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It seems that I have become the de facto go-to guy for cruel but fitting nicknames at work. So far, I have come up with two that have since stuck like epoxy cement to the people to whom I assigned them. Here they are, and here's why.
The Quality Assurance Hag
In addition the Quality Inspectors, who must fill out Quality Forms, perform Quality Audits, answer to Quality Supervisors, and about fifty other people with "Quality" in their titles (Quality, Quality, Quality), there are roaming Quality Assurance people. One of them, on my shift is a woman so relentlessly unpleasant and mean that should she happen to be in a good mood some night, it makes people nervous and they avoid her.
Even more so than usual.
They wonder why. They wonder what she's up to, and what she might have done to get herself into a good mood. The following comments are taken from actual break room conversations in which worried clots of workers gathered to discuss what diabolical reason there could have been for her pleasant demeanor some night.
"What, did she drown some kittens before coming into work tonight?"
"She killed Toto and has Dorothy held hostage."
"Surrender, Dorothy!"
And this one, which I offered up, caused a coworker to snort potato soup out of her nose:
"Why is she in such a good mood? Did her followers perform the ritual or something?"
This is one example of why she engenders such talk.
One night, after a phone call from home, she lit into a pregnant quality inspector and so upset her that, in tears, the QI quit on the spot and left the building. The Quality Assurance Hag, after telling the supervisor that she had a family emergency, followed her, got into her own car, and left also.
"She's probably going to try and run (QI) off the road," said a coworker to me.
But later, the Quality Assurance Hag returned.
"She must not have been able to find any virgins or little children to feed on, so she came back," I said to the coworker.
Everybody hates her, and having come up with this nickname for her, I'm proud to hear people using it behind her back.
Bitchtits
I work on a machine that welds strips of foam into cylinders. You take a long rectangle of foam, bend it into shape, put it in the machine, and a heated bar of metal welds the ends of the foam together. Last night, the machine wasn't heating evenly, so part of the seam on the cylinder popped open when I then placed the cylinder on a foam stretcher that gets it ready for use.
I reported the problem to a mold tech, who looked at a piece of foam and said it didn't look that bad to him. He told me to show it to the shift supervisor. Instead, I showed it to one of the Quality Assurance Ladies (not the Hag, because she's on vacation). She agreed with me that it wouldn't pass muster. I told the mold tech, and he snottily replied that he didn't know that the QA was in fact also the shift supervisor. Then he put on his cat's-ass face and tinkered with the machine for a while, stopping to bitch to another passing QA about how everyone in "this fucking plant" was just like me. It was too noisy to hear exactly what he meant by that.
But, in that remark, Bitchtits was born. By complaining about having to actually do his job, what he was in effect saying was this: "Here all this time you thought I was a bearded, burly mold tech when in fact I am an ill-tempered woman whose unpleasant disposition has been made all the more unpleasant by the onset of my menstrual cycle. Here, I am removing my shirt to show you the breasts that prove it."
Or, in other words, he showed his bitch tits. And Bitchtits he shall be from this day forward.
The Quality Assurance Hag
In addition the Quality Inspectors, who must fill out Quality Forms, perform Quality Audits, answer to Quality Supervisors, and about fifty other people with "Quality" in their titles (Quality, Quality, Quality), there are roaming Quality Assurance people. One of them, on my shift is a woman so relentlessly unpleasant and mean that should she happen to be in a good mood some night, it makes people nervous and they avoid her.
Even more so than usual.
They wonder why. They wonder what she's up to, and what she might have done to get herself into a good mood. The following comments are taken from actual break room conversations in which worried clots of workers gathered to discuss what diabolical reason there could have been for her pleasant demeanor some night.
"What, did she drown some kittens before coming into work tonight?"
"She killed Toto and has Dorothy held hostage."
"Surrender, Dorothy!"
And this one, which I offered up, caused a coworker to snort potato soup out of her nose:
"Why is she in such a good mood? Did her followers perform the ritual or something?"
This is one example of why she engenders such talk.
One night, after a phone call from home, she lit into a pregnant quality inspector and so upset her that, in tears, the QI quit on the spot and left the building. The Quality Assurance Hag, after telling the supervisor that she had a family emergency, followed her, got into her own car, and left also.
"She's probably going to try and run (QI) off the road," said a coworker to me.
But later, the Quality Assurance Hag returned.
"She must not have been able to find any virgins or little children to feed on, so she came back," I said to the coworker.
Everybody hates her, and having come up with this nickname for her, I'm proud to hear people using it behind her back.
Bitchtits
I work on a machine that welds strips of foam into cylinders. You take a long rectangle of foam, bend it into shape, put it in the machine, and a heated bar of metal welds the ends of the foam together. Last night, the machine wasn't heating evenly, so part of the seam on the cylinder popped open when I then placed the cylinder on a foam stretcher that gets it ready for use.
I reported the problem to a mold tech, who looked at a piece of foam and said it didn't look that bad to him. He told me to show it to the shift supervisor. Instead, I showed it to one of the Quality Assurance Ladies (not the Hag, because she's on vacation). She agreed with me that it wouldn't pass muster. I told the mold tech, and he snottily replied that he didn't know that the QA was in fact also the shift supervisor. Then he put on his cat's-ass face and tinkered with the machine for a while, stopping to bitch to another passing QA about how everyone in "this fucking plant" was just like me. It was too noisy to hear exactly what he meant by that.
But, in that remark, Bitchtits was born. By complaining about having to actually do his job, what he was in effect saying was this: "Here all this time you thought I was a bearded, burly mold tech when in fact I am an ill-tempered woman whose unpleasant disposition has been made all the more unpleasant by the onset of my menstrual cycle. Here, I am removing my shirt to show you the breasts that prove it."
Or, in other words, he showed his bitch tits. And Bitchtits he shall be from this day forward.
I almost violated rule #1 with that one!!! A few years ago I worked in a 3rd party vendor call center. The supervisor I had there, we called her mini me, which perfectly described her: short (she was around 4'9" to 4'11") and evil.
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