I am in no danger of being promoted
I’ve said this 4,000 times over the past month.
After every work induced heartbreak (all 4,000 of them), I reminded myself, I am in no danger of being promoted.
They will keep finding dopey white guys to put above me.
There is no way I will get the title I coveted.
And I stopped caring about that a long time ago.
And when the thought occurred to me during my last shitty performance review — when I dared to suggest that maybe I might hit the “up or out” phase soon — I was met with “well if you need more words in your title, fine” and “then go come up with a way to earn commission” … I knew, this ain’t it.
But I DO care. I DO love it. And I’m very worried that if there isn’t some reward at the end of *gestures vaguely* all this … be it the title I wanted, or the Disney employee event … OR BOTH .. I will not be of any value to us because I will be in a goddamn mental asylum.
I’ve even gotten to the point with my staff, not saying it directly, but like hey, if you never hear it from anyone else, I love you and I’m so proud of you.
I hope they hear it. I hope they feel it. But at this point, I hope hearing it from me is enough.
I’m just so pissed off I have to work from Pittsburgh.
I don’t even know when I’m going to be able to visit my grandparents’ grave.
I forgot to order the gravestone.
I mean it’s been 24 years, what’s another lifetime.
But still.
This place has gotten more of me than it deserves.
And to have my millennial manager thinking I haven’t given/don’t give enough?
But that Heifer has?
(Though I’d like to think they are smarter than that.)
I just don’t even know.
Maybe it’s the bottle of Franciscan talking.
But … I don’t really know what more I can do.