So my partner in crime Thirdgirl had this idea that I should write an LJ post while the day is spiraling down. Basically the shiny new job isn’t so shiny and my last day will be tomorrow. I’d leave today but I’ve been talked out of it. Bottom line is my boss doesn’t really know how to direct people and I’ve been lost for quite a while. Mistakes have been made due to all the poor direction I’m getting and now I’m persona non grata in the office. Everyone knows me and the boss are having issues (the tension really is kinda thick enough to cut). I tried sticking it out put honestly I should have jumped ship when I had the chance. But honestly, getting a job offer 24 hours after you left your last place really is a little too good to be true.
I really wanted to be canned today *pout* but the boss scheduled our meeting for tomorrow. It’s the waiting that’s getting on my nerves.
Anyway tomorrow me an Thirdgirl are having an “I got Canned” party, featuring the musical stylings of Daft Punk. You’ll all welcome to dance along at your computers! And Thursday is my birthday and mom has a day trip to Atlantic City planned. You’re all welcome to internet gamble at home in support of. Her idea is for me to gamble and win some money since I usually do pretty well on the slots. I am periodically changing what’s on my browser screen in an attempt to look busy. The only good thing that’s come out of this job is that paved a road for me to go to graduate school, which I will still be continuing after I leave. Because as I mentioned previously, I am well on my way to making grad school my bitch this semester and am loving every minute of it.
Thirdgirl also has the idea of meeting my boss in a parking lot with a barbed saddle and poison hay, and though right now I really want to humor her I just keep repeating to myself I AM A ZEN WATERFALL.
In fact, that has been my mantra throughout this whole experience. I have had some crazy bosses, including one who fell asleep mid-sentence in meetings but this just brings things to a whole new level. I need to pay more attention to omens of impending employee doom in the future. The good thing is my desk is already cleaned out so all I have to do is leave after my final stupid meeting.
I have 26 more minutes so I’m going to tell you all about the dream I had feature Mark McGrath in an apron. It wasn’t THAT kind of dream (you guys and you’re gutter minds). He’s in a apron in the kitchen at Thirdgirl’s place. He an thirdgirl are having an intense discussion about Russian literature while thirdgirl’d daughter sweet potato sits and the kitchen table coloring and signing made up songs. Periodically, Mark will take a break from cooking and discussing Russian lit. to harmonize with sweet potato. Does mark Mcgarth know anything about Russian literature? Or know how to cook for that matter? My weird dreams are the stuff of legend with my family.
15 minutes to go. I’ve been listening to my Ipod most of the day so I won’t have to deal with anyone. My game plan for tomorrow is to come in dressed up, hair done, nails did, make-up. Look your best when crazy people fire you, that’s what I say!
Wish me luck folks and again feel free to party along at home, the party playlist will be the daft punk discography and will feature the movie Interstellar 5555 (clips can be found on youtube.)
The masses looked on the brink of mutinous sleep when Jema entered the conference room. They had been lead to the room from different paths in the company to listen a pudgy, bespectacled man under the auspice of “Mandatory Training”
Jema sat at a table close to the door, setting down her scarf and mug onto its dull surface. She braced herself for the hours of monotony to come.
Many had cups brimming with dark, heady brews to aid them in staying awake and alert. It was early in the torture and the coffee along with the coolness of the room, worked their magic well. Jema wondered how long until those tools for alertness would fail them all.
The pudgy man, Richard, showed them slides with yellow bubbles and teal squares that held their information captive for all in the room to see. The more he talked, the more Richard warmed to his topic.
“At least someone is having a good time,” Jema thought, taking a sip from her mug. The bitterness of the coffee and the smoothness of the cocoa mixed in soothed her for a few moments. She should be paying attention, but meetings were the kryptonite. The longer she was exposed the weaker she became.
The tables broke into groups to do a training exercise and Jema liked her co-workers, of course, but the image of retreating to her comfortable cube to work in peace and quiet, wouldn’t leave her.
She just wanted to do her job, something that seemed like it was too much to ask for on some days.
“It’s going to be a long day,” Jema sighed and frowned at the slowly revealing bottom of her mug. It was time for a refill.
Monday: store-brought Cake
Tuesday: Amanda homade cake
Wednesday: Cake in the lobby
Thursday: Buffet spread courtesy of Baha Fresh
Friday: even more cake
There has been cake here everyday except Thursday. Is this a conspiracy to tempt me over to the cake side of the force?
Why is an Amanda cake worse? Because Amanda has solved the mystery of baking moist flavorful cakes and making frosting that is sweet but not too sweet. Today's cake is a chocolate bundt cake with a rich chocolate frosting poured over it that's like a thin layer of fudge. I'm eating my lunch and drinking my Chocolate soy milk and desperately trying not to cave and grab fist fulls of cake completely forgetting that I am after all a civilized human being an not just some mammal who happens to wear pants.
I work in a department with a number of people on weight watchers and though I know Amanda is one of the nicest people imaginable who happens to have a big sweet tooth and blessed with a metabolism most women would claw each others eyes out for, sometimes I wonder is she doesn't secretly get a kick at trying to lead weight watcher members astray.
This is the part where usually I would be kicking myself but I've decided to learn from the experience for next time. Shoreleave 30 is coming up in July (David Hewlett will be their *squee*) and having my own snacks will not only save me money but time as well. Who wants to spend time questing for food when I can be arms deep in boxes of fanzines trying to scope out a good price on that due south zine I've been salivating over.
I love the idea that since my job is a newly created position I get to make it what I think it should be. The editing elements of it have been going smoothly but the copyright issues I'm still feeling out. I also get to mail out cease & desist letters which a lot of my friends in fandom find hilarious. I keep getting "the enemy is among us" jokes, which is okay because even I can see the irony in it all.