R.I.P
heidikins
Who became dead April 1, 2009.
(This is not a joke. Stop laughing.)
Ages ago, before I started slaving working here, the Internet Monitoring Bots at my company blocked all the fun sites like YouTube, and Facebook, and Flickr. It is annoying to not be able to check out the tunes from last night’s American Idol, but I understand the amount of time clickity-click-clicked away with status updates and possible inappropriate searches. I get it. It’s annoying, but I get it.
The Internet Monitoring Bots (IMB) have hit a new low. Blogspot blogs are inaccessible on about half of the company computers (luckily, I wasn’t included in that half). Gchat has been spotty for months now with my random “hanging up” on persons I’m chatting with…which is just rude and I apologize if it has happened to you. It’s not you, it’s me. Well, no, it’s not me either, it’s those damn IMB. However, the IMB have hit a new low. Gmail has been blocked completely. Ditto on Google Reader.
Let me repeat that, I can no longer access Gmail. I can no longer access Google Reader. What. The. Hell. What am I supposed to do all day? I realize their idea is that I will work all day. Here’s what. I make somewhere north of 65 phone calls a day. I am on the phone constantly. Which means, I am on hold constantly. Which means, I have three and four minute chunks of time to catch up on a blog or two. It’s either that or draw pictures on my company-issued notepad and proceed to use this “wallpaper” to beautify my cube. Which one do you think H.R. would be more upset about? Wasting paper (my company is on the Green Bandwagon)? Or harmlessly check up on my friends? That’s right. Option B. I leave a smaller carbon footprint by using my already-running (WimpySauce) P.C. to peruse the virtuous nuggets of wisdom left for me on The Internets–via Google Reader–than if I were to use reams of paper to redecorate my desk.
You know what I need…I need an Undercover Google Reader. One that looks like Outlook or something. That way IMB won’t know what’s going on, I will look to be the Most Productive Employee…I mean, I am productive, but Outlook Reader would make me even MORE productive. And I can prove it. Now if someone Super Smart would invent that, stat. Then we can all go along our daily Google-fueled business and pretend like this IMB-coupe never happened. Mmmmkay?
I know you’ve all been sick before and I know it sucks to hear people complain about it, and I know that my being sick isn’t terribly different, but I’ve done a lot of math here and…ok, don’t be scared, it’s not a LOT of math…but it’s there, so don’t click away yet, alright? Ok. Thanks. You’re the best.
5 Boxes of Puffs with Lotion, $11.95
2 Boxes of DayQuill, $15.96
1 Box of NyQuill, $7.98
1 Bottle of Mucinex, $13.59
1 Box of Sudafed, $6.49
2 Bottles of Zicam, $13.98
1 Jar Vaseline to heal cracking nose, $1.99
1 Tube Natural Ice to sooth chapped lips, $1.57
1 New Concealer to hide burst blood vessels in my face, $4.49
1 Waterproof Mascara to mask drippy-watery eyes, $4.63
2 Gallons of Orange Juice–no pulp, $6.37
2 “Coldbuster’s” from Jamba Juice with an Immunity Boost, $12.94
1 Humidifier–thanks Handsome!–to help me breathe at night, $23.69
1 Box Clorox Wipes to sanitize work station, $2.37
My B.O.S.S. is a soulless, merciless man who refused to let me take a few days off work to deal with above issues because “It’s the busy season and you can’t afford not to be here”–hearing him start coughing and complaining of a sore throat…Priceless.
**It should be noted, all drugs were taken in strict accordance with instructions on box/bottle and were not ever combined. I did not have freaky-psychotic episodes in the middle of the night after NOT taking Sudafed and Mucinex together where I believed myself to be 5 different people, and was actually convinced that this was my new life. Five different women; Rose, Leslie, Becca, Theresa “my friends call me Tessa”, and Siobhan. Nope. That absolutely didn’t happen.
I was not fired yesterday.
Whoosh!
We have known for a couple of weeks that my department was being dissolved in 2009. We were supposed to know what was happening to us leftover sales reps by the beginning of January. So on Friday (January 2, for those of you keeping track), our team showed up expecting to have some kind of answer. All we got was a punched square in the face…or rather, slapped upside the head. The rumor was that on Monday (that was yesterday) we would each be taken into a small conference room and told if we were being layed off, or if we were staying.
Talk about an awesome way to start off the weekend.
So, this morning my boss was called into the conference room with the Vice President. We were all worried because his job is on the line as well. Forty-five minutes later, he came out and called in the first victim, thirty minutes later The Rock came out, packed up his desk, and left. Then Jay was called in, thirty minutes later he came out, packed up his desk, and left. Then Tattoo-Face was called in and while he was being fired the rest of us started packing up our desks. Tattoo-Face came out, packed up his desk, and left. At this point we were going crazy…some of you may have seen my updated gchat status as one after another my team walked out the door. Sadly, the firing blitz was not over, next was the Sassy Puerto Rican, thirty minutes later and she began to pack up her desk.
In case you have not experienced this kind of a situation–it is HORRIBLE! It felt like a real-life version of Survivor. Or a firing squad. Or something.
The three remaining people on my team couldn’t do anything but pace up and down the aisle, popping our heads up over the walls of Cubiville, just like gopher’s, every time the door to the conference room opened. I could feel my heart beat in my wrist, my neck, my thumb.
I was next…my remaining teammates gave me a hug and I walked towards the conference room with my heart in my throat. Another manager from my company met me at the door and said, very quickly “I know this isn’t the best way to handle this but….”
[Um, I'm dying at this point, imagining the worst possible scenario.]
“…you will be joining my team as of today. We have our first team meeting right now to discuss our plan for 2009.”
And I walked into my new team. And tried really hard not to cry. Or double-punch the air. Or do a happy dance on the conference room table.
And that’s it. That was how I got promoted. I have a new team, a new manager, a new desk, new responsibilities, and because my previous department–the Grunt Department–has been sent to an off-shore location, even with a promotion I am still a Grunt. But a Promoted Grunt.
And now, back to your regularly scheduled programming.
Or, six-o-dark-hundred in the freaking morning…ya know, whatever.
My “new” job–the one where I have to talk to assshats and keep my cool at the same time–is, well, a bit precarious. When I was hired in August I joined a department of about twenty-five people, two teams and two managers. Over the ensuing months that changed to one manager of fifteen, then twelve, then nine, and now five. Five Peons, the grunt-force of my company. Luckily, I am still one of those five and am actually doing really well, however frustrating and monotonous those days can be. But, I’m still there. My security badge still works and my (measly) paycheck continues to be deposited into my bank account.
However, comma, that kind of twisted job security can only last for so long.
We have been told that our department, the Peon Department, is being disolved on January 1. As of this writing (pre-Seattle, thank you schedule-in-advance publishing), I still have no idea what will happen, or where I will be when I go back to work. For all I know, I may show-up in January with no desk and no team of co-workers.
Happy Freakin’ New Year.
I don’t know what will happen, but at this point there is nothing I can do about that. I am not new to unemployment – in the last 16 months I have been unemployed for 7 months, I know how it works. That doesn’t mean that I want to jump back onto that wagon, especially in this economy. Utah has been recently ranked as the fastest growing state in the nation. Sure, part of that is that we have ginormous families. The other part is that more and more people keep moving here. Looking for jobs. You can see where I’m going with this, can’t you. I need to keep my job, and it kills me that there is absolutely nothing I can do at this point but wait it out. Sucktacular.
But hey, it could be worse–and thankfully, it’s not. Today is my 3-year divorciversary; I’d rather be unemployed in a craptastic economy a thousand times over than spending another day with the X.
I’ll keep you posted on the job thing, that other thing? It is so far away and so long ago, at this point it’s just a bad dream with fuzzy memories.
Filed under: Nine to Five
I have been at my new job for exactly 3 months. I have made thousands and thousands of phone calls, sent hundreds of emails and even made a couple of friends. When I was hired my department consisted of two teams of 10, now there is one team of 7, soon to be 5. Good news is I am still one of the five. I am working my tail off 9 and 10 hours a day–longer hours than my boss, mind you–beginning at 6:30 AM with a miniscule 30 minute lunch. Some days are better than others. I have yet to make a million dollars but I have managed to land my first promotion. More responsibilities, longer hours, larger paycheck. Hopefully. (Crossing Fingers. Like a lot.)
I realize that to most normal people this last paragraph sounds absolutely horrific. Again, some days are better than others. But for the most part I am happy to be working again. Sure, I’d love an extra couple of zeros on my check–wouldn’t we all–but I am happy to be earning something. I am happy to be busy. I am happy to be working. I am happy. I am insane-busy, but I am happy.
…Until today. Today I talked to the most abrasive man I have ever actually exchanged words with, the man was a total ass. We were chatting about product and business and blah blah blah [insert the most boring conversations you can imagine here]. This man actually yelled at me several times, talked down to me in a way I have never been privy to, and actually said “Stop. Let me tell you how to do your job.” Say wha? I muted my phone and screamed my obscenities. Then I un-muted and continued the conversation like an adult. And even after the pathetic excuse for a male told me “if you weren’t a woman you would understand what I am talking about”, I kept my cool, closed the sale and took his credit card number. And then I threw my phone across the room. As a peon who is dependent on comissions to fill up my bank account, I cannot lose it to customers. I can’t WAIT until I am no longer a peon. (My promotion makes me something like Top Peon, but still a peon.)
I won’t go into the rant I gave my boss on my way home; yes, I work longer hours than my boss. I’m banking on the fact that all of you are infuriated for me. Rant away.
I should mention that I have discovered I am an adult. As that asshat gave me his credit card number it was all I could do not to write it down and use it to buy shoes. Or a pony. But I didn’t. I am an adult, I am an adult, I am an adult.
Life is crazy sometimes, and then other times it is completely insane.
Right now, I kind of feel like I’m in the second category. Only the insanity is more of a repetitive nature, and less of a chaotic type scenario. Although, really, there is a bit of chaos thrown in for, what, good measure? Fun? Kicks? I don’t know. (Does any of this make sense?)
Since returning from Hawaii life has fallen into the sort of routine I haven’t had for months, and after quickly getting the hang of all the new bits, I have sort of gone into an auto-pilot type mentality.
I wake up every morning by 5:30–shockingly, this has not been as difficult as I initially thought–and groggily get dressed and put on some makeup. I generally don’t remember any of this as I am still half-asleep.
I grab my lunch from the fridge and leave home by 6:10 am, and if we’re being completely honest I don’t remember a thing from the time my seat-warmer heats up until I pull into the parking lot at work. Radio, traffic (not much of this at o-dark-hundred), landmarks…it all mushes into a blur that ends with fluorescent office lighting.
Work is repetitive, mindless, and generally stress-free. This is a first for me, and while I sometimes yearn for a more exciting job, at least I don’t ever, EVER have to take work–or work-related stress–home with me. For now, the trade-off is worth it.
Before I know it I’m eating my lunch, generally outside on the office patio which overlooks a golf course with beautiful mountain peaks in the background. This part I remember, it’s usually the best part of my day.
The afternoon flies by quickly, I leave work and go to a local high school where I coach a competitive Shakespeare team. There will be more of this later. The Shakespeare stuff is a ton of fun, but still can fall into the “repetitive” category. I am in charge of 5 pieces, scenes & monologues, that are being rehearsed for a competition in October. The kids are great and the pieces are interesting, but rehearsal is rehearsal…practice until perfect.
I am typically getting home around 8:30 or 9:00 every night, eat some kind of dinner, scrape together a lunch for the next day, lounge in the shower and curl up in bed.
I haven’t been leaving comments on blogs (I have been reading! Google Reader isn’t banned at work, but blogspot, wordpress, typepad and facebook are taboo under the corporate handbook), I haven’t been writing on my own blog (clearly), I haven’t been talking to friends or family or anything.
Honestly, it feels a little weird. Going from a summer of absolutely nothing to do to this jam-packed schedule has been quite the adjustment; I really don’t think I am well-adjusted yet. The Shakespeare stuff will be done by early October, and I am hoping to have some time to myself again.
The break will come soon enough, for now I’m enjoying staying busy, however routine it may become, I am happy.
I have survived my first week at my new job, even though I had leave my house somewhere close to 6:00 in the morning. Seriously, I am not a morning person. I Ti-Vo’ed the Olympics and have been watching them a day late and in half the time (seriously? those commercial “breaks” are ridiculous!!). Work is going well so far, I am in a completely new industry and have had to learn a lot of new information. I actually really like the “learning new info” part, it reminds me of being in school. I have been packing my lunch the night before and am quite happy with my leftovers. I have almost figured out the building and all it’s crazy turns and dead-ends, and really, I am only having one problem.
What should I wear?
My office is “Business Casual”, and I’m not really sure what that means. My previous jobs have been more along the lines of Strictly Corporate America with strictly corporate dress codes. Women must wear nylons! And jackets! No open-toed shoes! Must look like a cookie-cutter drone! Seriously, it was intense. My regular work-wear looked something like this:
With such strict dress codes, it is difficult to have any kind of fun with your clothes. Of course I rebelled, and wore fancy shoes but I had a very limited margin for creativity. This week I carefully chose my outfits but I couldn’t help but regress back to my corporate guidelines. But, dear Internet, what is Business Casual?!? For boys it’s easy, khaki’s or slacks and a shirt with a collar. But what should women wear? I don’t own the ubiquitous khaki pants. Can I wear a t-shirt? What if it is layered over a button-up shirt? Is a jacket too corporate? What about a denim jacket paired with a skirt or dress? Is that too casual? I tried to be “business casual”, but I’m not sure if I succeeded. I think I’m a bit half-and-half, depending on your definition of the term. I was definitely more dressed-up than most of my co-workers in our training class, but I have no intention of ever dressing for the job I have; I always dress for the job I want, which–shockingly–does not put me in a cubicle for 8 hours a day. Because I love Polyvore so much, I’ve used it to recreat a few of my outfits for the week, what are your thoughts?
My office has Casual Fridays…which apparently is more casual than “business casual.” I knew about this policy, and I knew that jeans were allowed on casual Friday. However, because I was still a little unsure of how casual “jeans allowed” was going to be, I opted to err on the safe side and chose a denim skirt. As I was sleepily walking through the parking lot I wondered if I was dressed too casual.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I entered into the building. Everywhere I looked I saw outfits that made my corporate-eyes bulge out of my head. I saw t-shirts so large they looked like they were sleep shirts, jeans with enormous holes in the knees, flip-flops, logo T-shirts, even a Chicago Bears jersey. One girl actually looked like she was going to a club; denim mini skirt and a sparkly tank. I think about a dozen people asked “didn’t you know it was casual Friday?” Yes. I knew. But I was unaware that flip-flops, straight from Old Navy, would qualify as “work appropriate.”
What are the rules of wardrobe at your work? What is acceptable? What is a pink-slip? How do you determine what is ok and what should be limited to the weekend? Please help!
Filed under: Nine to Five
Today I start my first day of employment since the end of April. Unemployment: Over!
(Commence Happy Dance in my living room…a careful Happy Dance due to several hurty body parts.)
Thank you to those of you who are concerned about my Klutz-tastic trip down the stairs; my hip is still pretty sore and I am keeping it packed in ice a lot of the time, I have a couple of strange-looking bruises on my arms and legs, but my rug burn is healing nicely (the trick is keeping it slathered in vaseline). We’ll see how 8 hours of classroom training goes tomorrow, I have every intention of taking several ice-packs with me.
Wish me luck.
xox
When I started my new job a few months ago I chopped over 40 miles off my daily commute and relocated from a middle-of-the-sticks baby business park to the 2nd floor of a high-rise office building in the heart of downtown. I have lived, gone to school and (mostly) worked downtown for almost seven years, and I absolutely love the atmosphere, the vibe, and yes, even the crazies. As I sit here glancing out the window at the busy street, sipping my Starbucks white-hot-chocolate-with 2%-milk-and-a-pump-of-peppermint-extra-hot-please-k-thx-bye I am reminded of all the reasons I love being back downtown.
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Starbucks across the street with another one around the corner.
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Walking distance to dozens of ethnic deli’s, fantastic bakeries, my favorite sandwich place, sushi bars, Chinese restaurants and absolute hole-in-the-wall goodness (ya know, the ones so old skool they don’t have websites, but they do know how you like your sandwich and what side you like with your Lunch Special. Yeah, those places are AWESOME!).
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Several handfuls of friends work in the 8-block radius around my office, so there is always someone to meet for lunch at one of the previously mentioned eateries.
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People watching. Hours and hours of entertaining people watching. (Did you know that I once met Ringo Starr on the bus? He was wearing a purple velvet Austin Powers-esque suit with a frilly pirate shirt and cowboy boots; every one of his fingers was covered in one or two of those cheap 25-cent plastic-jewel rings. He was even carrying drum sticks!)
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Including the thousands of expo-attendees who clump on street corners with identical fanny-pack-sized badge-holders dangling around their necks, usually covered in flair, sometimes even in matching obnoxious orange or green or turquoise T-shirts.
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The tall office buildings keep me grounded (as opposed to empty, open spaces where I start to feel claustrophobic).
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The super-high-powered attorney who rides his unicycle to work, speeding down State Street every day with a briefcase in one hand and his tie flapping behind him; rain or shine or ice or snow, he rides his unicycle to court. He’s kind of like a circus performer-turned postman-turned lawyer.
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During the warmer months there are free outdoor concerts at lunchtime, art festivals and weekday farmers markets in the mini-parks and plaza’s downtown. (Where are you Spring? Quit teasing me with your sunny afternoons followed by a-quarter-inch-of-solid-ice-on-the-windshield mornings!)
What are you favorite things about where you work? And do you have a comparable story to the unicycle-riding-lawyer in your city?
Filed under: Nine to Five
I’d like you to close your eyes for a moment and imagine the following scenario:
You are holed up in a too-stuffy hotel room with sixty adults who have, on average, the attention span of a gnat. The promised “fantastic breakfast” was not bacon and eggs and fluffy pancakes, but was a depressing spread of stale bagels, warmish juice and fruit that looked (and tasted) like cardboard. You are trapped in a grossly uncomfortable chair and are forced to digest power-point after power-point, with presenters droning on and on about networks and systems and the marginal revenue from the last five years. (Now, usually I am interested in marginal revenue, being an economics major…but not when an hour is spent reading a power-point I could have read myself in 10 minutes. Ugh, I hate power-point.) Imagine your eyes glazing over and your stomach begging for a snack; your brain entering the beginning stages of all-out revolution, or mutiny, or something as the world begins to slowly blur into one, too-loudly carpeted mess. Imagine crawling under the table, curling into the fetal position and periodically emitting a soft, unintelligible whimper.
Anyone want to guess where I’ve been for the last two days hundred years of my life? I swear to everything I hold dear (shoes, books, ponies), if I have to listen to another power-point presentation I will most likely confiscate that red laser pointer thingy from Mr. Fancy-Suit Presenter Guy and attempt to blink him to death! (Next slide….) I am a woman pushed to the edge of sanity! I need fresh air and sunshine! I need real food! (Warm diet soda that I don’t drink and peanuts that I won’t eat just aren’t cutting it!) I need to get away from the co-workers with NO sense of an appropriate social distance. Seriously! I had no idea salespeople could be so pushy and overly in-your-face! I’m so sorry for those of you that have to deal with us them on any kind of a regular basis.
A memo to the Senior Vice-President of the World; (Oh, yes. I ran into him again. Literally. Orange juice all over my jacket and my -thankfully wipeable- patent leather mary-janes. Sigh.)
Dear S.V.P.,
A few suggestions for next year; no power-point, more snacks.
Love, heidikins
P.S. Also, Mr. Senior Vice-President Man, if you rethought Casino Night! + Open Bar! + pushy, boisterous, aggressive sales people locked into one room, you would probably notice a significant drop in sexual harassment complaints… I’m just sayin’…
