‘It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year’

Behold, my bonus …

“It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year
Which makes my eyes feel sore
And whoever would’ve thought
The books that you brought
Were all I loved you for.”

— The Sundays, “Here’s Where the Story Ends”

We use the word bonus lightly. Just like, when someone else in management told a developer that an Ivy League teacher’s college — where his daughter attends — isn’t a “real school,” I might or might not have said, “Well this isn’t a real company anymore.”

But they get my snark. (There are ZERO surprises on that front. I tell them EVERYTHING and I can verify that they monitor this site like they do everything else. At least I provide entertainment.)

They let me do it. Because they also get my best. And they know it …

Look, I am smarting from one of my longtime friends being shown the door yesterday. After all the work he did to save our asses after a massive hack last week.

A hack that followed the launch of a suite of brand-new products. A suite the owner decided *I* should manage rather than the new ed director. Because:

“(Goddess) is better at her job.”

Which is fine. At least I set them up right, and will run them that way. I can/do also edit, post to the web, do the HTML layout and design for broadcast, and USE our insane new broadcasting system that I literally just learned how to use yesterday.

(We call me the “spiritual editorial director” now.)

(Did I mention the other guy takes home 50% more money and I do 200% of the work? And he got the same bonus I did?!)

One Lonely Response to ‘It’s that little souvenir of a terrible year’

  1. Caterwauling :

    […] already know they showed my friend the door. This was expected, yet still […]

Can I Get an 'Amen'?