Everything pink

Well, today’s the first day I’ve felt good, after suffering from a combination of food poisoning, a sinus infection and general malaise associated with work. I’ve lost interest in the blog, in reading e-mail (it’s been days. …) and in actually attempting to be nice to people. I’ve officially become the worst version of myself — boy, I can be a real bitch when we remove the filter between my brain and my mouth!

Oh, and did I mention I’m not smoking? Grrrrrrrr. …

But the pink comes from the Pepto Bismol I’ve been drinking like I’m at a half-price cocktail hour. Also, as I was out shopping yesterday, and I noticed that pink seems to be the new black, so I happily bought a bunch of jewelry and belts in pink or a pink-and-black combo. I figure, I’ve got to pack to go away to our exciting, sure-to-be-fun-filled (gag) work conference in Missouri next week, so at least I should have new, pretty things to make the trip less painful. As if that could ever happen. 🙂

I was talking to my mom about work yesterday — what keeps me there and what’s making me nuts. She told me to quit. I had told her about this monthly list of managers’ tips that some of us get, and the list was totally aimed at me. It said that if employees are unhappy, give them a few days off so they can find another job. It said that people might be unhappy because their duties aren’t expansive enough for them — that they feel pigeonholed into a position. So the best thing to do is to remind them that they are meant to stagnate at this company and unless they can accept the notion of aspiring to nothingness, they just aren’t people we want to have on our team.

I shared it with Shan, who blew a fuse just as quickly as I did. As if we needed any kind of tangible evidence to corroborate what we’ve always believed. She chatted with the sole higher-up in the place who isn’t a “yes” man, and he said, very plainly, we have two types of managers: effective and ineffective. And which one wrote the memo that set us off? Right.

Speaking of ineffective managers, life has been beautiful while my supervisor has been out of the office. She has been calling in, but I’ve had my phone forwarded into voice mail — she’s so ridiculously fucking useless to me when she’s in her office three doors down, and being out of state makes her equally so (it’s difficult to be less useful than she already is). So much has happened, and I’ve accomplished so much, without her, that all she really wants to do is ask questions since it’s not like she can actually assist any efforts I am putting forth.

I was at her secretary’s desk on Friday, returning some financial records for my department (the woman probably saves the toilet paper we use, she’s such a pack rat), and the secretary said, “Sure, Pussy Demure!TM. Dawn’s standing right here. Yes, you can talk to her.”

Gaah! I made slitting-my-throat motions and shook my head. Of course, that didn’t work, so I had to talk to the woman. God damn. I wasn’t thinking, and while Demure was rambling about all things related to her (and not to work, of course, including telling me stories she’s told me three times already), I started moving my hand/wrist like I was jerking off. Then I noticed the secretary looking at me, horrified, so I settled for moving my hand like I was encouraging Demure to finish a thought already (she speaks reaaaaalllllyyyy slowly). I answered all her insipid questions and did enjoy gloating that the CEO approved not only my software request, but also my hardware request, without the required six meetings that Demure insisted I schedule with her and with him to get the process on track. She sounded happy for me but disappointed for her that she had to miss out on wasting several hours’ of everyone’s time talking about the same shit repeatedly.

OH!!! I forgot about that. The CFO mentioned to Shan something about how Demure and I butt heads. She was intrigued and asked what he witnessed. He recounted a story of when he met with us and asked me a question that I answered honestly (about getting a list of software I want — an outside company was supposed to compile the list, but after three months of inaction, I met with our graphics director and my newspaper designer and we got a list together within one day). The CFO had asked Demure why she wasn’t being useful in assisting me to get the tools I need to do my job, and that’s why I was nice and said it was really the outside vendor’s delay, but Demure was well aware that when I had the list together, I would need help getting it approved (not really — I was being generous).

Well, after I left the meeting, the CFO told Shan that Demure sat and bitched about me for 15 minutes, how I was personally responsible for this list from the beginning (um, no I wasn’t) and how all she was doing was waiting for me to move on it. I remember after Demure had that tete-a-tete — she called me into her office and told me that she told the CFO what she really thought (as if she could form an opinion). And I’d told her that my story was accurate and there was no need for her to “defend” herself.

Anyway, Shan made a point of telling the CFO that if he wants my side of the story, he should hear it, ’cause it’s the opposite of Demure’s. He waved a hand and told Shan he didn’t need to hear it, because he knows me and knows Demure is absolutely fucking worthless. And besides, why would the newspaper editor ever be put in charge of ordering hardware/software that the MIS department has to approve and order anyway?

There has been a running, fun joke among the newspaper staff and me that nobody really knows what I do for a living. Really, one person writes the main stories, another designs the paper, another sells ads. Other editors submit a column a month. Other than reading/editing everything (which, admittedly, is a suicide-inducing process at best), what do I do? Oh yeah, I sit in meetings, beat my head against blunt objects, defend myself, present ideas that are shot down, beg for change, pray for death (and not always mine), harass finance to pay my vendors, avoid potlucks and other corporate functions and remain on call for the print shop (and go running when they do call).

Oh, I got burned again — Shan and I have been begging ever since our highly successful press conference at the Veggie Patch to do more P.R. because the idiot who’s supposed to be in charge of P.R. is usually in a Zoloft trance (when she’s not trying to hit us when she comes down — I am not joking about this). So the CEO decided (after telling several departments to cut down the number of employees they send to conference) to bring back his beloved (witless) J-Ho, to handle P.R. at the conference. Not only that, but she also gets her own voice mail box at the Veggie Patch. And it was noted both in private and in public that I am to have nothing to do with public relations, even though that’s my “thing.”

How many times am I going to let them plunge the knife in? When am I going to realize that I am held to minimal expectations and just be content to graze the limbo bar once in awhile? If he didn’t approve us to get new computers (which just arrived! yay!), I’d really be mad. ::)

And now I have to leave town to spend a week with these idiots (including J-Ho). And you can see why I’m losing my fucking cookies over here. …

Mmm, cookies. … :9

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