Caterwauling

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.

I got to talking with one of my fellow “Survivors” from the old team. I mentioned how my most-recent (short-lived) boss de-friended me on social media. We laughed for a moment. And he said,

“Doesn’t he realize how happy you were in (previous town/building) with your original, handpicked team? Does he seriously think you had anything to do with what’s happened since? You could be sitting comfy in your chair, with a Starbucks in your backyard, your hair in pigtails and wearing shorts. You didn’t ask for any of this. And you handled it pretty darn well. And guess what, you deserve your promotion!”

I thought that was interesting. Especially given that I have access to some salary information and I have a good guess how much he was making. Hint: A LOT. Meanwhile I was doing the job … for about 40% less … if my estimates are right. And 70% better, IMHO.

In any event, we’ve made more changes and I kind of am back to a smaller version of my handpicked team. So, there’s that.

I’ve also been grousing that one of those people (not one of my picks, though) is getting some special favor for some bizarre reason.

But you know what? That’s fine.

So what if I had to earn all my breaks? So what if I had to get broken in the process? So what if no one, say, threw $30 at me to replace my brand-new groceries they threw out for no reason?

Fuck ’em. I’m still here. My rent is still getting paid at the end of the month. I lived through a damn hurricane and have another Cat-5 storm heading up the same path right as I type this. There are bigger things to worry about than someone else getting a damn perk in this world.

I still miss my old life. But now I can say, I miss the GOOD parts of it. I don’t miss the bad ones anymore. Not as much as I did these past few months, anyway.

But damn I miss my fridge. Which I guess I have to pay to replace. Because again, why should I expect a perk? And that’s probably why I have been so pissed off in the first place.

1. We Floridians can weather a Category 5 storm without even putting down our beers. But come on, people. There are only two working traffic lights on my 26-mile commute. Do you really not know that you’re NOT supposed to slam on the gas when you approach these brand-new four-way stops?

2. Shit for Fucking Brains tRump just landed in Florida. I wonder if Slut for Brains Melania is wearing camo-colored stilettos. Go the fuck away both of you. Wish Mar-a-Lago washed out to sea. It’s fucking hideous. The Merriweather-Posts are probably rolling over in their graves at the sheer gaudiness of it all. And also that fucking TRASH lives there now. #MAGA

3. These uncouth fucks sold Make Attorneys Get Attorneys #MAGA hats to underwater Texans. Maybe they will sell tank tops here since it’s a thousand degrees and eight people have died in a nursing home so far that didn’t have A/C.

4. Speaking of uncouth fucks, the only people I want banished to Siberia as much as those two are my latest batch of upstairs neighbors. Last night it was screaming, stomping, pissing, screaming, pissing WHILE screaming, guitars and more screaming ALL NIGHT LONG. Die. Die. Die. Just DIE. #MAGA

5. And for all those OTHER uncouth fucks who tell me “just move” like the assholes who told me “just evacuate,” please join that crowd at the end of a dock in Cudjoe Key next time a Category 5 hurricane slams into it head-on. You cough up first month’s rent, last month’s rent, full-month deposit and pet fees/rent (Six Grand. I’ll Wait) and we’ll talk.

6. Not sure why I had to come back to work and half the company didn’t. But whatever. I enjoyed being insanely busy. And I realized that even though we’ve let a lot of really good people go, the rest who stayed home did us a favor by staying out of our way. Can we make some trades now?

I wasn’t responsible for someone at my company getting let go. Or for getting their job.

Maybe they were forced to hire me. I don’t know. What I do know is they faded while I shined. That was beyond my control.

In any event, I genuinely like this person and want the best for them. So when I heard they are looking for freelance, I put a really good freelance job opportunity on my social media wall.

It was meant for this person to see. And I didn’t tag them or contact them directly. Just trying to be nice from afar.

And here’s how that worked out for me …

The person viewed my profile (again) … and unfriended me.

I mean, whatever. But I generally stay connected to folks just in case.

You know, just in case they can lead you to another job.

Just when I think I can’t be surprised anymore, the universe always says “challenge accepted.”

My social media site is not for name-calling when you’ve already made valid points. Those points get negated real fast when friends start sniping at each other and I have to delete shit after a particularly ugly comment. I hope the other person didn’t see it. The only one who can call people names is me, darn it. And even that’s only reserved for Pumpkinfuhrer and variations thereof.

So you can’t wear dress shorts.

You can’t leave your blinds open overnight.

You can’t leave groceries and the sammich your momma made you with her hurting little hands in the fridge if your name isn’t on them.

And good people are shown the door but certain others have job security for life.

And all these roads lead to exactly ONE place.

Seriously. Messing with a fat girl’s food means the fangs are bared and looking for an ass to chew out.

That time when the office people threw out all your brand-new groceries that you needed because you have no time to take lunch before the holiday weekend …

Because you didn’t put your name on it last night instead of THIS MORNING when they said the fridge would be cleaned out …

And you HAD a fridge of your own but it’s been taken hostage somewhere else in the building and no one will GIVE IT TO YOU …

And everyone is like well you were warned to put your name on your lunch like you have to stitch it in your underpants like a 5-year-old going off to camp …

And you just have to just be “overjoyed to be employed” as I say to everyone every single day. Because, that’s the way the cookie crumbles.

Mmm, cookies …

Goodbye, sandwich from mom, container of fruit, brand-new tub of hummus, and more carrots and broccoli than you can shake a Trader Joe’s at.

With great power comes … a whole lot of assholes not giving a shit about hiding their assholitry anymore.

Mom sent me this meme about “secret haters” …

She said, “Sound familiar?”

Yes. That’s the annoying bridge of the annoying pop song that is my life.

It’s not just that not a single person invited me to do anything to celebrate my little victory. I do have dinner with some of the girls soon. But for the most part, it’s been Pariah Central:

“Oh wow, something nice happened for you? *radio silence*”

Or, “Wait, you aren’t violently unhappy right at this particular moment in time? Well, fuck you then. We’ll all just go talk to everyone else who isn’t you.”

And of course, “Well you must be making more money. Go entertain yourself, or ya know, pay if you want me around.”

In the immortal words of Cee-Lo: “Fuck you. And, fuck her too.”

Amended to add: “And him too.”

Then there is the rest. The taking advantage in other ways.

Assuming the new boss is an old friend and therefore special privileges can be taken without fucking asking.

Or the absolutely fucking railroading the authority they said they were so glad for me to get.

The patronizing.

And the not actually giving the title the authority that I’ve ALWAYS carried anyway because the lesser title in my immediately previous life carried as much clout as the new one.

Now I wonder too if the people who rooted for this really just wanted someone to blame. Not today. But, you know, eventually.

I also see clearly that when the time comes (again) to play Budget Chicken, I have a big fat role in that cockfight.

The first two — Special Privileges and Fucking Railroading — don’t realize Large Marge is actually, officially and FINALLY in charge.

And that her grace has boundaries.

Oh, and that nobody objects to a smaller payroll.

Later, haters.

After you give up your would-be affair frog-prince to stay with the belching, farting, sneezing, honking, Lysol-cloud riding, micromanaging funky ass, you can’t really tell him to shove a fly up his froggy butt because you just lit your backup lily pad on fire.

I predicted this. And again, I’m not sure it’s worse than moving into the affair frog/prince’s pad. But it was nice to dream of kicking frogpies across the pond even though you knew you couldn’t base your decision on the joy you would derive from it.

… in the context of taking a screenshot …

… in the subcontext of micromanagement because they don’t believe that people who used to run newsrooms, departments or companies could possibly see a stupid task through to completion …

… One more fucking time …

I’m gonna show folks the real context of that word. 

CIRCUMCISION.