Monday, December 23, 2019
Wednesday, December 18, 2019
wish me luck.
Hey, it's only been a year and a month!
Let's chat about my day job. Each year, on my resume, I try to convey a sense of myself: shy, creative, sarcastic, hard-working, a coffee and cat lover.
Apparently I failed catastrophically because I landed a job at a label-making business (50+ employees) as a secretary/csr-in-training. Sales and being the first line of defense for customers? SIGN ME UP.
The work was actually pretty fun: file and rearrange hard-copy retainer envelopes, scan and fax, and the less-pleasant-but-still-manageable answering of phones and doorbells. I didn't have to clock out for lunch, and I was only scolded for being late once. Nobody questioned me if I wanted to stay a bit after to finish what I was doing, and nobody micromanaged breaks or lunches. I was alone in a file room for at least 7 hours a day on a regular basis. Hell yes.
... Well, I started to notice the file drawers getting cramped, and when I started getting ideas of how to better organize things (oh, I dunno, maybe alphabetically?!), I was shot down. It seemed like everyone who touched those files wanted them organized in a completely different way, and each employee treated the client files as their personal files that no one else handled. (At a production center, where the ink needs to match the client's needs and a digital file needs to be set up to translate that to a language that printers understand, where brands are exceedingly particular with color, size, finish, and durability-- even the way the roll is wound and spacing between labels.)
It seemed that being a team player came second to the needs of each individual, so, naturally, being a people-pleaser could only reduce me to a madwoman ready to burn the place down. Let's toss in an average employee-fired-without-warning rate of once every other month, and a healthy dollop of passive aggressive messages, shall we? Coworkers would express frustrations with exaggerated sighs, head-burried-in-hands, slamming of drawers and piles of files, murmured obscenities, and generally undoing my handy organization work. (I came in one day to find my post-it labels ripped off the file drawers and neatly-labeled dividers whipped out carelessly as if they were viciously smashed spiders.)
Perhaps there was an HR department or a higher-up I could talk to? With no HR department, I had a chat with my supervisor about a particularly hostile employee; my supervisor listened carefully, then responded with, "What do you want me to do? FIRE her?!"
Backed into a corner, I tried to keep my nose to the grindstone and be as quietly helpful as possible. Finally, yesterday, it became too much- one too many slammed drawers followed by a classic storming-out-of-the-room-with-a-frustrated-sigh-and-eyeroll- and I took a long, solemn moment to wonder how anyone could possibly act like they hate me so much over freaking filing. The moment quickly turned into a short written 2-week-notice handed to my supervisor, who only said, "Yep. I totally get it."
... With 13 days left (which I fully intend to complete with ethics and hopefully sanity in tact), I'm still quietly doing what's needed while getting ghosted and ignored by everyone who passes by. It would have been easy enough to just focus on work and ignore others, except that today was a (mandatory) holiday party... in the middle of the work day. (You've....GOT....to be kidding me.) For the past couple of weeks, I gained little glimpses of holiday games, decor, and ridiculously-awesome prizes. An hour before the party started, I overheard holiday music starting down the hall. I knew it was going to be quite the shindig.
Being the secretary meant answering the phone within the first ring every single time it rang. (Yes, I even carried that cordless brick to the bathroom with me.) Today, it was actually a welcomed distraction, as the pizza delivery guy had to call four times to figure out how to locate our business. (Friendliest conversations I'd had all day.) When he (and the two giant stacks of pizzas) arrived, the party commenced, and my supervisor gathered her group of CSRs, buzzing past my desk twice without pause.
I was going to sit it out and work in my little corner but the ONE PERSON who actually liked my personality in the entire company decided to insist I attended the party, swearing he'd save me a seat. I sucked it up, composed myself, walked into the party room, grabbed food, and looked around at the tables.
IT WAS MIDDLE SCHOOL ALL OVER AGAIN.
The table with happy cliquey foul-mouthed production people? The classy boasty one-upping salesmen? The gaggle of CSRs (with an empty seat next to Ms. Hostile herself)? I chose the quiet primarily-Spanish-speaking family-focused group who allowed me to occupy a chair for a little while while they spoke amongst themselves.
I ate my pizza, played Solitaire on my phone (mentally sang "ALL BY MYSEEEEEELF"), glanced back at the laughing overly-packed production table that included the one person who insisted I attend (chyuh, thanks, bruh.), and I cleaned up my area and returned to my corner nook.
I may have started crying, but in my head, I knew how hilariously sad this experience was. I tapped out a quick e-mail to my coworkers communicating my intent to take my lunch elsewhere before returning to work, hit "send", and quickly exited the premises to indulge in a short ugly-cry in the comfort of my own humble (and horribly cluttered) abode.
I'm back to breathing (wine-stained breath) and I think my "social anxiety panic attack" or whatever this was has passed, but I dread going back to work. I know Ms. Hostile leaves at 3pm, and I know that most people will still be in party-mode or at least chatty-mode, so hopefully I can sneak back in and just put in my hours without making a ripple in the pond.
Let's chat about my day job. Each year, on my resume, I try to convey a sense of myself: shy, creative, sarcastic, hard-working, a coffee and cat lover.
Apparently I failed catastrophically because I landed a job at a label-making business (50+ employees) as a secretary/csr-in-training. Sales and being the first line of defense for customers? SIGN ME UP.
The work was actually pretty fun: file and rearrange hard-copy retainer envelopes, scan and fax, and the less-pleasant-but-still-manageable answering of phones and doorbells. I didn't have to clock out for lunch, and I was only scolded for being late once. Nobody questioned me if I wanted to stay a bit after to finish what I was doing, and nobody micromanaged breaks or lunches. I was alone in a file room for at least 7 hours a day on a regular basis. Hell yes.
... Well, I started to notice the file drawers getting cramped, and when I started getting ideas of how to better organize things (oh, I dunno, maybe alphabetically?!), I was shot down. It seemed like everyone who touched those files wanted them organized in a completely different way, and each employee treated the client files as their personal files that no one else handled. (At a production center, where the ink needs to match the client's needs and a digital file needs to be set up to translate that to a language that printers understand, where brands are exceedingly particular with color, size, finish, and durability-- even the way the roll is wound and spacing between labels.)
It seemed that being a team player came second to the needs of each individual, so, naturally, being a people-pleaser could only reduce me to a madwoman ready to burn the place down. Let's toss in an average employee-fired-without-warning rate of once every other month, and a healthy dollop of passive aggressive messages, shall we? Coworkers would express frustrations with exaggerated sighs, head-burried-in-hands, slamming of drawers and piles of files, murmured obscenities, and generally undoing my handy organization work. (I came in one day to find my post-it labels ripped off the file drawers and neatly-labeled dividers whipped out carelessly as if they were viciously smashed spiders.)
Perhaps there was an HR department or a higher-up I could talk to? With no HR department, I had a chat with my supervisor about a particularly hostile employee; my supervisor listened carefully, then responded with, "What do you want me to do? FIRE her?!"
Backed into a corner, I tried to keep my nose to the grindstone and be as quietly helpful as possible. Finally, yesterday, it became too much- one too many slammed drawers followed by a classic storming-out-of-the-room-with-a-frustrated-sigh-and-eyeroll- and I took a long, solemn moment to wonder how anyone could possibly act like they hate me so much over freaking filing. The moment quickly turned into a short written 2-week-notice handed to my supervisor, who only said, "Yep. I totally get it."
... With 13 days left (which I fully intend to complete with ethics and hopefully sanity in tact), I'm still quietly doing what's needed while getting ghosted and ignored by everyone who passes by. It would have been easy enough to just focus on work and ignore others, except that today was a (mandatory) holiday party... in the middle of the work day. (You've....GOT....to be kidding me.) For the past couple of weeks, I gained little glimpses of holiday games, decor, and ridiculously-awesome prizes. An hour before the party started, I overheard holiday music starting down the hall. I knew it was going to be quite the shindig.
Being the secretary meant answering the phone within the first ring every single time it rang. (Yes, I even carried that cordless brick to the bathroom with me.) Today, it was actually a welcomed distraction, as the pizza delivery guy had to call four times to figure out how to locate our business. (Friendliest conversations I'd had all day.) When he (and the two giant stacks of pizzas) arrived, the party commenced, and my supervisor gathered her group of CSRs, buzzing past my desk twice without pause.
I was going to sit it out and work in my little corner but the ONE PERSON who actually liked my personality in the entire company decided to insist I attended the party, swearing he'd save me a seat. I sucked it up, composed myself, walked into the party room, grabbed food, and looked around at the tables.
IT WAS MIDDLE SCHOOL ALL OVER AGAIN.
The table with happy cliquey foul-mouthed production people? The classy boasty one-upping salesmen? The gaggle of CSRs (with an empty seat next to Ms. Hostile herself)? I chose the quiet primarily-Spanish-speaking family-focused group who allowed me to occupy a chair for a little while while they spoke amongst themselves.
I ate my pizza, played Solitaire on my phone (mentally sang "ALL BY MYSEEEEEELF"), glanced back at the laughing overly-packed production table that included the one person who insisted I attend (chyuh, thanks, bruh.), and I cleaned up my area and returned to my corner nook.
I may have started crying, but in my head, I knew how hilariously sad this experience was. I tapped out a quick e-mail to my coworkers communicating my intent to take my lunch elsewhere before returning to work, hit "send", and quickly exited the premises to indulge in a short ugly-cry in the comfort of my own humble (and horribly cluttered) abode.
I'm back to breathing (wine-stained breath) and I think my "social anxiety panic attack" or whatever this was has passed, but I dread going back to work. I know Ms. Hostile leaves at 3pm, and I know that most people will still be in party-mode or at least chatty-mode, so hopefully I can sneak back in and just put in my hours without making a ripple in the pond.
Tuesday, November 20, 2018
Back to work
I took a much-needed staycation, turning a normal weekend into a 6-day relaxation.
Upon my return to work, my main printing station was broken, but all of my coworkers were happy to have me back, welcoming me and occasionally wishing me happy birthday.
Except one humanoid-manifestation of a wet blanket, who didn't greet me before complaining about how he desperately needs a vacation and he's "just doing what he can" to "get by" til he can leave.
... The guy gets over 5 weeks of vacation while I only get 10 days.
That pissed me off, within hour one of my being back. Couldn't be happy for me.
I'm so grateful to have feeling back in my hands but here I am back to being stuck in a room with this self-absorbed negative Nancy 9 hours a day.
Upon my return to work, my main printing station was broken, but all of my coworkers were happy to have me back, welcoming me and occasionally wishing me happy birthday.
Except one humanoid-manifestation of a wet blanket, who didn't greet me before complaining about how he desperately needs a vacation and he's "just doing what he can" to "get by" til he can leave.
... The guy gets over 5 weeks of vacation while I only get 10 days.
That pissed me off, within hour one of my being back. Couldn't be happy for me.
I'm so grateful to have feeling back in my hands but here I am back to being stuck in a room with this self-absorbed negative Nancy 9 hours a day.
Thursday, October 25, 2018
cinderella's if.
The Cinderella effect.
It's hard enough asking for any time off, no matter how little it is, however far in advance. Some bosses like to half-jokingly say "no" straight away. One boss straight-up wouldn't let me go to a friend's wedding.
If I get past obstacle one of getting the initial ok, it's usually fitted with the dangling-carrot-of-a-caviat "If you get all your work done, you may attend the ball."
And then the shitstorm.
What follows tends to be an overwhelming tidal wave of exceptionally-urgent assignments under the specialty jurisdiction of one Yerl Ookin-Atter. Sudden waves of inspiration come to the salespeople, with clients crawling out of every nook and cranny begging for complex projects with exorbitant rush fees, each desperate to have their products ASAP-NOWNOW, which of course leads to cut corners in the production line, skipping the sample/proofing process to plunge haphazardly into mindlessly-expedited production requiring specific complicated instructions that only find order in my little brain-noggin. But that carrot dangles away, and it's juuuust close enough that I feel-- what's the word, motivated? And it's after I plan ahead and catch a good rhythm that I see the request for redo's, changed quantities, red instead of green, reasons why an order cannot be completed at this time, last-minute adjustments, and all other obstacles that will block my path to salvation.
... I'm pretty sure that's a curse, to say, "If you... then you may have your reward."
.... Using earned vacation days is a reward?
Granted, this is first world problems, but 1. I spent childhood in school to prep for college. 2. I spent young adulthood in college prepping for work. 3. I spend adulthood in work to get enough money to eat to live longer to work longer, with occasional breaks here and there before spending the majority of my time working, even though I can't afford a house, I can't afford renting a one-bedroom apartment alone, and I spend a decent amount of money on the vehicle used to get me to and from work, which is the majority of my life, for which all previous years have built me up. I can stop the work when my mind and body are thoroughly broken and useless to society.
... Ain't that funny?
It's hard enough asking for any time off, no matter how little it is, however far in advance. Some bosses like to half-jokingly say "no" straight away. One boss straight-up wouldn't let me go to a friend's wedding.
If I get past obstacle one of getting the initial ok, it's usually fitted with the dangling-carrot-of-a-caviat "If you get all your work done, you may attend the ball."
And then the shitstorm.
What follows tends to be an overwhelming tidal wave of exceptionally-urgent assignments under the specialty jurisdiction of one Yerl Ookin-Atter. Sudden waves of inspiration come to the salespeople, with clients crawling out of every nook and cranny begging for complex projects with exorbitant rush fees, each desperate to have their products ASAP-NOWNOW, which of course leads to cut corners in the production line, skipping the sample/proofing process to plunge haphazardly into mindlessly-expedited production requiring specific complicated instructions that only find order in my little brain-noggin. But that carrot dangles away, and it's juuuust close enough that I feel-- what's the word, motivated? And it's after I plan ahead and catch a good rhythm that I see the request for redo's, changed quantities, red instead of green, reasons why an order cannot be completed at this time, last-minute adjustments, and all other obstacles that will block my path to salvation.
... I'm pretty sure that's a curse, to say, "If you... then you may have your reward."
.... Using earned vacation days is a reward?
Granted, this is first world problems, but 1. I spent childhood in school to prep for college. 2. I spent young adulthood in college prepping for work. 3. I spend adulthood in work to get enough money to eat to live longer to work longer, with occasional breaks here and there before spending the majority of my time working, even though I can't afford a house, I can't afford renting a one-bedroom apartment alone, and I spend a decent amount of money on the vehicle used to get me to and from work, which is the majority of my life, for which all previous years have built me up. I can stop the work when my mind and body are thoroughly broken and useless to society.
... Ain't that funny?
dead. stop.
Commute drivers.
In heavy traffic, there's always that one driver who leads you into a false sense of traffic flow, accelerating up to 40 mph, waiting until the moment you let your guard down, then-- RRRT!
In heavy traffic, there's always that one driver who leads you into a false sense of traffic flow, accelerating up to 40 mph, waiting until the moment you let your guard down, then-- RRRT!
Dead stop.
And you think, "Okay, maybe that was my bad. I'll give 'em distance this time and stay alert." Accelerating cautiously. "Finally traffic seems to be picking up again." 40 mph. "Oh does this guy want in on my lane-- HOLYCRAP!"
Dead stop.
"Okay guy. Come on dude. Not cool bro. Now I'm giving you space-- Oh ho ho! Looks like you finally put space between you and the dude in-frunna-ya. Bout time! Okay, lessee if you've learned your lesson. Oh, look, an In-N-Out Burger--- DAMMIT WHY!?! WHY?!!!!!?!!!?!"
Dead stop well before the car in front of him.
"Okay guy. Come on dude. Not cool bro. Now I'm giving you space-- Oh ho ho! Looks like you finally put space between you and the dude in-frunna-ya. Bout time! Okay, lessee if you've learned your lesson. Oh, look, an In-N-Out Burger--- DAMMIT WHY!?! WHY?!!!!!?!!!?!"
Dead stop well before the car in front of him.
Monday, August 13, 2018
oo.naw.naw.naw.
Havana oo nana...
I just don't understand the Jeffrey bridge, you guys. You've got this young, sultry, swept-off-her-feet voice singing about falling head-over-heels, and then
On my drive to work today, I allowed my still-waking-up low energy to filter through a chill mood, instead of the high-blood-pressure "don'tchu play games with ME, Prius muddabucka" "dammit I'm late again" mentality. Head-bopping to a cheerful dose of Kpop, I witnessed the little sedan in the next lane blow its back tire, but attempt to continue along, while other cars crept up its bumper and cut across to another lane with a "Y U SO SLOW!?!" attitude. I put on my blinker, safely merged behind that distressed car, and slowly drove a safe distance behind it, blinking my emergency flashers to let others know to go around. When she finally had some extra road room, she pulled to the side of the road, and I drove on past, glancing back at the older lady with the beat-up three-wheeled sedan.
... A part of me felt proud of myself for what I consider "helping" that lady, but a louder voice in my mind held the opinion that it was silly and unnecessary.
I like to help people. I like to consider myself, well, considerate, and empathetic. I'm not sure where I personally draw the line between being helpful and wasting my time/resources. I like to think of myself as fairly efficient, but that doesn't always coincide with the whole considerate thing.
...
... I mean, I get that a rapper like Ludacris comes off as too assertive/aggressive, and that Young Thug style is a lot more smoky and chill, but what about B.o.B or Snoop Dogg or Luis Fonsi or T.I.? I mean, I guess it makes Cabello's clear voice sound even better, but... c'mon.
EDIT: 10/25
Oh of course there's a way better remix:
I just don't understand the Jeffrey bridge, you guys. You've got this young, sultry, swept-off-her-feet voice singing about falling head-over-heels, and then
(Jefferyyy)Just graduated, fresh on campus, mmFresh out East Atlanta with no manners, damn...Bump on her bumper like a traffic jamHey, I was quick to pay that girl like Uncle Sam (here you go, ay)Back it on me, shawty cravin' on meGet to diggin' on me (on me)She waited on me (then what?)Shawty cakin' on me, got the bacon on me (wait up)This is history in the makin' on me (on me)Point blank, close range, that beIf it cost a million, that's me (that's me)I was gettin' mula, man they feel meIt sounds like some guy chillin' at home toying with a free autotune app. He listens to this young lady in love yet torn, and then, "Humpty-hump. Yeah, you want me. I'm Jeffery. You're a tasty piece of ass. I have money!" Now, I'm no good at slang, but according to Urban Dictionary, "pay that girl" could either mean a) to ignore, b) to like something (maybe as in pay it a compliment?), or c) to literally give the young woman money for some kind of not-so-wholesome service. Regardless, I'm just not a fan of this guy's little.... rap-thing.
On my drive to work today, I allowed my still-waking-up low energy to filter through a chill mood, instead of the high-blood-pressure "don'tchu play games with ME, Prius muddabucka" "dammit I'm late again" mentality. Head-bopping to a cheerful dose of Kpop, I witnessed the little sedan in the next lane blow its back tire, but attempt to continue along, while other cars crept up its bumper and cut across to another lane with a "Y U SO SLOW!?!" attitude. I put on my blinker, safely merged behind that distressed car, and slowly drove a safe distance behind it, blinking my emergency flashers to let others know to go around. When she finally had some extra road room, she pulled to the side of the road, and I drove on past, glancing back at the older lady with the beat-up three-wheeled sedan.
... A part of me felt proud of myself for what I consider "helping" that lady, but a louder voice in my mind held the opinion that it was silly and unnecessary.
I like to help people. I like to consider myself, well, considerate, and empathetic. I'm not sure where I personally draw the line between being helpful and wasting my time/resources. I like to think of myself as fairly efficient, but that doesn't always coincide with the whole considerate thing.
...
... I mean, I get that a rapper like Ludacris comes off as too assertive/aggressive, and that Young Thug style is a lot more smoky and chill, but what about B.o.B or Snoop Dogg or Luis Fonsi or T.I.? I mean, I guess it makes Cabello's clear voice sound even better, but... c'mon.
EDIT: 10/25
Oh of course there's a way better remix:
Grass is Greener
Jerome is upset because he is no longer in the warm womb where he came to exist. He is cold, hungry, and ferociously uncomfortable.
Jack is upset because a wheel has popped off his toy firetruck, which is baked in happy memories of his grandfather whom he misses more than he understands.
Jesse is upset that he doesn't have a date for the big school dance. He'd been focusing so hard on improving his facial complexion, smelling ok, working a part-time job to afford renting a suit and purchasing a corsage, and trying not to be too embarrassingly awkward around Theresa, to realize his poor grades won't allow him to graduate with the rest of his class.
... Oh, and Jesse's best friend told Theresa that Jesse's not into girls, swooping in on the rebound.
Jim is upset that his new wife is unable to conceive. His natural instinct is to blame her for withholding such important information, even though she hadn't known until after the honeymoon. Jim counts the days until the divorce is finalized while he continues to sleep with his arms around the woman he once loved.
John is upset that his partner is leaving him. Already teetering on clinical depression, he racks his brain for just one reason why they weren't perfect together. He obsesses day and night, but manages to respect his ex's request to ask no questions. The chaos inside eats away at John's self-esteem, his identity, and ultimately his sanity.
Jai is upset that his beautiful, healthy baby boy has a strong wail that blasts day and night. As much as he loves his new family, he jumps at any opportunity to work more hours or sit in traffic just a little longer to enjoy the peace. He rationalizes that the child needs his mother at this stage of life, and he'll step back in when he becomes "more helpful".
Jack is upset because a wheel has popped off his toy firetruck, which is baked in happy memories of his grandfather whom he misses more than he understands.
Jesse is upset that he doesn't have a date for the big school dance. He'd been focusing so hard on improving his facial complexion, smelling ok, working a part-time job to afford renting a suit and purchasing a corsage, and trying not to be too embarrassingly awkward around Theresa, to realize his poor grades won't allow him to graduate with the rest of his class.
... Oh, and Jesse's best friend told Theresa that Jesse's not into girls, swooping in on the rebound.
Jim is upset that his new wife is unable to conceive. His natural instinct is to blame her for withholding such important information, even though she hadn't known until after the honeymoon. Jim counts the days until the divorce is finalized while he continues to sleep with his arms around the woman he once loved.
John is upset that his partner is leaving him. Already teetering on clinical depression, he racks his brain for just one reason why they weren't perfect together. He obsesses day and night, but manages to respect his ex's request to ask no questions. The chaos inside eats away at John's self-esteem, his identity, and ultimately his sanity.
Jai is upset that his beautiful, healthy baby boy has a strong wail that blasts day and night. As much as he loves his new family, he jumps at any opportunity to work more hours or sit in traffic just a little longer to enjoy the peace. He rationalizes that the child needs his mother at this stage of life, and he'll step back in when he becomes "more helpful".
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