An Open Letter to Bob the Builder

Hey Bob,

Every time I see you, I see a patient, hard-working guy who means well, but is not, sadly, a manager. You've accomplished a lot in Sunflower Valley. But whenever you set out to do something, without fail, there is a workplace incident. Is it you, personally, dropping a load of bricks into the river? No. Tipping over some expensive tiles and turning them into dust? No. Trying to make the other equipment laugh, and in the process, destroying a job site? Of course not.

But, Bob, at a certain point the responsibility falls on your shoulders. Who foots the bill for all of this shit? Your "clients"? How are you still even in business? Fact is, you've hired and are loyal to a crew of complete fucking idiots. Sorry. It is true. They screw everything up, and of course it always gets resolved, but at a certain point it is less about their incompetence than it is about the judgement of the person responsible for hiring them. Understand? Time and again, you let these morons off the hook with a slap on the wrist and a tidy little "moral" and then they go out and do the same stuff again.

To me that is the sign of a terrible, terrible boss. Do you like spending your day explaining things again and again, or would you rather just hire some folks who can work independently? Now, I know it has to be surreal working with a bunch of machines that have faces and feelings and all that, but you know what might help? Take them in a little parade past the junk yard. Slow down and let them take a peek through the fence at all the wrecked cars, trucks, diggers, cement mixers, etc. If it doesn't sink in, then they and you are on your own.

Now I know you look over at the island of Sodor, and what Sir Topham Hatt and all of those trains have been doing for forever, or now Handy Friggin' Manny and his foolish box of tools with faces, and wonder: how am I different? You know what? You're not different. It is three nearly identical scenarios. It's boring. Your equipment, and those trains, and those tools NEVER learn anything. No retention of a word that you, as a boss, say. Ever. There is no chance of it. How do I know this? Because they KEEP DOING STUPID SHIT! It is a pattern. A sick, sick, sick pattern.

Children mature. Progress. And they leave you and your ilk behind. They leave you on the job site with a bucket of twisted screws all jumbled up in rapidly drying cement because Lofty was more interested in singing some creepy song. Good luck with that, Bob. Step up your game, and tell Wendy to get some new earrings, or better yet quit wearing them at all. They're gross.

Evidence