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Friday, June 24, 2005

STFU People!

You know, I sat here for a good bit trying to come up with a title. I hadn't written about my time with Brian, which was wonderful. I have to say, he has an absolutely winning smile, looks MUCH younger than he really is, and knows enough about a myriad of things that keeps conversation flowing. He was gracious enough to not laugh at me too much when I couldn't remember exactly where in New Zealand my mother-in-law was born (you'd think I'd know that Mt. Hood IS NOT in NZ after 25 years!) and he was kind enough to take a second picture of us so that my 2nd chin wouldn't show like it did in the first (Brian, PLEASE send me a copy of that last picture, yeah?) He brought me a lovely paua shell necklace, which I'm still wearing. It will always remind me of our meeting. Anyway, it was a welcomed break in what has turned out to be a horrific workweek. An "oasis," if you will, in the middle of an unforgiving desert. Thank you Brian, for taking the time during your holiday.

I'm wondering how much longer I can stay at this job. I'm being nit-picked to death. I'm a good secretary. Oh, excuse me, Administrative Assistant *ahem*. I take pride in what I do. I support everyone in that office and do their crapwork. I do the work that they won't even do themselves. I'm detail-oriented, organized, and I KNOW that I've made some great positive changes around there. But it's a very rare day that I get even the smallest acknowledgement. In fact, I get criticized on a daily basis. What was it yesterday, you ask? Well, I omitted a comma. I was asked to order a new rubber stamp with the company's name and address, which I did. My crime? In order to fit the entire name of the company on the first line, I had to leave out a comma. If I added the comma, it would have added two characters past the limit and upped the price by $10 for the whole stamp. So instead of the stamp looking like this:


It looked like this:


The office manager took little time to point out to me my "error". She also didn't like it that I put the new printer toner cartridges in the supply room instead of next to the printers that they belong to. I was simply trying to keep the working office space from getting too cluttered. I apparantly don't close envelopes properly, so she asks that when I prepare an envelope for mailing that I don't close it. Mainly, I know the purpose of that is so that she can check my work, which she does, as I stand at her desk and watch so that she can "critique" me. At the end of the day, I'm responsible to take all of the mail, so when I'm ready to leave, I have to stand at her desk while she double checks each and every piece of outgoing correspondence against a "shipping spreadsheet" that she created. You see, in my first week there, I transposed a number in a zip code and ever since then, we've had to enter all letters on this spreadsheet. She failed to mention that 4 of her own outgoing letters were returned for WRONG addresses, but she made a big deal out of me transposing a zip code. When I go to the bank to make a deposit for the company, she'll call me on my cell phone to "remind" me not to forget a receipt. When I go to the post office to drop off certified mail, she'll call me on my cell to "remind" me not to forget a receipt. I want to scream at her; "I'M 44 FUCKING YEARS OLD!!! STOP TREATING ME LIKE A CHILD!!!"

The senior partner at the firm hates me. I don't know why. He just does. I thought if I kept smiling and being pleasant, I could win him over just like I won over Mean Bookkeeper Lady. She and I get along quite famously now, simply because I killed her with kindness. But that only works if they know you're alive. So I guess I can't say that my boss hates me. He doesn't know I exist. Yesterday, in one of his huffs because his luxury bus was in the shop, he asked the Office Manager to get one of the interns to go pick up his personal bus driver. Well, none of the interns showed up for work. In fact, they haven't shown up all week. So that leaves me. A little "pick-up", which is a personal favor in my book, turns out to be a 2 and a half hour, 101 mile drive. Is there a "thank you?" Is there ANY indication that I've done something to help someone out of a jam? No. As a matter of fact the next day, when I say "Good Morning" to this man, he doesn't look up, he doesn't grunt, he doesn't even acknowledge that I'm in the same room. That's how it is every day.

Why do I put up with it? Because we need the money. But I'm thinking that I should go find a minimum wage job and work double the hours just to find some peace. I feel more and more worthless and every day that goes by a little more of my spirit leaves. There's no joy there. A dark cloud constantly surrounds me. I hate going to sleep at night because I know the morning means I have to go back. I don't want to give them this victory. But we need the money. I guess I hate that part the most. But I have no choice. The only choice I have is the PLACE where I choose to offer my time and talent. It's time to move on.

Oh, and Tom Cruise, PLEASE for God's sake, STFU.


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