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So some of the stories from the "Just Stuff" thread dredged up my previous job situation, and I felt like I - and I'm sure many of you - could use a space to describe "That FUCKING PERSON" at work who just takes your last nerve out on the front lawn, douses it in kerosene, sets it on fire, and then says, "This shit is your fault". Because I feel if you haven't been there in the workplace, then you're either not eligible to work due to child labor laws, or you're dead inside. And even 11-year-olds probably know that fucking kid they hate working with. So, no names, no specifics that make it too specific - just let it out. I just finished up a Ph.D. in Biochemistry & Molecular Biology back in April, and my adviser, while a great guy, was one of those "nice to the point of a fault" types, and it meant he took on another student in Feb. 2016. And that student...he's This guy. This fucking guy I had to tolerate for a year and a half. This fucking guy Would. Not. Shut. Up. He would ask you a question about how something works, and when you try to explain it to him, he ignores the fact that he asked the damned question in the first place and just blathers on - talking directly over you each and every time - about his own ideas, because apparently he thought the phrase "thinking out loud" was a lifelong invitation, instead of a description. And then when you tell him something that needs fixing - usually some shit he's doing completely, demonstrably wrong - he would dismiss that because doing it correctly was too inconvenient. And there really is no such thing in wet bench science. The only shortcut to the job is accepting that there are no shortcuts, because it will stop you from being a lazy moron who screws things up for months or years. But not this fucking guy. This fucking guy couldn't tell the difference between an experiment that worked because of him versus one that worked in spite of him, and if there's ever the sort of person who shouldn't be a career researcher, it's exactly that person. I think the real shit-icing on the shit-cake that got baked in the turd oven for me was that, after I defended, I stayed on for a few more months to wrap up my last publication. We had a safety inspection during that time, and I had gotten on everyone's case in the lab repeatedly for throwing particular plastic items in the regular trash, because they were sharps hazards. And that was typically met with lazy bullshit like, "Oh, but the other labs do it all the time, so it must be OK." The inspector comes through, and this brain donor asks her, Brain Donor: "So should we dispose of these more carefully?" Her: "Yeah, better safe than sorry - they're a sharps hazard." (I'm making my shocked face.) Brain Donor: "Oh, OK. I asked because another student in the lab is really particular about this." Arrrrrrghrazafrazagghrh. The one solace I take away from it is knowing that everyone else from his class, to a person, cannot fucking stand him, either. And that, as with literally everything he does, he will be the last person in the room to catch on. I'm so happy I'm not there anymore. But, I would, if I believed in such things, still make a good-faith attempt to call down some lightning, or a passing meteor, or even a golf-ball-sized hailstorm in a very specific area to just...just do the world a damn favor. So, who's yours?