R-E-S-P-E-C-T

" When the stars told you this was a good time to start new projects at work, they certainly didn't expect you to put Vaseline on the stairs and then pull the fire alarm. "

Yesterday, I was respected at work. Ya, no... you read that right. I didn't forget the "dis" in front. I was actually respected. Without warning. Possibly a sad state of affairs when that sort of thing actually knocks the wind out of you. I would pretend I was speechless, but this one ALWAYS has something to say! I think one of the particularly amusing parts about the whole thing was the timing.

Not 12 hours prior, I had lost my temper with a certain little boy who was too mesmerized by a certain DVD (which he had incidentally watched no less than 9 times already) to bother pausing it when the forces of nature hit causing him to pee all around the toilet. The poor thing was already breathlessly mumbling "Oh no, oh no, oh no..." when I came bursting through the door (picture the Kool-Aid man coming through that brick wall) to put the fear of Ninja Kitty in him. After violently spewing far too many words most parents hope their kids aren't exposed to before at least 7 or 8 years of age, I put myself on a time-out in the garage. While I was out there, it seemed a lovely idea to break into one or three of the wine coolers housed in the old fridge a few feet away. Two sips into the first one, as I was already toasty, it seemed pure genius to reach for the phone and tell My Iza all about my terrible parenting.


I was downright slap happy. We're talking unreasonably hysterical.... I could not have found myself more amusing if I tried! The conversation quickly turned (as it usually does) to work and all the dysfunction surrounding it. I mused about how I had finally reached such a boiling point of stress that I achieved a heightened state of "I don't give a flying fuck". There was much plotting and scheming and it was decided I was to take on the role of guinea pig for all our equally exhausted co-peons. A little game to see how long it would take someone with an ounce of authority to notice my passive attitude.

12 hours later, I get an email. Official business. Marked "confidential" and even annotated with that handy little red "!" signaling the utmost importance and urgency. The favor of my reply was requested before a particular transaction would be put into motion. It's entirely possible I laughed out loud as I acknowledged the "read receipt".

For years, I was reminded that the higher ups don't know what I do so it was a foregone conclusion that I must be useless and have too much time on my hands. The latter can be true from time to time, but I maintain it's due to my remarkable efficiency. Efficiency, common sense, competence and troubleshooting abilities are generally frowned upon by those who have paid handsomely for that piece of parchment outlining educational merit. Please don't take offense, these are merely my incoherent mumblings based solely on my own experiences.

A handful of years into the world of steady employment, I encountered a situation that only fueled my tainted perception of Corporate America in all it's unethical glory. I was a bank teller (No shit! They actually allowed riff-raff such as myself to do such a thing) at a large downtown establishment. Having unexplained talents with numbers despite only needing basic math skills, I had no problem balancing each day. That's the point, right? I didn't quite understand how one could NOT balance if that was pretty well the primary purpose of clocking in each day. I only later found out there was actually a jar of change and bills that all the other tellers ritually worshipped each evening so they could go home.

I suppose this notion was born of the consequences bestowed upon these poor social gals as, if they were so much as a penny off, no one was allowed to go home until it was accounted for. What appalled me is that the manager (who held an Accounting degree - though possibly from a box of Cracker Jacks) was aware of  this jar idea and further had come to the ultimate conclusion that, without said jar, it was only pot-of-gold-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow-caliber-luck that would enable one to balance. Absolute certainty that only deviance of the most foreboding variety would explain otherwise. So I was written up. For doing my job. Protests of routinely bathing in unicorn tears offered as the culprit fell on deaf ears. No dice.

This was not an isolated instance, simply the most glaring example of such. I slowly learned to "play the game". I have been cheery. A "team player". I can instantly zero in on my recipient's sense of humor and pander to such. I type 108wpm w/out errors. Data entry is the air I breathe. I can Google any job function they drop on my desk. And until recently, I would keep my mouth shut***. The model employee.

***Oh yes, I did sneak that in there. I would pinpoint the timing to roughly a year ago that something in my brain snapped. The inner Peanut Gallery has been delectably brewing to the current rolling boil. When invited to meetings, it is fully expected that I will be a very BAD KITTY. I'm sarcastic. I point out absurdity. I bullshit like a bloody champ. I talk back. I disrespect. One might say I'm the textbook quintessential personification of everything an employee should NOT DO. The result? No visible difference from before. No shit. The true difference is that I'm not harboring nearly the stress I did previously. Oh, and why do I get away with it, you ask? I'm adorable. That's fucking why. No, in all seriousness, the other lesson I had to learn FAST is that power in the hands of the already self-important renders them unable to grasp subtleties. Even not-so-subtleties.... but if you build it up gently over time, same thing. It's all 6's as my mother would say.

Against all odds, I'm living the dream straight from Office Space sans the hypnotherapy. And I have no illusions this will all last. When it comes to the almighty dollar, everyone is expendable. That long ago referenced series of 0's and 1's. Well, look at that, time for my next meeting. Ciao!

No comments:

Post a Comment

Kitty

Wednesday, April 20, 2011

R-E-S-P-E-C-T

" When the stars told you this was a good time to start new projects at work, they certainly didn't expect you to put Vaseline on the stairs and then pull the fire alarm. "

Yesterday, I was respected at work. Ya, no... you read that right. I didn't forget the "dis" in front. I was actually respected. Without warning. Possibly a sad state of affairs when that sort of thing actually knocks the wind out of you. I would pretend I was speechless, but this one ALWAYS has something to say! I think one of the particularly amusing parts about the whole thing was the timing.

Not 12 hours prior, I had lost my temper with a certain little boy who was too mesmerized by a certain DVD (which he had incidentally watched no less than 9 times already) to bother pausing it when the forces of nature hit causing him to pee all around the toilet. The poor thing was already breathlessly mumbling "Oh no, oh no, oh no..." when I came bursting through the door (picture the Kool-Aid man coming through that brick wall) to put the fear of Ninja Kitty in him. After violently spewing far too many words most parents hope their kids aren't exposed to before at least 7 or 8 years of age, I put myself on a time-out in the garage. While I was out there, it seemed a lovely idea to break into one or three of the wine coolers housed in the old fridge a few feet away. Two sips into the first one, as I was already toasty, it seemed pure genius to reach for the phone and tell My Iza all about my terrible parenting.


I was downright slap happy. We're talking unreasonably hysterical.... I could not have found myself more amusing if I tried! The conversation quickly turned (as it usually does) to work and all the dysfunction surrounding it. I mused about how I had finally reached such a boiling point of stress that I achieved a heightened state of "I don't give a flying fuck". There was much plotting and scheming and it was decided I was to take on the role of guinea pig for all our equally exhausted co-peons. A little game to see how long it would take someone with an ounce of authority to notice my passive attitude.

12 hours later, I get an email. Official business. Marked "confidential" and even annotated with that handy little red "!" signaling the utmost importance and urgency. The favor of my reply was requested before a particular transaction would be put into motion. It's entirely possible I laughed out loud as I acknowledged the "read receipt".

For years, I was reminded that the higher ups don't know what I do so it was a foregone conclusion that I must be useless and have too much time on my hands. The latter can be true from time to time, but I maintain it's due to my remarkable efficiency. Efficiency, common sense, competence and troubleshooting abilities are generally frowned upon by those who have paid handsomely for that piece of parchment outlining educational merit. Please don't take offense, these are merely my incoherent mumblings based solely on my own experiences.

A handful of years into the world of steady employment, I encountered a situation that only fueled my tainted perception of Corporate America in all it's unethical glory. I was a bank teller (No shit! They actually allowed riff-raff such as myself to do such a thing) at a large downtown establishment. Having unexplained talents with numbers despite only needing basic math skills, I had no problem balancing each day. That's the point, right? I didn't quite understand how one could NOT balance if that was pretty well the primary purpose of clocking in each day. I only later found out there was actually a jar of change and bills that all the other tellers ritually worshipped each evening so they could go home.

I suppose this notion was born of the consequences bestowed upon these poor social gals as, if they were so much as a penny off, no one was allowed to go home until it was accounted for. What appalled me is that the manager (who held an Accounting degree - though possibly from a box of Cracker Jacks) was aware of  this jar idea and further had come to the ultimate conclusion that, without said jar, it was only pot-of-gold-at-the-end-of-the-rainbow-caliber-luck that would enable one to balance. Absolute certainty that only deviance of the most foreboding variety would explain otherwise. So I was written up. For doing my job. Protests of routinely bathing in unicorn tears offered as the culprit fell on deaf ears. No dice.

This was not an isolated instance, simply the most glaring example of such. I slowly learned to "play the game". I have been cheery. A "team player". I can instantly zero in on my recipient's sense of humor and pander to such. I type 108wpm w/out errors. Data entry is the air I breathe. I can Google any job function they drop on my desk. And until recently, I would keep my mouth shut***. The model employee.

***Oh yes, I did sneak that in there. I would pinpoint the timing to roughly a year ago that something in my brain snapped. The inner Peanut Gallery has been delectably brewing to the current rolling boil. When invited to meetings, it is fully expected that I will be a very BAD KITTY. I'm sarcastic. I point out absurdity. I bullshit like a bloody champ. I talk back. I disrespect. One might say I'm the textbook quintessential personification of everything an employee should NOT DO. The result? No visible difference from before. No shit. The true difference is that I'm not harboring nearly the stress I did previously. Oh, and why do I get away with it, you ask? I'm adorable. That's fucking why. No, in all seriousness, the other lesson I had to learn FAST is that power in the hands of the already self-important renders them unable to grasp subtleties. Even not-so-subtleties.... but if you build it up gently over time, same thing. It's all 6's as my mother would say.

Against all odds, I'm living the dream straight from Office Space sans the hypnotherapy. And I have no illusions this will all last. When it comes to the almighty dollar, everyone is expendable. That long ago referenced series of 0's and 1's. Well, look at that, time for my next meeting. Ciao!

No comments:

Post a Comment