!

 

Busted!

 

  Another instance was that he said he had already 33 hours of special, uncompensated comp-time donated to the company.  This is a required and illegal practice that the company I work for is doing to make them look better.  If the State Department found out about these "donated hours" a massive law-suit would occur.  I'm not a "whistle blower" so a week's pay as "sacrifice" or "thanks" doesn't bother me too much.  It's "encouraged" to give a week's worth of uncompensated pay in the form of "sick days" you might possibly take (but never can).  During my midterm feedback with The Boss, I was praised of my donation of hours, but I mentioned my goals listed were to be 10% higher a donation than any other (company not listed here) person and that GB had 33 when I only had 26 and I needed to get to 36 or so.  The Boss looked oddly at me and said he has donated no hours yet.  Another GB lie.  In the last 5 days I’ve caught him in quite a few and is completely unreliable.  I've known him to lie over the years dozens of times, usually for no reason.  He's a psychopath, and it's frustrating communicating with him, because I can't understand him speaking and when I do, he lies, so I just shut my pie-hole and sit in a corner and watch him destroy things.

 

Happily telling lies since 2011.

 

  His console went out again (likely due to his damaging as any random one I sit as remains fine for months) and Thomas helped him bring it back with a reeeeEEEE-BOOOT! (He happily says it this way like he won the lottery, all lotteries, and types it like this too, though a few more capital Qs and capital 3s in the text normally, as he feels that's necessary, oh, and an apostrophe percent symbol, for whatever that means, perhaps an abstract, Picaso'ed l33t?). Not sure what’s going on there.  So much typing from him, mostly tarring it seems, and moving files on odd servers for what reason I have no idea.  I changed my colors of my mission servers program to only turn yellow around 95% full, and red at 98% full so people will stop over-reacting to colors.  I turned off my 3^rd console while I ate a Caesar Salad and sat there near the CKNet machine and he quite fussed, thinking it was broken.  I told him I just turned off the screen but he paced and worried.  I’ve walked away from it now to type this.  I suspect he’ll turn them back on for no reason.

 

 

 

  DY the Undead Zombie (tm) who has one foot in the grave and can see the twilight monsters in the Astral Plane such as basilisk and Djin notified us beds-srv1 had some 48 zombies present; an easy fix but GB worked on that for 30 minutes.  Of course DY can see them, his children, who haunt the servers and the twilight world alike, moaning the need for brains, the hunger.  Oh the hunger.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 6

 

 

 

CB sent me an email GB had sent, stating, "When are you coming back to crew?  Holy Crap!"  Interesting GB doesn't like working with me as I don't interact with him much, I just try to stay out of his way.  Today, he consistently marched around and gave his piano-lifting-across-the-room "WHEW!" when nothing occurred.  This happens every 15 minutes or so, often more frequent, like waves of an autistic ocean.  Sometimes he'd quickly shake his head as if bonked by a cartoon mallet by Acme.  He'd suddenly have "something" to do on the other side of the room, look at something at random, nod approvingly, and run back to another chair.  He did this for hours. 

 

Heavy panting...

 

He grabbed a Welch's Grape Juice and drank half and used the other half as a "spit can" for his illegal chew tobacco (which he dropped and messed over the floor twice).  He later drank from it a few times which confused me.

 

Where my drool-cup?  I gots chew!  Answer: floor.

It is to be noted he uses ALL the Kleenexes offered by the faculty every day, for drool.  When all consumed, he uses people.

 

Lots of heavy sighing today and one time he started applauding slowly and very loudly for 30 seconds when I interrupted him, "GB, why are you applauding yourself?"  He spoke in what appeared to sound like a backwards Led Zeppelin album which made no sense.

We had a TTC swap today for a test which he logged (I allow him to log for amusement's sake) and then (classified agency) called asking about data which he then took 2 hours trying to figure out and said everything was fine. 

 

Additional and Other data was out and he needed 2 checklists to drop and re-open those which took an hour.  He's profoundly retarded. 

 

 

 

In the bathroom, some (customers) were worried his ass blew up in stall 3, literally bursting open and destroying the stall entirely.  The door hung from a sole hinge.  They were more concerned he didn't wash his shit-hands and dove into some leftover pizza.  No one touched it as they looked in horror.  A few wept.

 

 

GB discovering toy.

 

It must be noted that GB likes to SMASH the keyboards haphazardly, as if they're an old hammer-strike keyboard that requires strong key-pressing to get through several layers of carbon-paper back in the 1940s.  There's no need for this and he destroys keyboards often, letters on square plastic hailing the room's occupants.  Who knows what survives the random key-rapings?  Here's a video of him at home typing on the computer his wife gave him, or that she told him it was a computer.  He's happy regardless..

 

GB at the "computer keyboard"...

 

 God save me...

 

 

 

Out.

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Days 3 - 5

A little more on GB.  He's about 4' 5" tall and loves to make squirrel and other odd sounds like a dolphin, and will repeatedly smack his head like a orangutan in heat.  It seems painful, but I suspect a part of his apparent Tourette's Syndrome that wears thin after a few seconds.  He also uses the delicate keyboard like a bongo drum in the Congo, often destroying it utterly as keys go flying elsewhere.  Not for the faint of heart or mothers expecting.

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 3

I seem to have lost Day 3 somewhere, perhaps in time and space?  I'm sure it'll come up like someday The Travelling Wilburys Volume 2 might, or Cygnus X-1: Book III.

Here's how it sort of turned-out though... (note the banjos)..

                                                                                    

This is how the day sort of went by my best approximation above

 

Raaaaarrrrlllll!!!!!!

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 4

  At first, I lamented that GB wasn’t going to do anything abnormal, so I asked him if at home he owned a piano.  Sadly, he did not.  He worked on trying to fix the graphics on his console as he immediately broke it upon login for 3 hours, resulting in a REEEEEE-boot (which did not work).  Eventually, HW used the GSE GIF to adjust the graphics to my delight.

 

Inside the mind of GB is.. this.. (above).. all the time.

 

 

Suddenly, behind me (GB loves to go where there’s people with such need and immediacy) his Tupperware’d lunch exploded all over the GSE area, upward and out, on all furniture, walls, chairs, ghosts.  I was spared the onslaught through sheer luck.  Beans, broccoli, and other unknown gray matter he later indicated was “veal” but I suspect was “possum” splattered everywhere like some Picasso failed cubist project.  A good portion got in his hair, behind his ears, and down his shirt and pants.  He sat in it and sighed, perhaps not without pleasure?  I fetched some paper towels but I think he just gobbled the catastrophe off the floor like a retarded sow.  He sighed greatly and with gusto, “Heeehhhhhhh!”  My fear is this happened before midnight and the kidney beans and broccoli will produce profound farts within his gizzard on a mystic level like an elephant attacked by DigDug then released, or like the Saturn V project of the 1960’s.  I hope it can stay bottled-up by 5:30.  I pray.  Oh, I pray, Lord Jesus, lest he ass-blast Stall 3 to put Curtis to shame and we know the Book of Revelations and things to come, and a third of the oceans boil away, and a third of the land destroyed.

 

 

 

 

End of Day 4

 

 

 

The GB Diaries: Tales from the Dip: Day 5

I forgot to add that RS and myself were discussing what would happen if you put a low-quality whiskey in an oak cask and let it sit for 10 years, adding a bit of sugar and yeast to perhaps continue the fermentation process and improve the quality.  I had suspected the result would be a more "woody" flavored whiskey that might be a little stronger from the yeast eating the sugar, but GB piped-up, "If you do that you'll just end up with a cask of bread."  Rick and I looked at each other, confused for a bit.  I asked GB, "Is that how you make bread, GB?  Whiskey, sugar and yeast in an oak cask?"  He replied, "Yep!  In 10 years it turns into bread!"  "GB," I cautioned, "there's other ingredients to making bread."  He didn't believe me.  Apparently bread takes a long time to make I guess, and it's why it's so expensive these days.

The Wisdom of GB: Chapter 2, Verse 4 through 8, in Thy mercy.

 

Amen.