I don't even know how this all happened. I didn't even know I had the balls. When you talk back to your boss, no matter how secure the job is, there's always that thought in the back of your mind, "You could get fired!" And that's why I held back so much yesterday, I think. Also I was so friggin' angry all I wanted to do was cry & I hate crying because that really isn't a side of myself that I want to show.
That thought that supposed to be in the back of mind? Wasn't there today. I just totally unloaded on my boss.
Allan staretd off by trying to talk to me & I wasn't having that. He asked if I was still mad at him. I kept silent, maybe I made a face. "I look the reason I had to ask you if you were on drugs--"
"WHY DO KEEP TRYING TO TALK ABOUT THIS? CAN'T YOU JUST LEAVE IT ALONE?!"
Not that I was screaming. Let's say my voice had become....quite raised. At this point, Terry had vanished with such success that it were as though he had ceased to exist. Smart man. Knows what the wrath of a woman can accomplish.
There was a lot of back and forth. Allan kept calm, I kept my voice, um, raised. I was collected though, with articulated thoughts. I wasn't childish or nasty. I was proud of myself and I guess that comes with practice. Lots and lots of practice. I've practiced a LOT since getting married. Ha, ha.
I had explained to Allan about the blouse, how the woman's clothes all had old stains on them, how it came out of a forty pound load & was the only one with dye transfer & that's why I kind of "blew it off". It was now that a little truth came out.
"Jennifer said the stain was not there when she took it in," Allan said calmly.
Ah, ha.
"Well, Jennifer is mistaken! They don't pay attention to anything up there! They take in a hundred white shirts, miss things, and even when the computer tells them to put something in dry cleaning to come to me first, THEY DON'T DO IT!!"
"You're right and that's why I'm going to talk to Jennifer--"
"And the stain was there when it came in. 'We' didn't do it. I didn't do it!"
Allan uses the words "we" and "us" a lot so I found it imperative to state 'I'. This went on for a while, actually. And it wasn't so much what came out of my mouth, but the tone I used. Allan knew I was pissed & not only because he asked if I were on drugs and I told him so, that it was "because of this whole situation".
After that, slowly and steadily I just began to feel so much better. Part of it may be due to a couple things that happened, but honestly I felt like a load had been taken off my chest. Angel, who does alterations and mending came in early with a huge peach cobbler, fresh from the oven & still warm. How did she remember our conversation about peach cobblers a month ago?
Terry & I bolted to the break room and immediately placed a large dent in the cobbler. There was a small envelope on top of the paper plates. "What's this?" I asked Angel. "Just a card," she replied.
The Lord's love never ends; His mercies never stop...They are new every morning. Lamentations 3:22, 23 Just a reminder that you are in God's care and my prayers today. Happy Birthday, Misty --Angel
"AW!!! I needed that!" I said.
"Everybody needs a little life now & then," Angel replied.
"I need a few!" The back of my eyeballs stung & I hugged Angel, saying "Thank you!" And that is a big deal because I am not a hugger.
As Terry & I dug into the cobbler, I told him it might be coincidence but I thought it was funny how he disappeared the second my voice got loud. "No, I did. I meant to leave," he said. We laughed over this. His wife probably taught him that. I made sure to tell Angel how good the cobbler was; I knew she was a bit self-concious due to using a new recipe. Of course I thanked her about a thousand times. I said to Terry over the cobbler how funny it was because I thought everyone hated me since I'm so mean all the time. We laughed again.
At work we do a dollar exchange on birthdays. Liz takes colored paper and writes HAPPY BIRTHDAY NAME! and pins it to your shirt & everyone give you a dollar, which you slip into the pin. The boss gives Terry $20 to get donuts. Now we have had donuts for every birthday for the entire six years that I've been there. Liz started five years before me & said it was always donuts. No one likes donuts anymore. In fact, we all kind of hate donuts now! So I suggested we order breakfast tacos from the taqueria down the street, 3 for $1.99 and use the $20 for that. It was a major hit and apparently I've started something. The villagers are restless!
Something else happened. From almost every single person there, I received $2 instead of $1. This stems back to the Christmas party of 2009. Shawn & I were the second employees to arrive & no one sat with us. Rebecca & her man sat with us, only because they were the very last to arrive & there were no more seats. I took it personally, though I am sure nothing was meant by it. For many months though, I harbored some bitterness over it. I didn't go this past Christmas, still stung by getting passed over, even though Jackie egged me on to go. She went on for so long, I eventually told her I'd be there even though I had no intention of going. And apparently I missed it because I was told Allan got a little tipsy & teary eyed.
It wasn't the fact that I got an extra dollar from most people, but the gesture that it provided. I know I am loud, outspoken, annoying, and have a tremendous attitude that I wear on my sleeve. But on the other, I do cause a lot of laughter because I like to make people laugh, even if it's at my own expense. That gesture really meant a lot to me. Allan usually gives $5 to the birthday celebrater; today he gave me $10. I guess he feels like an ass.
Throughout the day, Allan made very small attempts at conversation & I made it pretty obvious I wasn't interested. I asked Liz why he kept doing that. "I guess he feels bad that you're not 'friends' now & needs everything to be OK. He's always like that."
"I'm not a lamp! I need time to cool off, just leave me alone. Every single person that works here knows that--Terry knows that!"
Yep, if you've just been hired, I'll tell ya flat out that if I have a problem with you, I'll come & tell you. But if you've really pushed my buttons, just leave me alone & I'll come to you. Just let me chill out. Shawn learned that the hard way. No, I think he still has not learned that to the fullest.
Allan has pushed my buttons before & I can remember him doing the same thing. I wanna tell him "Just don't talk to me!" But I can see that he's trying and I've got only one more day till Happy Super Terrific Fun Vacation Time. When I come back, I'll be more chill.
Casey said that thirty is the new twenty. "I thought it was that forty was the new thirty," I replied.
"And twenty is the new thirteen!" she said.
So true. But at least at twenty you've not yet developed lines on your face no matter how much you smoked. I need some more nicotine gum....
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Wednesday, March 30, 2011
Stupid Job Makes Me Fat
I decided to get ice cream. The 7-11 down from our house must have known I was coming because right at my short eye level was a pint of Twix ice cream. I didn't even know they made that! Heaven will have bathtubs filled with chocolate & caramel and rivers of cheesecake & you can just dive right in as waffle cone birds fly overhead & you can reach out, grab one and eat it. But I digress.
Shawn went to school, I took a hot shower & chowed down on my ice cream. Best stuff in the world. Needs more crunchy cookie balls & caramel though. Just a scotch.
760 calories, 40 grams of fat and 72 grams of sugar. Stress is keeping me in the "Before" picture stage. Sigh.
Tomorrow's gonna be hell.
PS what kind of serving suggestion is half a cup? Is that some kind of cruel joke? Who eats only a half cup of ice cream?
The short answer? Happy people. Self-controlled people. People with a sense of purpose.
Phbt! None of those people even need ice cream. I need ice cream.
And yes, I do feel better.
Shawn went to school, I took a hot shower & chowed down on my ice cream. Best stuff in the world. Needs more crunchy cookie balls & caramel though. Just a scotch.
760 calories, 40 grams of fat and 72 grams of sugar. Stress is keeping me in the "Before" picture stage. Sigh.
Tomorrow's gonna be hell.
PS what kind of serving suggestion is half a cup? Is that some kind of cruel joke? Who eats only a half cup of ice cream?
The short answer? Happy people. Self-controlled people. People with a sense of purpose.
Phbt! None of those people even need ice cream. I need ice cream.
And yes, I do feel better.
Checked Out
Yesterday Rebecca brought me a shirt & I told her all that lady's stuff had been washed & bleached & go ahead & press it. My boss, Allan was right there piddling with something & didn't think much of it. The next morning, the blouse was hung in my area.
After I had been clocked in for approximately 10 minuets, Allan said he'd like to see me upstairs. He brought up the shirt & how it had dye transfer on it, how it seemed like I just "check out" at the end of the day, how something going out like this could drive away customers forever, etc, etc.
At one point, I attempted to interrupt, but he stopped me. I could have told him that Miss Lasseter's clothes were all white and all filthy, that they all had old stains on them. I wanted to tell him how the dye transfer was not my doing--in forty pounds of white & cream color clothes, how could something bleed onto this one blouse but nothing else?
Allan had already made up his mind I think. I began to become agitated as he just went on & on as he always does. I was just...angry. I could feel the backs of my eyeballs sting & admonished myself. I began to tear up & hated myself it. I didn't feel like crying! I wanted to hit the wall, I wanted to hit Allan. He just kept droning on! And I was really wanting a cigarette for the first time in months. He stopped & asked me a question. I don't know where this came from, I just blurted out, "I'm crying because I'm sleep deprived!"
I wasn't. I had a few nights where I'd gotten to bed a bit later than I intended and was a little fatigued but it just came out of my mouth. Allan asked why; I said I hadn't slept in 3 night. This led to the astonishing and shocking roundabout questioning of whether or not I was on drugs.
Seriously! Me! Of all people. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way....But do you have any habits I should be aware of?" Allan asked.
"What do you mean by habits?" I asked with a hint of nastiness behind it. He further explained because of how drugs have affected his family, blah, blah, blah and so forth...
"I smoked pot in high school, I smoked cigarettes for 13 years and I've been drunk 2 or 3 times in my entire life, so NO, I do not have any habits!"
How insulting. First of all, since so many in his family and one of my former co-workers was on meth, you'd think he might know how to recognize someone who's on the drug. He said he asked because I'm always moving so fast, then have days where I'm dragging. And he said repeatedly that he "had to ask".
No you didn't.
How insulting. Maybe I'm moving fast because I'm going behind others doing their jobs because they're flapping their yap too much, or in Terry's case, because he forgot. Terry doesn't even know how much I help him because he forgets everything. I'm moving fast to get caught up, to help press so I can get the hell out of here! I'm moving fast, not to impress you, but because others are milking the clock & I don't want to spend my every waking moment in this place.
I didn't say any of this to him. I was seething & afraid I might begin to sob uncontrollably because I had no where to put this anger. So, so angry. I stood up and said, "I made a mistake, it won't happen again!" And I walked out, already 10 minuets behind in my work.
Maybe he ought to ask Jennifer about the customer, Mrs. Costellanto about & how she left me a $10 tip (the 1st time ever, that I know of at least) for me because of the work I did on her clothes, how she told Jennifer it seemed like I take pride in my work. Maybe he should ask about Neil Phillips who was pleasantly shocked that he did not have to bring back his naval uniforms because they got to him with the proper military creases. And do you know they got the proper creases? Because they came through me first, that's why.
Maybe Allan ought to look at how I take care of every order, every supply delivery, lift things that are too heavy for me, take out the trash, clean piss from the toilet seat several times a day, pick up after grown adults, take of thousands of things that not quote, unquote My Job. Maybe he ought to think about the hundreds of daily I Don't Care Moments actually happen around here, even including my one that he just happen to see.
Looking back, I think when I did start to tear up, he had asked if I was unhappy with the job, burnt out, etc. Maybe that's what finally did it. I've been wanting to quit for a very, very long time. But this is not what he wanted to hear and I have no where else to go at the moment. Allan, who took a pshycology course a hundred years ago in college (and is SO very proud of that) that he always wants to play therapist. Look, you're my boss, not my therapist and no, I don't feel like sharing, thank you very much. He didn't want to hear the truth so I told him what I thought he might like to hear.
The more I thought about everything, the angrier I became. I was determined to feel better today, mentally and physically. And he ruined it within 10 minuets. I guess his pshycology professor didn't mention it better to chew out an employee at the end of the day. Christina had a problem with a press & asked me to get Allan. I trudged back upstairs, opened the door, told Allan about the press. "Oh and do me a favor," I seethed. "Don't ever ask me again if I'm on drugs."
After Allan finished with the press, he said he was sorry if I took offense (who would be offended?!) and it's something he had to ask (no, you really do not!) and he didn't want me to take it personally (well, you wouldn't, would you?) and as typical Allan often does, went on longer than he needed to (just go away!) and made me madder and madder with each sound that flitted out of his mouth. I said nothing. I didn't even want to look at him. Checked out? On drugs? You got some friggin' nerve!
One of the girls in Assembly had called in and this led to a lot indirect contact with Allan as he filled in for the gal. I never looked him in the eye, not once. If I absolutely had to respond, it was one-worded, turn around, go back to what I was doing.
I took the white blouse with the dye transfer, soaked it, bleached it, ran it with dye stripper, again. It did no good. The stain remained because I'd done this process six months before, again yesterday. But Allan was convinced that I didn't care and had "checked out" because it was the end of the day. Heaven forbid Allan should think I wasn't doing my job, so in the end I left the blouse hanging there. He can deal with it next week if he wants while I'm on vacation.
Around mid morning, my mom came by with a small potted flower. Allan was working the front counter so Liz could go take a break. Mom recognized this & kept her visit very short. I was still extremely angry from earlier and my mood probably glowed from my body language. "I was going to get you an orchid but they were all out," Mom said.
"You didn't have to do anything but thank you," I replied.
"We'll see you Saturday?"
She hugged me, told me she loved me and I went back to work. I was pressing while everyone else was on break so I had the whole back half of the building to myself. Allan appeared exactly right next to me as he is a known close-talker. I stepped on his foot, in fact, as I went to place my foot on a press pedal. "Is everything (stop talking) alright, I really OK? I saw that you're mom brought flowers....(My birthday is tomorrow, dummy) Gosh, I feel like kind of a jerk (Good!) for making accusations earlier." I never looked up, I just kept pressing. "Well, if there's a problem or anything you want to talk--blah blah, blah, blah, blah, going on forever and ever and I'm growing old here......
"I'm fine."
The rest of the day kind of went on like that. Soon as I would calmed down, Allan would have to say something to me. I don't know why. Oh, at some point in our morning chewing out Allan said to me, "You're one the highest paid here for a reason." Gee, that makes me feel really good because I'm making like what, two dollars above minimum wage? I feel so much better now and so very eager to get back to work.
At some point I grabbed Liz and hissed in her ear, "He needs to stop talking to me!" and as I rolled myself through the tool room, I said a little louder than necessary, "And apparently I'm on meth now!"
"By who? Your mom?" Liz asked with a stupid look on her face.
I shook my head and mouthed silently, "Allan".
Liz's face looked like she'd opened a closet and a scary clown jumped out at her. "WHAT?!"
I gotta get out of this place. It's freezing cold in the winter, scorching hot in the summer and dirty year round. Allan doesn't listen to me. I know enough of him by now to tell when he's made up his mind about something and to just give up on arguing. In fact, it was only last week I told him solvent was leaking from the drying. OH NO! he said. That's water--it's condensation! That has got to be water because it's so hot! Mmm-hmm. A week later I had huge puddle of solvent on the floor.
This is pretty much how EVERY conversation goes between us. I've argued that saving the pressers a little time here or there & leaving it for Assembly would be beneficial. You want the pressers out of there; that's six people on the clock! And after they leave, I can shut down the boiler, the air compressor, the fans, the lights--saving more money! But no, we don't want to give Assembly more to do that would be blasphemy! Never mind that it's 125 degrees or better in August where the pressers are, but as long as we don't put anything extra on Assembly---whatever, dude. I been over there and they ain't laboring. They may be working but they sure as hell are not laboring like the pressers.
It took me months--months!--to convince him that 1.5 gallons of detergent at Sam's or Wal-Mart was much cheaper than the $9, 1 gallon jugs of detergent we were getting from our supplier. I said, You're going to Sam's anyway, get a basic laundry detergent and save money. It was about three or four months before he actually did this.
You know what? I'm not wasting any more of my time or precious energy on trying to help him save money or energy. Forget it. I'm done. I have officially checked out.
After I had been clocked in for approximately 10 minuets, Allan said he'd like to see me upstairs. He brought up the shirt & how it had dye transfer on it, how it seemed like I just "check out" at the end of the day, how something going out like this could drive away customers forever, etc, etc.
At one point, I attempted to interrupt, but he stopped me. I could have told him that Miss Lasseter's clothes were all white and all filthy, that they all had old stains on them. I wanted to tell him how the dye transfer was not my doing--in forty pounds of white & cream color clothes, how could something bleed onto this one blouse but nothing else?
Allan had already made up his mind I think. I began to become agitated as he just went on & on as he always does. I was just...angry. I could feel the backs of my eyeballs sting & admonished myself. I began to tear up & hated myself it. I didn't feel like crying! I wanted to hit the wall, I wanted to hit Allan. He just kept droning on! And I was really wanting a cigarette for the first time in months. He stopped & asked me a question. I don't know where this came from, I just blurted out, "I'm crying because I'm sleep deprived!"
I wasn't. I had a few nights where I'd gotten to bed a bit later than I intended and was a little fatigued but it just came out of my mouth. Allan asked why; I said I hadn't slept in 3 night. This led to the astonishing and shocking roundabout questioning of whether or not I was on drugs.
Seriously! Me! Of all people. "I don't want you to take this the wrong way....But do you have any habits I should be aware of?" Allan asked.
"What do you mean by habits?" I asked with a hint of nastiness behind it. He further explained because of how drugs have affected his family, blah, blah, blah and so forth...
"I smoked pot in high school, I smoked cigarettes for 13 years and I've been drunk 2 or 3 times in my entire life, so NO, I do not have any habits!"
How insulting. First of all, since so many in his family and one of my former co-workers was on meth, you'd think he might know how to recognize someone who's on the drug. He said he asked because I'm always moving so fast, then have days where I'm dragging. And he said repeatedly that he "had to ask".
No you didn't.
How insulting. Maybe I'm moving fast because I'm going behind others doing their jobs because they're flapping their yap too much, or in Terry's case, because he forgot. Terry doesn't even know how much I help him because he forgets everything. I'm moving fast to get caught up, to help press so I can get the hell out of here! I'm moving fast, not to impress you, but because others are milking the clock & I don't want to spend my every waking moment in this place.
I didn't say any of this to him. I was seething & afraid I might begin to sob uncontrollably because I had no where to put this anger. So, so angry. I stood up and said, "I made a mistake, it won't happen again!" And I walked out, already 10 minuets behind in my work.
Maybe he ought to ask Jennifer about the customer, Mrs. Costellanto about & how she left me a $10 tip (the 1st time ever, that I know of at least) for me because of the work I did on her clothes, how she told Jennifer it seemed like I take pride in my work. Maybe he should ask about Neil Phillips who was pleasantly shocked that he did not have to bring back his naval uniforms because they got to him with the proper military creases. And do you know they got the proper creases? Because they came through me first, that's why.
Maybe Allan ought to look at how I take care of every order, every supply delivery, lift things that are too heavy for me, take out the trash, clean piss from the toilet seat several times a day, pick up after grown adults, take of thousands of things that not quote, unquote My Job. Maybe he ought to think about the hundreds of daily I Don't Care Moments actually happen around here, even including my one that he just happen to see.
Looking back, I think when I did start to tear up, he had asked if I was unhappy with the job, burnt out, etc. Maybe that's what finally did it. I've been wanting to quit for a very, very long time. But this is not what he wanted to hear and I have no where else to go at the moment. Allan, who took a pshycology course a hundred years ago in college (and is SO very proud of that) that he always wants to play therapist. Look, you're my boss, not my therapist and no, I don't feel like sharing, thank you very much. He didn't want to hear the truth so I told him what I thought he might like to hear.
The more I thought about everything, the angrier I became. I was determined to feel better today, mentally and physically. And he ruined it within 10 minuets. I guess his pshycology professor didn't mention it better to chew out an employee at the end of the day. Christina had a problem with a press & asked me to get Allan. I trudged back upstairs, opened the door, told Allan about the press. "Oh and do me a favor," I seethed. "Don't ever ask me again if I'm on drugs."
After Allan finished with the press, he said he was sorry if I took offense (who would be offended?!) and it's something he had to ask (no, you really do not!) and he didn't want me to take it personally (well, you wouldn't, would you?) and as typical Allan often does, went on longer than he needed to (just go away!) and made me madder and madder with each sound that flitted out of his mouth. I said nothing. I didn't even want to look at him. Checked out? On drugs? You got some friggin' nerve!
One of the girls in Assembly had called in and this led to a lot indirect contact with Allan as he filled in for the gal. I never looked him in the eye, not once. If I absolutely had to respond, it was one-worded, turn around, go back to what I was doing.
I took the white blouse with the dye transfer, soaked it, bleached it, ran it with dye stripper, again. It did no good. The stain remained because I'd done this process six months before, again yesterday. But Allan was convinced that I didn't care and had "checked out" because it was the end of the day. Heaven forbid Allan should think I wasn't doing my job, so in the end I left the blouse hanging there. He can deal with it next week if he wants while I'm on vacation.
Around mid morning, my mom came by with a small potted flower. Allan was working the front counter so Liz could go take a break. Mom recognized this & kept her visit very short. I was still extremely angry from earlier and my mood probably glowed from my body language. "I was going to get you an orchid but they were all out," Mom said.
"You didn't have to do anything but thank you," I replied.
"We'll see you Saturday?"
She hugged me, told me she loved me and I went back to work. I was pressing while everyone else was on break so I had the whole back half of the building to myself. Allan appeared exactly right next to me as he is a known close-talker. I stepped on his foot, in fact, as I went to place my foot on a press pedal. "Is everything (stop talking) alright, I really OK? I saw that you're mom brought flowers....(My birthday is tomorrow, dummy) Gosh, I feel like kind of a jerk (Good!) for making accusations earlier." I never looked up, I just kept pressing. "Well, if there's a problem or anything you want to talk--blah blah, blah, blah, blah, going on forever and ever and I'm growing old here......
"I'm fine."
The rest of the day kind of went on like that. Soon as I would calmed down, Allan would have to say something to me. I don't know why. Oh, at some point in our morning chewing out Allan said to me, "You're one the highest paid here for a reason." Gee, that makes me feel really good because I'm making like what, two dollars above minimum wage? I feel so much better now and so very eager to get back to work.
At some point I grabbed Liz and hissed in her ear, "He needs to stop talking to me!" and as I rolled myself through the tool room, I said a little louder than necessary, "And apparently I'm on meth now!"
"By who? Your mom?" Liz asked with a stupid look on her face.
I shook my head and mouthed silently, "Allan".
Liz's face looked like she'd opened a closet and a scary clown jumped out at her. "WHAT?!"
I gotta get out of this place. It's freezing cold in the winter, scorching hot in the summer and dirty year round. Allan doesn't listen to me. I know enough of him by now to tell when he's made up his mind about something and to just give up on arguing. In fact, it was only last week I told him solvent was leaking from the drying. OH NO! he said. That's water--it's condensation! That has got to be water because it's so hot! Mmm-hmm. A week later I had huge puddle of solvent on the floor.
This is pretty much how EVERY conversation goes between us. I've argued that saving the pressers a little time here or there & leaving it for Assembly would be beneficial. You want the pressers out of there; that's six people on the clock! And after they leave, I can shut down the boiler, the air compressor, the fans, the lights--saving more money! But no, we don't want to give Assembly more to do that would be blasphemy! Never mind that it's 125 degrees or better in August where the pressers are, but as long as we don't put anything extra on Assembly---whatever, dude. I been over there and they ain't laboring. They may be working but they sure as hell are not laboring like the pressers.
It took me months--months!--to convince him that 1.5 gallons of detergent at Sam's or Wal-Mart was much cheaper than the $9, 1 gallon jugs of detergent we were getting from our supplier. I said, You're going to Sam's anyway, get a basic laundry detergent and save money. It was about three or four months before he actually did this.
You know what? I'm not wasting any more of my time or precious energy on trying to help him save money or energy. Forget it. I'm done. I have officially checked out.
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