‘A Disappointment’
Demure yanked my ass into her office at 4 p.m. for an hour today. She was highly “disappointed” in me for blowing off her request that I throw myself at her mercy today. I never did respond to her e-mail, and if I heard a variation of “dissapointment” for a fifth time (she only used it four) about me, I would have reached across her desk and killed her.
She said she was disappointed in me for not responding to her e-mail. She’s disappointed that I do not realize how lucky I am to be able to be enrolled in their stupid training next week. She’s disappointed that I disrespected her for not acknowledging that she wanted to talk to me. She’s disappointed in me, period.
It took all my strength to not say, “You’re a disappointment to me, too. So what’s your point?”
After she laid into me for 20 minutes, I had to laugh out loud. Seriously, it probably took her all day to screw up her courage to confront me. What a joke.
At any rate, long story short, they are not doing a training in the next few weeks, which she didn’t even know about (I could go into how I know, but I digress). She thought I was being an ungrateful brat, and while she knows I’ve had plenty of supervisory experience and training, she said I need to be trained as a Veggie Patch supervisor. Jesus Christ, if there’s a type of manager I don’t want to be, it’s a manager just like her and the rest of the pansies in charge of that joint (minus Finance Guy, who rocks and god I wish I could work for him).
We went round and round forever about all of this. Essentially, she’s angry with me because A.) I blew off her request to meet. B.) She’s under the impression that I don’t take the *importance* of that training seriously. C.) That she didn’t like the tone of my e-mail. And D.) That I essentially was begging her to let me do my job.
She did try to divert me by asking about how my dance class is going. Oldest trick in the book, babydoll. I let her go and chatted about dumb stuff for a few minutes, but then I let it rip. I said I’ve been pretty damn angry for the past two weeks, because I’ve made no secret of the fact that training falls on two of my busiest days during the month. I asked if I had to make a choice between doing the stupid training to appease her or get the paper to press. She looked like she was about to go all Linda Blair/”Exorcist” on me — she can’t handle confrontation. I said I’m pissed because it’s like I have to beg everyone to let me do my job as editor, that they just don’t get that no matter how hard I’ve planned to get the issue on track, shit happens and I’m but one person. I said it’s not like anything can happen without me sitting there, doing it. It’s not like I have a staff that can take over while I go play in a training.
Oh, but the shit about the e-mail infurated me. It’s not like the ripping e-mails that my predecessor used to send to the CEO. I simply said that I was interested in switching places with someone in another session (although nobody told me that the other session was canceled and that those participants were to join my class, but I didn’t know that at the time). I also said that it’s difficult for me and that it would be helpful to me if events held between the 10th and 28th of any month didn’t require my attendance. I said that once I get a warm body in the department with me, I will find it much easier to participate in trainings and meetings without newspaper-related functions coming to a complete standstill until I return.
Demure told me that I was just plain rude, and she tried to tell me how I *should* have written the note. She looked at me, almost visually demanding an apology. Fuck her, she wasn’t getting one, nor did she get one. I handled the request with tact and respect — as much as I could muster, anyway. Maybe I did avoid her, but I wanted to avoid an hour-long dissertation like the one I got at the end of my Friday.
And I know this shit will appear on my review. And watch me laugh in her face and not sign my review. Watch me walk out and keep on walking. Just fucking watch, because it will happen and I will be the latest editor in a string who runs, not walks, to the nearest exit when I’ve had enough.
I think she should just attend my trainings and take good notes. God knows she has a thing or 50 to learn about supervision. I do not fit into her mold as a perfect employee. God forbid, I produce a 40- to 64-page newspaper every month with minimal assistance from volunteers and freelancers. Nobody knows about the P.R. involved, the services I provide to members, the time and care I pour into every last task that pertains to the paper and to the people who receive it.
How DARE she even use the word “disappointment” in my presence. Fuck you, Demure, and the horse you rode in on. I hope you cry in your oatmeal when I ride out on my horse, hopefully sooner than we all think.
Tonight, after a shit-filled day for Shan as well as me, we went to our office in Old Town. Yes, our office. We sat there and enjoyed it. We ripped everyone at the Veggie Patch a verbal asshole, we laughed till we cried and we talked about a tiny bit of business. But it’s fucking pathetic how a week at that mortuary drains the life out of us.
Shan’s favorite comment from me today was when I said it was so cold it was like we are preserving bodies. My favorite comment from her today was when the receptionist, who processes address changes, asked Shan if she receives infomation about the deceased. Shan simply said, “No, I work with them.” ROFL. We had a great time with the Hayley Joel Osment line from “The Sixth Sense” — “I see dead people!” Only our movie will be called “Nonsense,” in honor of Club Medicated.
We went to the mall, had dinner and ice cream, and made many jokes about words that rhyme with her boss’s name, as well as ordering birthday cakes with ass prints on them. We already know those jokers are taping our conversations, but if they’re reading the blog too, I’ll save explaining my references to Barbie cakes and pinatas. But what I will say is that we will dance gleefully out the door when we leave those corpses, assholes and dipshits (oh my!) behind for good.
One last word on our thoughts about Town Crier, not only was she beaten with the ugly stick, but after they bludgeoned her with it, they shoved it up her ass for good measure.
Oh, and I still haven’t been excused from the fucking training. Assholes!