Caterwauling

Got screwed for the third time at a favorite restaurant today.

Three visits in a row now, I’ve not been able to eat at the same time as my friend or mom. Always have to send someone’s food back to be redone.

The thing is, the food is always great when it’s fixed. The managers are fantastic, and totally make up for the sucky server and/or cook. Two out of the three visits, I got my meal comped.

The thing is, it’s like any job. If the corporate equivalent of servers and cooks can’t get it right — and the manager ends up doing everything anyway — why do you need “help”?

I’m already at my wits’ end about so many things. Is it so much to expect that when I order grilled salmon, the fucking thing touches some fire at some point and isn’t oozing its innards all over my plate?

Maybe I’m just annoyed because it’s Sunday night and I have work to do that I would like to be done right. Without 75 questions that require more effort than tackling the project itself. Without “well I never did this before” from someone who’s been there exactly a year and a half LONGER than me and I KNOW my/our old boss didn’t do jack shit so SOMEONE had to do it.

And I have a sneaking suspicion I have to cancel next weekend’s plans. Unrelated but equally infuriating. Especially since I’ve spent money I guess I can’t afford anymore to make it happen because my landlord is putting me on the street AT CHRISTMAS.

Sia’s name came up this week.

Well not by name, per se. But I heard the name of the editor who boarded the flight out of Vancouver just moments before she collapsed. The guy who assumed she made the flight … who got a call from their publisher in the connecting city to ask where she was … who assured him that she HAD to have made the flight because she was RIGHT BEHIND HIM. Who inadvertently provided temporary relief that didn’t last long at all.

His name coming up rattled me to the core. I said editing him probably contributed to the sudden cardiac event that took her from us. And another person in the room confirmed that his raw copy was truly a sight to behold, as it somehow went live in his new gig and it was … let’s just say breathtaking.

An opportunity to work with this guy is on the table. I had to ask who his editor will be. Since, you know, I would like to survive this all somehow.

Anyway, I got to thinking about Sia. Whether we’d still even be friends. She had an opportunity to move back to Baltimore. An opportunity that they mercilessly botched and, from what I’m told, resulted in her having a lesser title and pay after they’d raised both.

If you know my industry, you don’t have any surprise left in you. A world of hurt for the good people affected, yes. But it’s been a long time since my jaw dropped about anything.

But after “Lisa VanderPump” left, I would have called her. Call her like I hadn’t been calling her because she worked for LVP’s BFF.

I didn’t want LVP to catch wind how very much I’d had it and wanted an escape route. So I didn’t tell *MY* BFF, who maybe could have helped me or at least talked me off the damn ledge when I needed it.

Just like she hid the bullshit demotion from me and I had to hear about it at her memorial.

How’s that for how fucked-up things were?

Now I can run for any hills I want. Of course, without her up in B’more, I really don’t have any incentive to make our collective dream come true of working together again. There’s no dream left to fulfill.

I’d say “funny how things turn out.” But I’m not laughing.

You’d think I’d be accustomed to missing my friend by now. Since I’ve been doing it for probably two years before she died anyway.

The Mohicans group lost another key member yesterday.

At least this one got to leave of his own accord.

AM
BH
CP
DP
GW
JB
JC
JW
MC
MS
NM
SB
SG

And that doesn’t count the other three members of my new team who got exiled. One who, IMHO, needed to go.

So basically we are an expert team with almost zero experts. Not that anyone else is doing any better.

But if maybe they had let my BFF shine, I might still have someone to eat lunch with.

A rumor went around that LVP (“Lisa VanderPump,” maybe?) wanted to come back. I would shoot on sight.

Speaking of dead weight, now they tell me that one dumbass I was happy to part ways with five years ago is coming back to my team, to revive a project that failed seven ways to Sunday.

I said I used to work with the best pros in the business, and you want me to put THAT piker to work?

And don’t get me started on how I heard we turned down a paying customer, whose name is on that crossed-out list. It’s too early to even “even” about that.

Hard to get out of bed today. Considering I’m a raging insomniac, that should tell you all you need to know about the state of my heart right now.

It occurs to me that I have 25% fewer projects than I did at my beloved (pre-May 1) job. I have staff now, where I had none before. And … I AM BUSIER THAN EVER.

So many more steps. So many more issues. So many more setbacks.

I don’t want my old life back so much as I want one that isn’t a permutation — or maybe the word I’m searching for here is MUTATION — of it.

My buddy helped me with something and made a rookie goof, all in the same project.

Considering I walked them step by step through the hard stuff (it helps me if someone else can do it in my absence), the goof was unforgivable.

I asked why they didn’t test the link before go-live.

The reply manifesto included that they were just consumed with my request. And lack of sleep. Etc.

I replied with “check all links before go-live.”

That wasn’t the hard part of the day. But didn’t help.

“Great leaders don’t blame the tools they are given. They work to sharpen them.”

I came across this quote this weekend. Good timing, after an unproductive talk with a stubborn employee and a big fat apology tour to everyone else about their (in)actions.

After reading it, I decided to be careful. Collective “we” have a longstanding reputation for running the talent out of town and keeping the rest. So I recommitted to sharpening this particular tool.

Then chaos ensued first thing yesterday. Defying my orders. Publishing something without me seeing it, as always requested. Not making my changes to the near-live version I did manage to get a peek at. Mistakes, misspellings, and a reference to an element that’s in another product and not the one at hand. OMG I was so mad, I had to shut my door to stave off the 22 visits of “well that’s what I was told to do by someone who was here 45 years ago” lies.

That was another fun part of my day. A call from a fellow goddess who said get my name out of this person’s mouth. Don’t believe a word being said. They are trying to start drama and I want no part of it.

We compared notes on the terrible thing that happened Friday, and she was like, “Goddess, I would never instruct anyone to do that. Further, it’s YOUR call. It’s not mine and it’s not THEIRS.”

So now I am at the point of offering this person up as a human sacrifice. I’m also documenting. And I’m also praying that maybe I can sharpen this tool enough so that I don’t have to go interviewing for a new one. Although I’m really not sure which tactic will take less time. Finding and securing a new job and house in a foreign country feels like it would be a cakewalk in comparison.

“Christ, what an embarrassment.”

That’s what Mom texted last night after I explained why I would be late. Because I had to apologize to one of my editors because my team’s utter inability to publish a four-sentence alert in less than an hour and a half. And the only reason it went out at all was because I had to pull rank and say get it together, for crying out loud. (I was informed it could go out Monday. Um, who has the fucking title and makes that kind of decision? Me. Get it the fuck out now, Sparky. Every goddamned thing cannot be a big-ass FIGHT.)

I give up. I really do. This one person is making a mockery of all of us. And I guarantee his job is safer than mine.

He has this grudge against this particular editor. An editor who TRIED TO GET ME FIRED four jobs ago when we worked at the same company before. Hell, even I don’t have a grudge against the man. He seems to forget, and I’m committed to doing the same.

Sure he’s not the most riveting writer. Or especially accurate with certain details. And it is difficult to turn his stuff around super-quickly sometimes. But Jesus Christ on a pogo stick, the man is VERY good at the thing we hired him for. Be good to him, OK?

Hell, I even offered to do this project because I happen to be fast and accurate. But nooo, his self-appointed keeper wouldn’t let anyone near it as usual. I even had to ask him, what is your obsession with this guy? I think I need to separate you.

My mood keeps alternating between furious and more-furious. It’s like when I had The Kid as my problem. This one is more useful, granted. But my department has been the one targeted for cuts all year. If by some grace of God I am not the next target and can help choose the target, well. I won’t pick anyone who helps me look good. That’s for sure.

That someone in my recent past may want to come back.

They didn’t call me, of course.

In fact, I didn’t even hear their voice for a long, long time. Till today.

My immediate response was terror. I don’t know why. They can’t hurt me anymore.

But they can’t help or comfort or amuse or reassure me anymore, either. That feeling washed over me too.

I was also hoping they were happy. Or, at least, done coming off as somewhat gleeful at the havoc they wreaked, and actually happy with their decision.

So if they really want to come back, at least I’ve already gone through my stages of grief and can have a normal, human reaction in person.

That day when someone for no reason tells someone else you weren’t even working with (yet) today that you are somehow mad at her (when you were pretty specific that you were frustratedy with interruptions in general) and she asks what she did wrong and you’re like WTF because she’s fine and meanwhile she’s like while I have you, that person is all about the interruptions and my boss will be talking to you about that.

And that five minutes of your day is a good representation of the other 9.5 hours.

Dear Friday night: Thank you for arriving when you did.

A friend stopped in last night. It was close to 6 p.m. and it was my only quiet moment in a very, very stressful two weeks. I wanted to be home, but I just can’t with people hunting me down (and, sometimes, it feels like hunting me for sport) all day.

He said it’s the first time I have a big team reporting to me. I said not really. Everyone (the high-dollar talent, not the marketers) reported to me in the sense of checking in/getting assignments/pitching ideas/seeking green lights on projects, even if I wasn’t always the direct paycheck-signer. Because, they knew where the seat of power was.

He said well you have support staff again. Which is true. He said both have reams of experience. I said yes. One is a great utility player. I couldn’t do this without that person.

He said, and the other has tons of experience in a related industry. He said it as a fact, not as a question.

I said well. That’s what this person keeps telling me. I have yet to benefit from all these reams of experience.

That’s when he laughed and said I’ve officially become a boss.

That stuck with me for a while. I guess he was nicely saying that I used to be nicer.

What I wasn’t saying is that every day brings an argument. I think this person has talent. And incredibly good insights. But is so focused on being a pain in everyone’s butt that it’s very easy to forget what contributions they could bring.

I mean, just this morning I got an email saying I made their work great but I should really thank them for all they did to make it readable for me in the first place.

Well, that’s one way to go about it.

I don’t have a boss anymore to shield me from what happens above. My inbox is loaded with long back-and-forth conversations on 12 million topics. Aside from that, I’m teaching basic stuff to people who have been in the biz twice as long as I have. And trying to get people who have had no direction (from above or within) to accept MY direction. Oh and these people and their goddamned special reports. My kryptonite. Sheesh. The stress never ends.

I’m not ready to give up by any means. But this past month has felt about a year long. And I don’t feel like much of a boss in any sense of the word right now.

But at least I’m nothing like all my absentee bosses. They’ve all moved on and whether they have done better is a mystery. I’m super-grateful that the company (most companies I’ve been at, really) recognizes that I was a hidden gem all along and can shine without that layer above me. But damn, every once in a while I miss the one purpose they always served for me — an umbrella — so at least I could focus on the mud on my shoes. Now I’m up to my ass in muck AND soaked to the bone.

As I keep reminding myself, I have authoritah now. If anyone can fix it, I can. And if I can’t, then no one can.