June 30, 2010
Dishing on the Interview
What is it about interviews that make people use the word "dish" as a verb? Heather is the third person today to tell me to "dish" about the interview.
I wore all black. Like Johnny Cash. Or Kenny Rogers. Probably more like Kenny Rogers than I care to imagine. Hey, I don't own a navy blue suit, so I went with what I know.
Anyhoooooo...
Cast of Characters
(I should probably give these guys names, if there's a chance I'll be working with them from here on out..)
Steel: Named so because of his steel grey hair. I worked for him for several months last year. He is often described as "persnickety," but I liked working for him. Our respective obsessive-compulsive behaviors complimented each other quite nicely. He's even more organized and detail-oriented than I am, so there were never any surprises or last-minute assignments.
WM: Named so because those are his initials, and I like how those two letters look together. WM was brand new when I was working for Steel. I never reported to him directly, but my assessment of him is that he's calm, quietly in control, slow to anger, and very honest. He's the kind of guy you want on your team.
HRT2: H.R. Troll #2. Second in command in H.R. Hates whitey. Doesn't like to hire whitey. Likes to hire people of color who are in dire straights and desperately need the income. Makes for some questionable hiring practices and less-than-steller employees. She also has final say on all new hires, and does not possess the ability to mask her contempt.
In short, the interview would have been great if it'd been with just Steel and WM. As it was, I was more nervous than I've been in years. Singing and dancing like a spaz for an audience of 800? Walk in the park. My wedding vows? Piece of cake. (Get it?) Job interview with three people I've known for three years? GOD-AWFUL HORRIFYING!!!
There were some questions I answered quite well, and I remember thinking, Awwwwwww, yeah, that was exactly what they wanted to hear! But for the life of me, I can't remember what they were. I have a touch of stress-induced amnesia, like the day after finals.
It's funny. There were a few questions where I could tell that they were looking for a specific answer. Seven years of waiting tables made me pretty good at reading peoples' faces and tailoring my service to their expectations. So I'd just start talking until I saw someone perk up, and then I'd really hammer home whatever it was I said that got their attention.
But most of the time, I was just brutally honest because I didn't have the wherewithall to spin anything or remember one damn piece of good advice that anyone gave me. I think I may have admitted to having an inappropriate sense of humor sometimes, and not liking being on my feet all day, and blowing llamas.
Why is it so hard to sell ourselves and say complimentary things about ourselves?! Why can I type here with such conviction that I AM THE SHIZZLE, but I lose all confidence when it counts?! Well, at least I didn't mention the Barbies or the blog.
The hardest question was, "What are three words that describe you?"
Um... hungry, racist and sarcastic? Fat, horny and clairvoyant? Demanding, superficial and high-maintainence?
I ended up saying, "Organized, easy-going and... funny."
Yeah. I panicked. I should not have gone with funny. But that's what everyone always tells me! And SHE WROTE IT DOWN, for God's sake! Oh, and it gets better.
"What are three words that PhD Boss would use to describe you?"
Oh. My. God. He often tells me how much he appreciates me and respects me, but he's never actually used adjectives. Are they going to check my answers with him later?
"Wow. Um... hard-working, fast learner... and funny. We joke around a lot."
OHMYGOD! It's like I was TRYING to sabotage myself! Funny twice? Really? You think you're THAT funny, Wenchie? Jeebus. Get over yourself.
Last question: "And what are three words another colleague would use to describe you?"
At this point, I could only assume they were trying to get me to say funny again.
"Well, the person I work most closely with, after PhD, is Alpha. And I think she would say that I'm a good worker, nice to have around, and... helpful."
What about my Mom, HRT2? You wanna know what I think my Mom would say about me? HUH??? C'mon, bitch -- BRING IT.
Sometimes, they'd ask a question, and I'd have absolutely zero answer, or I'd forget the question halfway through my answer (happened twice), so I'd just pull a politician's move and start talking about whatever I wanted to talk about.
Then they hit me with, "Is there anything you feel we should have asked you and didn't?"
Oh, honey. It's time for mama to shine.
"I think you should have asked me about my personal code of work ethics."
"Okay, then! Go ahead!"
And that's when I finally got on the ball and started selling myself.
There's no such thing as It's not my job. Anything anyone asks me to do is my job.In the unlikely event that I run out of things to do, I will ask for more work.
There's no such thing as I don't know. It's I'm not sure, but I will find out for you.I keep my home life at home. I don't bring my problems to the office.
Unless I'm absolutely impossibly swamped, I will always help a colleague when asked.
I don't freak out under pressure.
I don't whine.
I make a point to be the kind of person that I would want to work with -- kind, helpful and professional.
It'll be two weeks before I know if I made "first cut." If so, there will be follow-up questions and/or some sort of task to complete... They're not really sure, at this point, what the rest of the process will look like. Fun, huh?
My tits looked great.
Posted at 08:08 AM | Comments (3)June 29, 2010
Updating the Loose Ends: Part I
And by "loose end," I don't mean Heather's butt.
Thanks, folks! I'm here all week! Two shows on Saturday!
(Heather, don't pout. You know I'd eat dinner off your ass, if you'd let me.)
Anyhoo, here's the low-down on what's abuzz at Wenchie's Workplace, but keep the low-down on the down-low, Internets. Yeah, I'm lookin' at you!
Following Barry's tactless instructions, I went on vacation and was merrily absent from work for three days. In that time, Head Boss handled Ol' Beady Eyes with great aplomb.
Barry's first and last mistake of the day was walking into Head Boss' office, tossing PhD Boss' expense report on the desk, and demanding, "What is it with this guy?"
A move made even stupider when you know how much higher up on the food chain Head Boss is than Barry.
Head Boss then carefully and condescending explained to Barry that he doesn't have time to comb through PhD's receipts and check for excessive tipping or five-dollar mystery charges. "How much money are we ultimately talking about here?"
"Thirteen dollars."
"I will tell PhD to be more careful in the future. And YOU," he tossed the paper back at Barry. "Process this as it is."
And the only thing more awesome that Head Boss' shutting down of Barry was how tickled he was when describing it to me upon my return. Hee!
The Invitation
Even though he's not at work, PhD still calls me at least twice a day. Mind you, 90% of the time, he has no actual information -- he's just calling to "check in" and see if I "need anything." Jeebus, if I didn't know better, I'd think he has a crush on me.
During one of these calls, he sprang this on me:
"So I was thinking. I should have you and Husband over for a BBQ or something sometime. It could be just the four of us -- you, me, Husband and Girlfriend. Cuz, you know, we're grown adults. I think we could do that."
I just... don't even know about the "grown adult" comment, nor do I care to speculate. It's just so... it's like he's an alien life form trying to learn how to be human.
While he was talking, my brain was screaming
DEAR GOD, NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!
But my mouth was saying, "Yeah, sure, that'd be great!"
Thank God I have a shred of self-preservation.
When I hung up, I immediately turned to Alpha, "PhD wants me and Husband to go to his house for a BBQ!"
She must have recognized the panic in my eyes, and she assured me, "Oh, don't worry. He invites everyone over to his house. But he always cancels at the last minute. One year, he called off our department Christmas party the day before!"
I hope she's right. I can imagine few things more awkward than BBQing with PhD.
Interview
If you happen to read this prior to 10:30 a.m. CDT today (Tuesday), please send good ju-ju my way. I am interviewing for another position in a different department. It's a department I have temped in three times before. Why three times? Because I won their hearts, and twice just wasn't enough!
What with all the down-sizing around here, the position I've applied for is actually a compilation of the three positions that I temped in! I KNOW! The job was MADE for me!
Frankly, I should just be able to walk in the building tomorrow, pack my desk, and take all my shit up one floor to my new job. And the people in that department have unanimously declared their desire to see me do just that!
However, there are pesky, bureaucratic hoops to jump through. And a very racist H.R. Troll #2 to get past. Sadly, despite Norwegians being constantly depicted as raping, pilliaging, horned-helmut-wearing barbarians, I'm not sufficiently downtrodden enough to be a minority.
Also? My skin's as white as Christmas snow. More also? The only words I can say in Spanish will either get me a beer or make you blush.
I was really freaking over this interview for a while, but now I feel like -- well, she's either decided to let them hire me, or to throw up every red-tape roadblock that she can think of. And whichever it is, it's already set in her mind. So why sweat it?
But that doesn't mean you shouldn't make with the ju-ju. After all, my employer is in the business of miracles, right?
Fingers and toes crossed, my flying monkeys...
Posted at 06:34 AM | Comments (1)June 20, 2010
Rage-Induced Black-Outs: Part II
Thursday, I experienced a rage-induced black-out at the hand's of our unit account. Every department at work has a specific liaison to the accounting department, and ours is Barry. Barry, with his close-set eyes and food-mooching ways. He's basically a ferret.
I say this having only known one actual ferret in my life. Billi's ferret. The one she had when she got her own apartment. The one she thought it was fun to let out of its cage when company was over. The one that wouldn't let me sit down.
Oh, you heard me. I'd sit on the couch, and that little fucker would climb up inside it, up through the cushions, and bite me on the ass. Every! Time!
It didn't bite anyone else one the ass. Just me. It didn't even bit me on any other body part. Just the ass. Clearly, Billi's ferret had some kind of weird fetish. It was a fetish ferret. (What a great band name!)
But when I wasn't sitting down, the ferret was sweet as could be. So I guess it's unfair to Billi's ass-munching ferret to compare it to Barry. Barry is never sweet. If there are ten ways to say something politely, and one way to say it condescendingly, he will find the latter.
Although, I don't believe he's evil at heart. I believe he was raised by wolves and has absolutely zero concept of human social interaction. But I think he'd be surprised to discover that everyone who works with him thinks he is a complete jerk. Not that ignorance of civility is an excuse, but it does make me think twice about deliberately making someone cry.
Anyhoo, part of my job is to do PhD Boss' company expense report. This means matching up receipts to his monthly statement, filling out a form, and designating each charge to the correct budget line. Mind you, there is no published set of directions for this task. There's never been any class or training. And it all has to be done manually, i.e. with paper and pen.
It's ridiculous. So it's no wonder that I always seem to screw up on some minuscule detail. And oh, what pleasure Barry derives from pointing out my mistakes!
He starts by coming over to my desk, plopping down the finished report (with all attached receipts and forms, signed by PhD and Head Boss), and saying, "Well, this was a nice effort, Wenchie."
See what I mean? Ten perfectly civil ways to say that, and he chooses the douche-y one. He then proceeded to take five minutes to explain to me that there was a five dollar charge on PhD's Hyatt bill without a receipt, and that he added a tip to a dinner receipt that'd already had gratuity added to it.
Yes. PhD is in trouble for being generous. And Head Boss is in trouble for allowing it. And I'm in trouble for... oh, I don't know. Not caring?
Barry: So Head Boss needs to see these things and decide what he wants to do about them, since he signed off on the report.
PW: Okay, well, he's coming in at 7:30 tomorrow. You can stop by in--
B: No. Here's what you're going to do.
>:O
WHAT DID HE JUST SAY TO ME?!?!
I have no idea what came after that because I was too busy restraining myself from going all Jerry Springer on his ass. I literally have no idea what he thought I was "going to do."
You see, no one talks to me that way. My parents don't; they never did. Husband certainly doesn't. Even PhD Boss has never told me what I'm going go do.
I've worked my ass off for every tiny crumb of respect I've ever gotten in the business world. And THE HELL I'm going to let some pissant fucking ferret talk to me like I'm some idiot, piece-of-shit rookie!!!
When I came to, Barry was gone, and I'm not even sure how I got home that evening.
When I told Head Boss about it the next morning, he rolled his eyes and said, "Well, I don't want to talk to him. I've already had to report him to H.R. several times."
Awesome. But I'm not letting H.R. do my dirty work for me. Clearly, a mere reporting has no effect on the guy. No, the next time he talks down to me, he's going to get a face-full of Wenchie's scariest speechifying. I put the Brutal in Brutal Honesty. Ferret is a dead man walkin'.
Should've asked me nicely.
Posted at 07:52 AM | Comments (3)June 18, 2010
Rage-Induced Black-Outs: Part I
Sometimes drunks experience black-outs. People can experience a memory black-out after a traumatic experience, which is basically their brain protecting them from memories of horrible, horrible shit.
Me? I experience black-outs when people are rude to me.
And I'm not talking cut-me-off-in-traffic rude, or check-out-girl-who-can't-be-bothered-to-acknowledge-my-presence-with-a-mono-syllabic-greeting rude. I'm talking about the kind of rude when something completely amazing comes out of someone's mouth, to my ears, directed at me personally.
But not like, "You're such a bitch," or, "You play with dolls?!?!." That kind of stuff just makes me laugh.
What really sets me off is when people -- mainly men -- utter thoughts so archaic that I'm left wondering if I'm allowed to vote in the next election, or if all that silliness was just a pleasant dream I had. And even worse -- the chauvenistic, misogynistic ideas that they utter are so ingrained into their psyche that they don't even know they've said anything offensive!
Example: Several times, at my current place of indentured servitude, when discussing "career moves" (i.e. job changes) with a male boss, I have been asked, "Have you talked to your husband about this?"
>:O
That is my Holy Fucking Shit, Did He Really Just Say That? face. This face is often accompanied by a numbness on the left side of my body, and the inability to hear anything else said for the duration of the conversation.
Translation: "Does your husband know you're doing this, and has he given you permission? Because God knows that no one with a uterus is qualified to make a decision about their own life! Why don't you go back to your knitting and your Sex in the City reruns and leave the heavy thinking to us men? Now here's fifty dollars -- go buy yourself something pretty."
I told Husband about this once, after about the third time it happened.
He was all, "Well, of course, they expect you to talk things over with me. I'm your husband. We make decisions together."
"Uh-uh. No. That was not the implication."
"How do you know?"
"In the four times that you've changed jobs since we've been married, has anyone ever asked YOU if you've talked things over with ME?"
*silence*
*nervous cough from an audience member*
"Exactly," I said.
"Well, Jen asked me."
"Of course, JEN asked you! She's a WOMAN! Only another WOMAN is going to give a moment's thought as to how starting your own company is going to affect your WIFE!!!"
And then the flames that were shooting out of my nostrils set the kitchen towel on fire, and we had to stop talking and extinguish the blaze.
I suppose it's only natural that a man would wonder if me taking on a few more responsibilities would really be worth the extra bushel of potatos I'd be bringing home, since it would obviously interfere with my ability to come home after an eight-hour day and cook and clean and care for the children and tend to the harvest.
Don't you worry, Mr. Man. I won't be coming home and plopping down on the couch and watching t.v. all night. I know there are clothes to be mended and pies to be baked! I know my place, don't you worry!
Asswipe.
Posted at 06:30 AM | Comments (1)June 16, 2010
Meet the Interns!
I think we could all use a little levity around here, after the last few posts, don't you? I know -- let's make fun of the company's summer interns! Yay!
H.R. did something new and cutesie this year. They made the interns write little autobiographical paragraghs, which were emailed to the entire company. Adorable!
[Padawan is going to kill me for making fun of the interns, as she loves them dearly. But you know, my department can't afford an intern, so mocking them is the only possible way I can benefit from their presence. Indulge me.]
Hello! My name is A.S. and I am a senior Political Science major with Peace Studies and Gender, Women and Sexuality Studies minors at Blah Blah College.
Wow. She sounds fun.
Hi! I'm C.P. a recent college graduate with elusive plans for the future; I plan to go where the wind takes me, pray for me! You'll most likely hear me before you see me and even when you're stand right next you might just miss me, I'm short! I can be found anywhere there is coffee. My family and friends mean the world to me only they know how crazy I can get. Home is nowhere yet everywhere; I'm a TCK (Third Culture Kid). I love talking so stop by for a chat!
Thanks for the warning! I'm not coming within twenty yards of this one. Even to correct her grammer.
E.A. - I have always wanted to move north and become a Chicagoan. I am excited to test the waters of living here while interning. I have always loved to write and tell stories, and that love led me to the Blah Blah School of Journalism where I spent the last four years learning about all the creative ways stories can be told. I also spent much of my time working with my campus ministry and service groups throughout Missouri on many different projects to try to make a difference in the community. My ultimate goal is to work for a nonprofit organization where I can use my journalism skills to publicize education and poverty issues. My hope is that working for the magazine this summer will be a perfect bridge to connect my past and future work and education.
Is it wrong to be annoyed by her sunshiney attitude? Is it also wrong to want to contribute to her delinquency? As God is my witness, before the summer is over, this girl will be puking in someone's bushes!
Hello, my name is J.S. I am a theater education major at Illinois State University, hoping to get a job at a High School teaching theater and running the Theater department. I am auditioning for the Acting program at Illinois State in the Fall and hope to find success on stage.
Then what the hell are you doing here? Must be some executive's nephew.
Hi everyone! My name is J.R. and I am extremely excited to be interning here this summer! I became especially interested in hunger and justice during my senior year at college after I took a really thought-provoking class about World Christianity. I really enjoy dancing, drinking tea, Twitter, and summer.
Another one to avoid. "Drinking tea, Twitter, and summer"??? Hmm. Seems we don't have much in common. Oh, wait, I'm interested in hunger, too! Specifically, curing mine with some Ho-Hos.
[Okay, Padawan, I've satiated my need to mock, and I dutifully await my punishment.]
Posted at 06:22 AM | Comments (2)June 14, 2010
The Selfish Thing, Revisited
Oh, my God, the insanity just doesn't STOP! PhD Boss is a complete piece of FILTH! Just wait until the end of this post, my darlings -- you will feel the same way. I hope you're sitting down because your blood pressure is in for a roller coaster ride.
We remember when PhD Boss did The Selfish Thing, in the absence of a department head, a support person, and any sign of brain activity from Head Boss, right? Well, not long after that incident...
HE DID IT AGAIN!!!
Holy shit, it's like he was hatched from an alien egg without a soul! How does this asshole look at himself in the mirror every day?!
Sorry. Deep breaths, Wenchie. You need to get to the meat of the story before the flying monkeys' eyes glaze over and they start wondering what to have for lunch.
Okay. After Head Boss, PhD Boss, and my predecessor -- I'll call her Eden -- all got settled into their new positions, Alpha was finally free to take some personal leave for continuing education. (This is not only tolerated where I work, it is encouraged.)
Now, she knew that, with all new staff, and other bureaucratic changes, there needed to be a restructuring of the department. Job descriptions needed to be revamped, but Alpha had already put off her continuing ed. for a year. So Head Boss assured her that they would all sit down and figure it out when she came back to work in three months, and Alpha went merrily on her way to better herself and become a more valuable employee.
Well, as you may imagine, she needn't have bothered. Head Boss broke it to her on her first day back.
"You're not going to like this. We reworked all the positions while you were on leave."
Does that not make your blood run cold? What does PhD have on Head Boss to keep bending him to his will?! Nude photos? Gay porn? Nude photos with Bea Arthur?
Turns out that, with the new job descriptions, Alpha got more responsibilities, but less authority. Her position was also downgraded one level, essentially from Junior Executive to Executive Administrative Assistant.
They didn't actually take any salary away from her (this time!!!), but being at a diminished level, it lowers the amount at which her salary will cap out. Wait, so, yeah -- I guess they did take money away from her. They just did it in the future.
Look! A white woman! Get her! Make sure she can't rise beyond glorified secretary on the corporate ladder!
Fuckers.
And Eden's job? Well, instead of being support person to PhD Boss, Alpha and Head Boss, she became PhD's support person. Soley. Which was obviously the entire point of the restructuring -- to make Alpha into Head Boss' support person, so PhD could have a secretary all to himself.
And that's the job that I stepped into. No wonder Eden got the hell outta there as quickly as she could.
*sigh*
It scares me, frankly, that PhD has been so (relatively) nice to me so far. I wonder when the other shoe will drop and I'll find a letter opener tucked between my vertabrae. I also wonder if it's already happened and I just haven't discovered it, yet.
And it's funny that I use the word "nice" because I don't really mean thoughtful or kind, I just mean "nice" in that he has refrained from royally fucking me over. He sure as hell ain't thoughtful.
Who got me a card and treats for my birthday? Alpha.
Who gave me a card with some cash tucked into it for Christmas? Head Boss.
Who took me out to lunch on Administrative Professionals' Day? Head Boss. After I reminded him.
Who took me out to lunch on my one year anniversary in this shitty job? Alpha.
Who brings in fresh baked goodies once a month? Me!
Who doesn't know that my opinion of him has done a complete one-eighty and that he will soon be facing both his own comeuppance and an empty support staff cubicle?
Pee. Aich. Dee. Boss.
Posted at 06:26 AM | Comments (1)June 11, 2010
Not Crystal Clear, but Definitely Less Muddy
Wow. The Universe/God/Fate/Karma really has a knack for bringing things into sharp focus, just when you need it. And in ways that are completely unexpected.
If I were a full-on Christian who has accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior -- and not the habit-Christian who has less of a belief system and more of a bunch of theories that are in a constant state of flux -- I might say that... God was working through Alpha to bring me some clarity...
I don't think she meant to tell me what she told me, as it kind of reflects badly upon Head Boss, and she is SOOOOOO mother-hen-protective of Head Boss. But we were out to lunch on a beautiful day, when no one wants to be at work, and tongues were wagging, and in such cases, people often... over-divulge.
Here's what she told me.
About four years ago, my predecessor hadn't yet started, her predecessor Zoe had just left, PhD Boss was brand new, Alpha had been there for ten years, Head Boss hadn't yet started, and his predecessor was slowly dying of cancer. Got all that? Go ahead and re-read, if you need to. No one will know.
With no support person and no department head, the burden of keeping the unit functioning lay squarely on PhD and Alpha. For six months, they ran the show, until Head Boss came on board. One of his first priorities was to become familiar with the budget.
In going over the numbers with Alpha, Head Boss learned that money had been budgeted to give Zoe a raise. Zoe was no longer there, but the money still was. So Head Boss asked Alpha what she thought they should do with it.
And this is where character comes into play.
Did Alpha say, "Oh, give it to me because I'm a single mom who has never received a penny of child support from my deadbeat ex, and I'm trying to put my daughter through college"?
No. No, she did not.
She said, "PhD and I have been working really hard picking up the slack these past six months. I think you should split the money between us."
And Head Boss thought that was a good idea. Until he shared the idea with PhD. And somehow, when Head Boss came away from that conversation with PhD, he thought that giving all the money to PhD was a better idea.
I'll just let that sink in for a moment.
Later, when Alpha didn't see a change in her paycheck and asked Head Boss about it, he told her that PhD had convinced him that he "really needed it." Yeah, you heard that right -- a PhD pulling down PhD-pay with a wife who was also working, and no kids, apparently "needed it" more than single mom Alpha.
First of all, one of my HUGEHUGEHUGEST contentions with businesses is that they tend to give people money based on need, or even worse -- perceived need. (I.e. Wenchie lives in an affluent suburb and therefore doesn't need to make any more money.) Whereas pay should be based solely on what people deserve through their hard work, or lack of it.
But in this case, the need issue is dwarfed by the fact that PhD Boss essentially STOLE ALPHA'S MONEY RIGHT OUT FROM UNDER HER. Head Boss had already agreed to splitting the extra raise money. It was intended for her. And then PhD somehow manipulated Head Boss into going back on what he had told Alpha he would do.
HOLY FUCKING SHIT.
I'm having heart palpitations just thinking about it. People, you don't fuck with another person's money! It's one of the most basic rules of decency! You don't wipe your boogers on someone's jacket; you don't eat from a stranger's plate in a restaurant; and you DON'T FUCK with someone else's MONEY.
I am so sickened by this. PhD had a choice: to do The Right Thing -- which would have entailed, essentially, doing NOTHING and just letting Head Boss' decision stand -- or doing The Selfish Thing. And he chose The Selfish Thing. He went out of his way and put effort into doing The Selfish Thing.
What does that say about his character, especially when compared to Alpha's character? PhD didn't know about the extra money when Head Boss talked with Alpha about it. Alpha could have convinced the apparently-easily-swayed Head Boss to give it all to her, and PhD would have been none the wiser. But she didn't. She did what was Fair and Just.
Good God, how does that woman come to work every day and not spit in their coffee?
When confronted with Alpha's "How could you do that to me?" Head Boss admitted that he regretted it. ... But he didn't change it. Doesn't speak very well to his character, but at least he has the decency to feel bad. I doubt PhD even thinks he did anything wrong.
I am so, so thankful that Alpha waited until a year after my start with this department to tell me about this incident. PhD Boss is on a three-month personal leave right now, praise God. Because if I had to come into work and see his face every day, I don't think I could be civil to him. He is everything that's wrong with corporate gender politics, and I no longer have an ounce of respect for him.
And THAT, my friends, is what gives me such a sense of clarity regarding my employment options.
I really hope that my current contract isn't renewed. And I certainly am never going to work for PhD in his new venture because I know that I am just a tool for his use, and he will never, EVER do what's right by me. And if I do end up getting one of the two possible other positions in the company, I will give PhD Boss my resignation with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.
So thank you, Alpha, for making my choices a little bit clearer.
Posted at 08:13 AM | Comments (2)June 09, 2010
No Really, I Really Am an Idiot
I know I have expounded on my own idiocy before, but I reeeeeeeally stepped in it this time. I'm sick to my stomach just thinking about it.
Soon after getting into work this morning, my phone rang, and it was H.R. Troll #2 (HRT2). She asked if I could come to her office for a minute.
Immediately, my blood pressure rose, and I popped up to whimper fearfully to the woman in the cube next to me, "HRT2 wants to see me in her office! She's gonna tell me I have no chance of getting the job!"
"Calm down. She's just going to ask you if PhD Boss and Head Boss know you applied, so she knows if she needs to be secret or not."
Well, she's applied to, like, five other positions in the past year, so I figure she must know the routine. (Oh, she's a white woman in her 50s. Why do you ask?)
So I went over to HRT2's office, and she handed me my application form. The one I had filled out two weeks prior.
Backstory on the application form: After spending an entire weekend having everyone I know check my resume and cover letter for mistakes and awesomeness, those two documents could single-handedly get me elected Benevolent Dictator for Life. After turning them in to H.R., I was informed that I also had to fill out an application form. Like I wanted to flip burgers or something. And it was basically asking for all the information that was ON MY RESUME, but I had to fill it out anyway. So I did. Quickly.
Anyhoo, we then had this conversation:
HRT2: Tell me what's wrong on your application.
PW: Um... [searching] Hmm... [panicking] Should I not have put my home email?
HRT2: The UNIT!
And there it was. Instead of putting the name of the unit that I was applying to, I put the name of the unit I'm currently in.
Big fucking faux pas, right? Jeez, it's not like I put Security or Accounting or something equally unlikely. I was filling it out quickly and misunderstood it. The resume and the cover letter is what you should be scrutinizing, bitch! Who cares about some redundant, bureaucratic form?!
Oh, but it wasn't about the form, was it, my friends? No. It was about subtley letting me know that I am not the person for this job, as far as she's concerned.
In fact, she actually said to me, "You know, they're going to be looking for someone who's on top of things."
And I was so flustered and angry with myself for giving that bitch such an OPENING, that I didn't come back with what I should have said -- "Yeah, well, I think the time I spent with them convinced them that I'm pretty on top of things, which is why they asked me back. Twice."
But we never think of these comebacks when we need them, do we, my darlings? No. We do not. I'm just not quick on my feet when I'm so emotionally invested in something.
So I changed the application and returned it to her. She acted like she had done me some huge favor, even telling me that I now owe her one. Riiiiiiiiight. As far as karma goes, that hag owes me a unicorn with a rainbow mane and butterscotch-scented manure.
I am feeling so completely defeated. I just handed it to her. I handed her a heaping helping of my own stupidity on a silver platter. And then she carried the stack of applications up to the department I covet. It was a pretty thick stack.
Posted at 06:30 AM | Comments (2)June 07, 2010
Options, In No Particular Order
For the past few weeks, I've been struggling. Struggling to sleep, struggling to focus on the task at hand, struggling with too many choices. Employment choices, to be exact. The next few weeks to months will mean changes in how I make money, if I make any.
There are so many ways this all could play out, it's overwhelming, but I can't tolerate the thought of just letting it all work itself out. I want to be in charge of my own life, but there are so many decisions that fall to other people. The control freak in me is slamming her head against the wall.
[I trust that the handfull of people whom I work with and who read this blog will keep my secrets.]
Option #1: My Current Job
My contract ends August 31, less than three months away, and it's unclear whether or not it will be renewed. I know Head Boss wants to keep me, as do PhD Boss and Alpha (the Sr. Admin.), but I'm sure that the trolls in H.R. have other ideas. Since I am neither a Person of Color, nor a Youth, nor a member of the Boys Club, I am pretty much a leper.
Option #2: The Recently Applied For Position (RAFP)
I recently applied for another position in the company I'm with now. Higher level, better pay, and PERMANANT. The job is made for me, really. Because of downsizing, it's a combination of three positions, all of which I've actually done before, in my intra-company travels as a temp. I'm currently waiting for an initial interview.
However -- and there's always a however with these people -- as much as the people I'd be working for/with would LOVELOVELOVE to see me get the RAFP, I know that, as a 40 year old white woman, I am basically invisible to H.R., specifically in terms of any promotion. Also? If I do get the RAFP, I will be offered crap pay, for the usual reasons -- skin color, gender, age.
(My working title for this post was "Why Being a 40-Year Old White Woman Is the Kiss of Death.")
Option #3: Possible Other Position (POP)
There is a possible second job within the company, the one that will be vacated when JB skips town. However, that department is currently undergoing yet another "re-structuring" (i.e. scramble to make sure all responsibilities are covered despite the hemorraging of employees). I have been approached by JB's boss, whom I've temped for, and sure, I'd be interested! ... If everything else falls through. See, there probably won't be a pay increase, and it may even be just parttime. Which is better than NO time, obviously, so I will keep this iron in the fire.
Option #4: The New Venture
This option is highly-classified-top-secret, so of COURSE I'm blogging about it on the worldwide internets. PhD Boss may be leaving to start a new venture, which isn't exactly illegal, so I don't know why it's a big, hairy secret. It's a pretty exciting venture, and he wants me in on it, as their support person. Seven to ten hours a week, at first, working up to fulltime within a year to eighteen months. There's just so much unknown and so much to finesse with this one. It's a huge honor, considering the brilliant people I'd be working for/with, but right now, it's just a giant question mark.
Option #5: Unemployment
This isn't much of an option, although it may be an unavoidable eventuality. It is quite possible that options one through four all fall through. And then I'll be stuck begging for odd jobs and going on *gulp* INTERVIEWS. Have I mentioned that I've never, ever interviewed? Yeah. My jobs have always just falled into my lap. I have no idea how to interview, and I can't help but feel that relying on my quick wit and charm is a really bad idea.
Option #6: Ridiculous Idea
I've often wondered if people would PAY me to run their errands for them...
June 03, 2010
On the Seventh Day, God Created Barbie
Hey, look! It's me and Heather being sacreligious!
Some more.
PW: If I get this other position, I will be a permanant employee and have my own desk, so I can bring a Barbie to keep me company
PW: I'm going to see if I can devise a Pastor Barbie
H: I'm sure she has a cool Nehru jacket.
PW: in a black shirt with a white collar, knee-length skirt and sensible shoes
H: sensible shoes with a heel, I hope.
PW: yes
PW: or clogs because, well, we ARE Protestants
H:
PW: and she'll have to have short hair
H: at least give her a bun?
PW: how 'bout a pony tail?
PW: low on the head, not like the original Barbies
H: pony tails are pretty chaste, yes.
H: unless they're handles.
PW: unless I do Naughty Pastor Barbie
PW: or I could put her in a pastor shirt, and then a mini skirt and stilletto boots
PW: ha! and a cute purse
H: with a pink sparkle bible.
PW: YES!!!!!!!!!!!
PW: omg, I'm peeing!
PW: check out the Archbishop of Canterbury
PW: I think he's kind of adorable, in a Santa-gone-horribly-awry kind of way
PW: if I could get a Barbie-sized robe like that, I'd sleep with whoever made it
H: DO IT.
PW: actually...
PW: looking at it...
PW: I'll bet Joe could throw it together pretty easily. minus the embroidery on the front, of course.
PW: Archbishop Barbie. i will fucking DIE
H: I will chip in for beading.
PW: hee!
PW: it's not the cost of the beading, it's the TIME
PW: but if I just do the gold and white robes, it will be more than obvious she's an archbishop
PW: OMFG
PW: I'm so excited!
H: squee!
PW: people know what the archbishop of canterbury looks like right? he's famous?
H: um...
PW: I wonder if I have a huge-ass cross
H: lookin the vibrator drawer...
H: I was trying somehting new for halloween, a sort of exorcist thing.
PW: no, I mean a Barbie-huge cross
H: I love you.
PW: and I love you
PW: Episcopal Priest Barbie
H: Awesome!
H: left behind couture
I miss the days of having a Barbie on my desk. I really do.
I remember how it started off as people thinking I was a victim of Fetal Alcohol Poisoning, but then they forgot their preconceptions of Barbie (and doll collectors) and actually started looking forward to seeing a new Barbie every week. She stopped being some weird toy and became a conversation piece. A rare change of scenery in a hive of beige cubicles. A breath of plastic-scented air, if you will.
Do I dare become that person again? Do I have to emotional strength to start all over, to bear the scorn and derision? If so, which Barbie should be the first?
Posted at 08:04 AM | Comments (3)