‘Professional concerns’


Ok, I am still feeling like shit from my nasty cold, and coming to work certainly isn’t making me feel better. Not to mention, with all kinds of crazy crap going on next week, I’m going to be in here all weekend, when I should be packing.

H.R. left me a message that she didn’t like yesterday’s candidate as much as I did. She said she has some “professional concerns” about her. What, I have no idea, as I left early yesterday and she’s out of the office today. Shit, she had (and probably still has) “professional concerns” about me, and I think I did just fine, thank you very much. This leaves me to wonder who, exactly, will have the final say when it comes time to choosing the winning candidate.

I’m really starting to feel the way I did at Two Strikes — that I am not “allowed” to make the decisions that I am supposedly empowered to make. We already know that I will never again have the final say on the newspaper (for instance, I’m struggling with an OpEd piece today that I know will incense the powers-that-be, although it’s a very good piece). And now, I know I have other people to interview, but if I had to hire the gal from yesterday, I’d do it in a minute, but only if they’d let me.

Anyway, I feel pretty useless when it seems that my decision-making ability is questioned and/or on the line. I’m good enough to work like a dog, but not good enough to carry out my own vision of what the newspaper and the department *could* be. Every day, it seems, my heart breaks a little bit more. And I resent having Demure having a say-so in everything I do, because although she’s a nice person, the “professional concerns” red flag should be raised in her direction, too. She’s always so busy supervising what everyone else is doing (including people not in her department) that nobody really knows what she’s supposed to be doing, and frankly, I don’t think she really knows, either.

Going to work is like starting kindergarten all over again — you might have left your mommy’s watchful eye, but now you have complete strangers telling you what you should do and who you should be. And all it makes you want to do is poop in the sandbox and run with scissors — anything just to show your individuality and rebellion. And there is no room for rebels and individuals in the land of conformity, but if it pays your bills, you really can’t have much to say, can you now?


I am getting an interview with these people. Why not turn my bubbling “office rage” into a story for my readers? Here’s to hoping they can be interviewed on Monday … before it’s too late. 😉

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