March 28, 2011

Bacteria Is Just the Frosting on the Birthday Cake

What the hell is wrong with you people? And by "you people," I mean Americans. Your work ethic is retarded.

You are such self-important martyrs that you go work all sick and germy and contagious, and you're like, "No... I'm okay... I just really have to... answer these emails."

And then you stay all damn day -- despite everyone, including your boss, telling you to go the hell home -- coughing on everything and touching common area surfaces with your bacteria-laden hands.

Memo to sickies: No one is impressed. No one thinks you are awesomely taking one for the team, or dedicated to the mission statement, or whatever it is you're trying to prove. Everyone is just looking at you sideways, thinking, If I get sick this week, I am going to piss in his coffee.

So, yeah, thanks Asshole Who Came Into Work Sick On Friday. And special thanks to Asshole's Asshole Boss Who Made Asshole Come Into Work Because He Had Ordered A Cake For Asshole's Birthday. I'm not even kidding.

I'm sick now, courtesy of The Asshole Duo. Started yesterday with a sore throat and general ennui. Woke up this morning fully congested and sporting a pair of swollen neck glands. My head hurts. My back hurts. My teeth hurt.

Not even two months into my new job, and I'm already having to take a sick day. Great. That'll make a fantastic impression. Also? I had better not be sick for more than two days because that's the amount of sick days I have available. Nevermind that, on January 15, I ended my other position with eight sick days still on the table. Those went away when I moved to a different position with a new contract. Thank you, workplace, for finding yet another way to screw me over!

I'm dead tired but afraid to lay down because I know my sinuses will slam shut the second I get horizontal. And then I'll have to breathe through my mouth and wake up with an even sorer throat and a mouth as dry as Bea Arthur's elbow skin.

So I'm staying home. I will keep my infectious fluids to myself and single-handedly attempt to break the cycle of arrogant martyrdom.

Bitch, whine, moan.

Posted at 09:39 AM | Comments (3)

March 17, 2011

Understanding the Organizational Food Chain

I'm just trying to do my job here, people. I'm just trying to get a room scheduled for my boss and Jeebus the other big-wigs around here to have an important two-day meeting in July. But the forces of Satan are interferring. Get thee behind me, Douchebag!

It started simply enough.

"Rosie, would you please reserve the first floor conference room for July 21 and 22, for the building executives?"

"I would love to, Wenchie, but Maria has it reserved for pilates class at noon on the 22nd."

"Okay, I'll ask Maria and get back to you."

Now, Rosie is just doing her job. When one party wants to usurp another from a conference room, it is up to the two parties involved to work it out. And normally, I don't engage in that sort of thing, even though the group I work for has COMPLETE AND UTTER AUTHORITY when it comes to the usurping of other groups. I'd rather get along and make do with a different room.

However, this is a long, important meeting, and my boss asked for the first floor specifically (for a host of very good reasons that I won't bore you with here). And by God, I'm going to get it for her.

So I emailed Maria.

Good morning!

I was wondering if you'd be willing to move pilates to a different room on July 22? The building executives are having a two-day meeting, and the first floor is a good place to kind of be "off site" without actually spending any money. : )

Wenchie

Please note the pleasant greeting, smiley icon, and brief explanation. Could I be any more sweet and adorable? No.

This is Maria's reply:

I will have to see what else is available.

No greeting. No pleasantries. She didn't even bother to sign her name. And I believe there was an implied frowny emoticon.

Now, my gut reaction was to fire back with, "DO YOU KNOW WHO I WORK FOR?"

My boss is her boss' boss' boss. So when MY boss wants a meeting room -- and I can't stress this enough: for an actual non-pilates working work workplace -- Maria's response should be, "Of course! I will find another room for that day."

But instead, I get this passive-aggressive response and elevated blood pressure. Why is this bitch making my job more difficult? She's not going to win, so essentially, she's being a bitch for the sake of being a bitch.

I will have to see what else is available.

Implying what? That if she can't find another room, the upper eschelon of this organization will have to meet in the parking garage? That you're going to make me, and my boss, wait while you maybe get around to finding another room?

Oh no. That ain't happenin'.

Now, I don't like to do it, but I will invoke the name of Jeebus when provoked.

Okay. Vy is going to talk to the President this afternoon about the details of that meeting, so if you could get back to me by lunch time, that'd be great.

Wenchie

Oh, yes, I did. And I CCed Vy on it, too. I believe it's a tactic called "triangulation," when you CC others on your email to get the recipient to do what you want.

I emailed Bob. Waiting for a response.

Again with the shortness. Is that necessary? Is she just so super-busy-important that she can't be civil?

Now, Bob is the person who used to do the conference room scheduling, but Rosie took that over as part of her new job. Apparently, someone didn't get the memo. So I educated her:

Bob has handed over conference room scheduling to Rosie, as part of her responsibilities in her new job.

Why am I even having this conversation?! Jeebus Christ in a Chrysler! I know I shouldn't continue to engage this crazy bitch, but I HAVE TO WIN. At this point, it's the principle of the thing. She's not cooperating. She's making my job difficult. She's going down.

I worked with Bob on some room scheduling just yesterday and he said Rosie is his back up.....so I'll give him a bit to get back to me.

Do you hear condescension in that tone? Because I do, and I'm wondering if I'm the only one.

Bob isn't in today. Rosie is.

I can be short, too, bitch. Even though I'm a whopping six foot in these heels and can squash you like a maggot.

An hour went by, and still no reply. I told myself, "If she has to hear from me again, it's going to be at noon, as per my 'by lunch time' request, and it's going to be the final damn word on the subject."

People, I didn't have to be nice to her. I could have just told her, "The executives will be using the first floor conference room on July 22. You will need to find somewhere else to hold pilates that day."

But I didn't. I gave her the courtesy of a polite inquiry, and I expect my courtesy to be met with courtesy. Silly me.

At noon, I sent her this, CCed everyone involved, and went to lunch:

Maria,

The Department of the Big-wigs will be using the first floor room for a planning meeting on July 22.

I appreciate you rescheduling the pilates class and apologize for any inconvenience.

Wenchie

What can I say? She didn't get back to me by lunch time.

Had this waiting for me when I got back from lunch:

Wenchie,

I emailed Rosie as you suggested and didn't hear back - which is why you didn't hear back from me. Honestly, this was rude and heavy handed. Of course pilates would move for their meeting but you could give me a chance to find a new room before you officially kicked us out.

Maria

Oh, now she knows my name. Well, too late bitch. "Rude and heavy handed?" Pot, meet kettle.

Maria,

Frankly, I found your correspondence rude from the get-go.

"Of course, pilates would move," was never said nor implied, so I could not assume that was so.

I was being pressed for an answer and had to act. But before doing so, I checked the online schedule and saw that there are plenty of other rooms available for pilates for that day.

Wenchie

Also? What she doesn't understand that is that, according to the rules set down regarding pilates and room scheduling, I absolutely do NOT have to give her "a chance to find a new room" before scheduling my meeting. I just did it to be nice because that's how I approach everyone that I work with.

Lucky for me, Maria has shown me her true colors, so now I know that I don't ever again need to waste my time being polite to her. She gets informed from now on, not asked.

Some people just don't get it.

(Yes, I am printing off all the emails and keeping them in a file, just in case I get called into anyone's office.)

Posted at 01:45 PM | Comments (2)

March 07, 2011

The Scooch

The place -- My adorable and pristine home office.
The time -- 6:45 this morning.

Stella: It's been over a day and a half since Daisy last let me smell her butt. I really need to smell me some butt! [sits on my beige rug, scooches her butt on it, intently sniffs the residual smudge]

PW: What the--?! NOOOOOOOOO!!! BADDOG, BADDOG, BADDOG!

S: Geez, Mom, you scared me! What is your problem?

PW: What is my problem?! You just scooched your sphincter juice onto my rug!

S: No, Mom, it's okay. Relax. I smelled it, and it's totally fine.

PW: It's NOT fine! What part of this is FINE?

S: I smelled the smudge, it smells the same as it did a few days ago, so I'm totally fine. You don't have to worry about me. I'm completely healthy.

PW: You're not going to be healthy after I beat the shit out of you!

S: Mom, you are totally over-reacting! I don't understand what the problem is!

PW: The PROBLEM is that I now have ass-tracks on my office rug!

S: Would you rather I did it in the living room?

PW: I'd RATHER you didn't do it AT ALL!

S: Well, that's just impracticle. How am I supposed to know how my butt is doing if I don't smell it on ocassion?

PW: I don't give a shit how your butt is doing! I spend thousands of dollars a year so that my home DOESN'T smell like butt! STOP SCOOCHING ON MY RUG!

S: ... What time do you go to work?

PW: I hate you.

Posted at 08:16 AM | Comments (5)

March 03, 2011

Transformational Transformation!

"Transformative" is a word I'd never heard until I started working for Jeebus, along with "missional" and "visioning." But last weekend felt pretty transformative, not on any grand, life-altering scale, but in the sense that I feel I am no longer being overpowered by my hair, or overshadowed by my glasses.

It took me ten tries to take a photo of myself over the shoulder and in a mirror. It's harder than it looks! It should be a friggin' Olympic event!

Anyhoo, here's my ratty, hippie hair, as of Saturday morning.

Yeah, completely out of control. Too much upkeep, and very little pay-off, as there are very few gorgeous men stopping me on the street, begging me to let them run their fingers through my supple locks.

BUT! Here's my hair sans five inches on Sunday morning!

I expect a stampede of hair fetishists to mob me at any moment!

Okay, here are my old glasses.

I don't like the way the top of the frame cuts me right across the top of my eyes. This is what I get for letting the 97-year old receptionist help me pick out frames. (Seriously, is she my optometrists mother? Why does he keep her? She can't even walk!)

Anyway, here are my NEW frames, that I picked out all by myself!

Nice, eh? So, yeah, I'm pretty happy with the overall package. I'm no longer hiding behind my glasses or drowning in a swamp of hair.

I guess now all I need is a new ass, fewer chins, and a complete wardrobe overhaul. Baby steps, Wenchie. Baby steps.

Posted at 06:37 AM | Comments (3)