and therefor scaring away my beloved blog readers, I am about to post a not nice blog.
So, if you are looking to read about fluffy clouds, rainbows, puppies, or smiling babies, please take your blog reading elsewhere. Having said that, let us gleefully proceed into my rant, shall we? We Shall:
If it is your job to spend other people's money, then please, do your god damn job correctly. Truly, is it so hard for you to double check your calculator? Is that THAT difficult for you to say "I'm not competent enough to do this for you, please hold on, and I will get my manager." Really, you didn't even have to say please. "Let me get my manager," would be sufficient.
Instead, I am left speaking with what sounds like Napoleon Dynamite on the other end of the phone. He can't do his job for shit, but it's okay, because he's pretty good with a bo staff.
So, essentially...We. Are. Fucked.
We have an accepted contract that we don't have the means to back up.
Because some punk kid on the other end of the phone can't crunch the numbers. Even though that is his sole purpose in life.
Yes, totally and completely, 100%, most assuredly