Work continues to be nothing short of a disaster. Obviously it would be in my best interests to not discuss work, but I’ve already put my two alternatives on to the scales of justice:
Keeping my job and behaving on the blog vs. entertaining you with these priceless gems.
Your entertainment won. You’re welcome.
The Vortex, as my place of employment is now called, will hopefully not win the battle for the takeover of my soul. I don’t even try to go out to lunch anymore. The one day I want to leave on time for a class at the gym, it’s nothing short of a battle to get the hell out of there. And by battle, I mean, some asshole is always showing up as I’m shutting down my computer to ask for something they had all day to ask for.
I’ve created this handy situational/statement analysis from The Vortex with my commentary. The item in quotes is something someone else said this week.
1) “We are in a ‘housing crisis.’ The industry is crashing down so we’re going to continue to have these sort of problems.”
Okay. People, please. Can we please stop fucking calling it a “housing crisis?” To me, the word crisis should be reserved for things which truly are a crisis. Examples would be the tsunami, global warming, my hair during high humidity. “Crisis” is not a catchall to describe the legions of stupid people who couldn’t understand that no matter how many raises they got at Arby’s, it was never going to bridge the income gap required to make the “new” payments when the interest rate jumped. So for that fact alone, let’s never call it a “housing crisis” again. You can call it a “stupidity crisis” if you want. That’s much more applicable. The mass amounts of stupid people running around signing documents without reading or understanding them, getting foreclosed on, and getting kicked out of their house does not a crisis make.
2) “Oh, I was up all night because last night a guy at one of our properties was smoking a cigarette and burned one of the buildings down. He’s not gonna make it.”
Ask me what the accelerator was. Ask me!!! It was the guy’s OXYGEN TANK he was toting around with him while he lit up. Bwahahahahahaha!
3) “Oh, while you were at the fire, I was at another property where there was a flood.”
Ask me what caused the flood. Ask me! Two men were fighting over a woman neither of them are dating. One pulled out a gun and shot the other. The bullet went through his lung and into a toilet tank. The toilet tank exploded and the water flooded into several units below.
4) I was told to attend a meeting in D.C. with a coworker. I was told several times to attend this meeting, with the coworker. I repeat myself because I want to make sure you understand, this meeting was confirmed several times. At the follow up meeting in the office, my coworker and I were reprimanded for attending this meeting. “You should have just asked a courier to retrieve that information.” Yeesh.
5) “You know, when Stacy first started here, she was inundated from day one. All I’ve seen her replacement do is organize stacks of paper and not really do any work. Where did all that work go that Stacy used to do?”
Me. Have you seen my desk? Which brings me to my next item…
6) “They really like clean desks around here. We’ve been told to keep our desks clear.” To which I responded, “Have you seen my desk?” They said, “Yeah, I’m sure you’ll get the talking to.”
They are obsessed with filing there. They file things every 5 seconds.
7) “What time did you get here? I was here at twenty of but I waited at that light for 10 minutes. Bob got here at 7:00. No, I think Randall was first, he was in at 6:40.” “Well I was working from home from 5:30 this morning.” “Did she ask you what time you got in? She’s so crazy. She likes to keep track.” “Didn’t you know you were supposed to go to the other office and tell them you were here?”
I heard all that while I was waiting for my interview, actually. I thought it odd that people were obsessed with what time they all get to work. Then I found out they have a roster and they actually write the time that you arrive. Oh. My. God. I wonder if I should ask for a hall pass and try to pass a note to Ryan like in 8th grade.
Last night I raided my medicine cabinet to shake out some pills to get me through. I’ve got Lorazepam, Klonopin, Dicyclomine and several other anti-anxiety formulations that may or may not have expired several years ago. I think these little bottles of pills are my only chance of survival, otherwise, as I said to Mr. X, “It can only get better or worse. And if it gets worse, I’ll have a decision to make.”