1. The Volunteer resigned, tendering her resignation the very same day that HOBL resolved to fire her great big fat ass. Her last day was a couple of weeks ago. So long, bitch.
2. I have changed desks so that I no longer share a pod with Yvette. This comes after months of having to overhear her arguing with her controlling and abusive fiance (or her son or her drunken sister or whoever else). Yvette's dramatics, even apart from her health issues, are truly dreary. She has gone home early because of the stress incurred from one of these telephone fights, or she has yelled into the receiver (so the whole office can hear), "Quit fuckin' calling me that!"
Even her "business calls" end up being personal calls that go on for twenty minutes. And when she's not on the phone, she's surfing the net (not allowed in our office), looking for wedding jewellery, or make up to cover her tattoos (for the wedding--here's a thought; wear some clothes!) or trolling the Humane Society website for a dog and/or cat. And she can't just do this and piss away her time. No, she has to involve me.
"Look! Isn't Jupiter cute?!"
"Do you think I should buy this wedding dress on-line?"
"Do you like this elephant?"
She's also one of those employees that only need the slightest excuse to not come in. She might have a hangnail, or she can't drive her Mustang on the ice (you live in Canada--there is ice on the road most of the year: why do you have a car you can't drive?), or she has to go to the courthouse and get divorced before she can marry a man who doesn't like her to leave the house without him, because he doesn't like not knowing where she is.
Or like a couple of weeks ago, when she had the flu and took three days off, then left early on Friday to pick up her trailer for the May long weekend. (To be fair, though, management should have said, "Hell, no!").
So, I moved two pods over and am now with Hitler and Svetlana. Now, the offical excuse for my move was that there is going to be a lot more business with my branch of the work involving sites I've never worked with before, so sitting next to Hitler, the Billing Guru, just makes sense. In reality, however, I was tired of overhearing her fuck the dog and distracting me while I was busting my hump trying to earn a paycheque.
And it seems that Yvette just might have figured it out. Oh, not that she would ask me directly. No, that would indicate that she was an adult. No yesterday morning, she sent her boyfriend (who doesn't even work for our company) over to my new station to drill me on the reason for my move (like it's any of his fucking business).
His goofy head appeared above my cubicle wall and he said, "Did you move?"
I was instantly seized by the compulsion to do one of a couple things. One, I wanted to look around frantically and say, "You mean, this ISN'T my desk?!" Two, I wanted to be snide and say, "Is that not manifestly clear?" and three, I wanted to resort to hostility, "What's it to you, pretzel dick?"
Instead, I said patiently, "Yes. I moved."
"Why?"
"Because my workload is increasing and it's going to be a little more complicated, so it's easier to be closer to Hitler than yelling across the office or sending her a constant barrage of emails," I explained, though again, it's none of his goddamn business.
"Oh," he said, "I just wondered if Yvette was making you nuts."
Oh! I thought to myself, Well, if you want to bring it into the open....
So, being a firm believer in the old adage, "If you ask, you must want to know" (my Tarot business is founded on that premise), I said, "Yes, the whole fighting on the phone all the time thing was making me crazy."
And he said something neutral and buggered off. Whatever. Only, he must have been a good boy and reported back to Yvette sometime that day, because now she won't make eye contact with me, won't talk to me and takes her breaks with the other group (which includes Teeth, who she supposedly despises). I have to also assume that my invitation to the wedding has been revoked (you can't imagine the relief).
This leaves me completely speechless. To begin with, why does it matter why I changed desks? It happens in our office all the time. Secondly, why do you imagine it is a personal matter (as it is only partly because of you)? But most importantly, how emotionally and socially arrested are you that you think it's appropriate to send your dumbass boyfriend to ask me about it, rather than sending me an email or asking me yourself??? Am I that fucking scary? Or are you that fucking immature?
I believe this anecdote answers that question.
And how goddamn backwards is that office when *I* am the one with a work ethic??? When *I*--Miss "I Could Make A Coffee Table Book Of the Places I've Publically Pooped"--am the professional, mature one??? Are all offices like this, junior high writ large??? Or did I just get lucky???
2. I have changed desks so that I no longer share a pod with Yvette. This comes after months of having to overhear her arguing with her controlling and abusive fiance (or her son or her drunken sister or whoever else). Yvette's dramatics, even apart from her health issues, are truly dreary. She has gone home early because of the stress incurred from one of these telephone fights, or she has yelled into the receiver (so the whole office can hear), "Quit fuckin' calling me that!"
Even her "business calls" end up being personal calls that go on for twenty minutes. And when she's not on the phone, she's surfing the net (not allowed in our office), looking for wedding jewellery, or make up to cover her tattoos (for the wedding--here's a thought; wear some clothes!) or trolling the Humane Society website for a dog and/or cat. And she can't just do this and piss away her time. No, she has to involve me.
"Look! Isn't Jupiter cute?!"
"Do you think I should buy this wedding dress on-line?"
"Do you like this elephant?"
She's also one of those employees that only need the slightest excuse to not come in. She might have a hangnail, or she can't drive her Mustang on the ice (you live in Canada--there is ice on the road most of the year: why do you have a car you can't drive?), or she has to go to the courthouse and get divorced before she can marry a man who doesn't like her to leave the house without him, because he doesn't like not knowing where she is.
Or like a couple of weeks ago, when she had the flu and took three days off, then left early on Friday to pick up her trailer for the May long weekend. (To be fair, though, management should have said, "Hell, no!").
So, I moved two pods over and am now with Hitler and Svetlana. Now, the offical excuse for my move was that there is going to be a lot more business with my branch of the work involving sites I've never worked with before, so sitting next to Hitler, the Billing Guru, just makes sense. In reality, however, I was tired of overhearing her fuck the dog and distracting me while I was busting my hump trying to earn a paycheque.
And it seems that Yvette just might have figured it out. Oh, not that she would ask me directly. No, that would indicate that she was an adult. No yesterday morning, she sent her boyfriend (who doesn't even work for our company) over to my new station to drill me on the reason for my move (like it's any of his fucking business).
His goofy head appeared above my cubicle wall and he said, "Did you move?"
I was instantly seized by the compulsion to do one of a couple things. One, I wanted to look around frantically and say, "You mean, this ISN'T my desk?!" Two, I wanted to be snide and say, "Is that not manifestly clear?" and three, I wanted to resort to hostility, "What's it to you, pretzel dick?"
Instead, I said patiently, "Yes. I moved."
"Why?"
"Because my workload is increasing and it's going to be a little more complicated, so it's easier to be closer to Hitler than yelling across the office or sending her a constant barrage of emails," I explained, though again, it's none of his goddamn business.
"Oh," he said, "I just wondered if Yvette was making you nuts."
Oh! I thought to myself, Well, if you want to bring it into the open....
So, being a firm believer in the old adage, "If you ask, you must want to know" (my Tarot business is founded on that premise), I said, "Yes, the whole fighting on the phone all the time thing was making me crazy."
And he said something neutral and buggered off. Whatever. Only, he must have been a good boy and reported back to Yvette sometime that day, because now she won't make eye contact with me, won't talk to me and takes her breaks with the other group (which includes Teeth, who she supposedly despises). I have to also assume that my invitation to the wedding has been revoked (you can't imagine the relief).
This leaves me completely speechless. To begin with, why does it matter why I changed desks? It happens in our office all the time. Secondly, why do you imagine it is a personal matter (as it is only partly because of you)? But most importantly, how emotionally and socially arrested are you that you think it's appropriate to send your dumbass boyfriend to ask me about it, rather than sending me an email or asking me yourself??? Am I that fucking scary? Or are you that fucking immature?
I believe this anecdote answers that question.
And how goddamn backwards is that office when *I* am the one with a work ethic??? When *I*--Miss "I Could Make A Coffee Table Book Of the Places I've Publically Pooped"--am the professional, mature one??? Are all offices like this, junior high writ large??? Or did I just get lucky???
3 comments:
you just got lucky. Heh. your office escapades just mystify me. I once worked in a 'junior high' style office, and frankly, I blamed the management for allowing the sniping and closed door bitch sessions and gossip. nuts to that garbage.
You should work here. They hire lots of smart people. :) http://www.wcb.ab.ca/public/careers.asp
You truly had me at "When *I*--Miss "I Could Make A Coffee Table Book Of the Places I've Publically Pooped"--am the professional, mature one???" Truly.
Thanks, Mary, I'm on it.
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