It took me so long to post tonight, mainly because I had payroll today (which is going to go into my weekend, thanks jerks!), and I figured I would say something about that. Figured I would go into a long rant about how my fellow co-workers just really don't give a shit about deadlines - a fact that is surprising, considering that a good number of them are lawyers! Or perhaps bitch about the fact that even though I clearly stated that these were due by noon, I was still being handed time sheets 15 minutes before my scheduled time to leave.
Now, while I could go into this long rant, I just have this other subject that keeps popping into my head and pulling my attention to it, in the way that a screaming 2 year old laying on the floor of the big box chain store grabs the attention of every shopper in the area. As much as the mom really, REALLY wants everyone to just look the other way and ignore her screaming, red-faced, little terrorist with chubby cheeks... We all know it simply cannot be done.
So, that being said, I have a feeling the subject of payroll will have to wait for another time. Like say, tomorrow night, after I've wasted a perfectly good day off, sitting at my desk scrutinizing whether or not people are really so stupid that they still don't know how to figure out how to properly fill in a basic time sheet after years of state service. And yes, even after many, MANY years of employment, there is still a very large number of people who can be reduced to the same intelligence levels of a newborn pygmy goat when asked if they really came into the office on a holiday.
No, I have a confession to make tonight, and it's really hard for me to do this, so I hope you will bear with me as I unveil the source of my work place shame. Okay, here goes:
I hoard pens.
There. I said it. God it feels good to get that off my chest! *Phew*
I'm serious, I do hoard pens. But, unlike most weird obsessions (Pamela Anderson's dental floss?? Really??), there is a sound, sane, and completely logical reasoning for why I hoard pens. Two words will explain everything!!
Budget cuts.
Things are getting to ridiculous levels around our division, to the point of beating staff morale so low, the emo kids in the local psych wards are looking down at us saying "dude. You should really get some help. And while you're at it, get your own razorblades, damn it."
The most ridiculous thing about the recent budget cuts is the very expensive we move we recently (i.e., last 3 months) made into our new digs on a separate floor. Moving an Administrative staff into new offices means new office furniture for the upper level management, hiring moving crews to move all of the furniture and boxes down a few floors, paying for the new phone lines, fax lines, and data lines. Oh yeah, and not to mention the rent of the office space. It's a little hard to listen to a director complain about not having any money for anything (including paper and pens), when you're looking at her sitting in her nice, new, big office, at her very expensive new desk.
It's even harder when you know for a fact that the governor of your state recently submitted a supplemental to the house finance committee specifically for your division because of "recent increases in case loads" in an amount so ridiculously high they were actually talking about it on the news reports. (The supplemental was approved as well - making me wonder where in the hell our "budget" is going!)
I'm still quite bitter about the move too. It has a lot to do with the fact that I used to have my own office. My own little corner that I could easily focus on my work, shut the door if things got too loud out in the hallway (which it ALWAYS does), I could listen to my music, take conference calls without bothering other people, and I could eat my damn lunch in peace. Now, I sit in a very wide open area, at what was previously the reception area for whatever business occupied the space before us. I was promised more natural light! The only light I get in my area is via the huge conference room next to my area, and that's only when they leave the blinds open. I have no walls, I have no way to shut out the noise from the other occupants in my section, and oh yeah, those monthly teleconferences I have to take part in because they're fucking mandatory? It gets really hard to focus on what's being said when I've got staff walking through my area chatting away, carrying on ridiculous conversations about what diet they're on, how many miles they ran yesterday, what they're having for lunch, blah blah blah. Now, I have to sit on guard at the main door, because it's locked at all times, and you're only getting in if you have the code. If you don't, you have to knock. And take a wild fucking guess who they assigned to answer those knocks? You guessed it, me! As if I didn't already have enough to do, now I have to be a fucking door greeter too?
This is where you learn the real meaning behind "Fuck My Life!" except, in my case, it's "Fuck My Job!"
Every Wednesday I'm responsible for taking an office inventory and submitting it the powers that be so they can decide what we're going to order. This has become a joke, because other than wasting an hour of my time as I count out how many Post-It flags we have in each color, the only thing they're ordering is paper for the Xerox machine. Our office supplies have dwindled down to dangerously low levels that I'm constantly living in fear of an all-out office riot taking place. I can see it now: staff, worn down from searching desperately for just one more pen, dirty from crawling around in the dust behind their desks in hopes of finding that one lone paperclip that fell back there a year ago, when it happens.... There's a single pen! A new pen! A pen full of that wonderful, blue, euphoria inducing ink!! "If only I could sneak over there and reach it before anyone else spots it....." And then they lock eyes.... Someone else has spotted it as well, and they know the other person has seen it too... A stand-off ensues. Who's going to move in first? Eyes narrow as each waits for the other to move.... When suddenly, someone else enters the picture, completely unaware of the current stand off, grabs the pen, thankful for this bounty, and is immediately tackled by both participants of the previous stand-off, and suddenly you're in the midst of full on office warfare.
Okay, so maybe it won't happen quite to that extent, but I'm telling you, things are becoming the veritable powder keg of anxiety and bloated egos around here. This thing could go off at any moment, and only the strong and really cunning will survive this fallout.
At least when it goes down, I'll have my stash of pens to get me through the fallout.
Now, while I could go into this long rant, I just have this other subject that keeps popping into my head and pulling my attention to it, in the way that a screaming 2 year old laying on the floor of the big box chain store grabs the attention of every shopper in the area. As much as the mom really, REALLY wants everyone to just look the other way and ignore her screaming, red-faced, little terrorist with chubby cheeks... We all know it simply cannot be done.
So, that being said, I have a feeling the subject of payroll will have to wait for another time. Like say, tomorrow night, after I've wasted a perfectly good day off, sitting at my desk scrutinizing whether or not people are really so stupid that they still don't know how to figure out how to properly fill in a basic time sheet after years of state service. And yes, even after many, MANY years of employment, there is still a very large number of people who can be reduced to the same intelligence levels of a newborn pygmy goat when asked if they really came into the office on a holiday.
No, I have a confession to make tonight, and it's really hard for me to do this, so I hope you will bear with me as I unveil the source of my work place shame. Okay, here goes:
I hoard pens.
There. I said it. God it feels good to get that off my chest! *Phew*
I'm serious, I do hoard pens. But, unlike most weird obsessions (Pamela Anderson's dental floss?? Really??), there is a sound, sane, and completely logical reasoning for why I hoard pens. Two words will explain everything!!
Budget cuts.
Things are getting to ridiculous levels around our division, to the point of beating staff morale so low, the emo kids in the local psych wards are looking down at us saying "dude. You should really get some help. And while you're at it, get your own razorblades, damn it."
The most ridiculous thing about the recent budget cuts is the very expensive we move we recently (i.e., last 3 months) made into our new digs on a separate floor. Moving an Administrative staff into new offices means new office furniture for the upper level management, hiring moving crews to move all of the furniture and boxes down a few floors, paying for the new phone lines, fax lines, and data lines. Oh yeah, and not to mention the rent of the office space. It's a little hard to listen to a director complain about not having any money for anything (including paper and pens), when you're looking at her sitting in her nice, new, big office, at her very expensive new desk.
It's even harder when you know for a fact that the governor of your state recently submitted a supplemental to the house finance committee specifically for your division because of "recent increases in case loads" in an amount so ridiculously high they were actually talking about it on the news reports. (The supplemental was approved as well - making me wonder where in the hell our "budget" is going!)
I'm still quite bitter about the move too. It has a lot to do with the fact that I used to have my own office. My own little corner that I could easily focus on my work, shut the door if things got too loud out in the hallway (which it ALWAYS does), I could listen to my music, take conference calls without bothering other people, and I could eat my damn lunch in peace. Now, I sit in a very wide open area, at what was previously the reception area for whatever business occupied the space before us. I was promised more natural light! The only light I get in my area is via the huge conference room next to my area, and that's only when they leave the blinds open. I have no walls, I have no way to shut out the noise from the other occupants in my section, and oh yeah, those monthly teleconferences I have to take part in because they're fucking mandatory? It gets really hard to focus on what's being said when I've got staff walking through my area chatting away, carrying on ridiculous conversations about what diet they're on, how many miles they ran yesterday, what they're having for lunch, blah blah blah. Now, I have to sit on guard at the main door, because it's locked at all times, and you're only getting in if you have the code. If you don't, you have to knock. And take a wild fucking guess who they assigned to answer those knocks? You guessed it, me! As if I didn't already have enough to do, now I have to be a fucking door greeter too?
This is where you learn the real meaning behind "Fuck My Life!" except, in my case, it's "Fuck My Job!"
Every Wednesday I'm responsible for taking an office inventory and submitting it the powers that be so they can decide what we're going to order. This has become a joke, because other than wasting an hour of my time as I count out how many Post-It flags we have in each color, the only thing they're ordering is paper for the Xerox machine. Our office supplies have dwindled down to dangerously low levels that I'm constantly living in fear of an all-out office riot taking place. I can see it now: staff, worn down from searching desperately for just one more pen, dirty from crawling around in the dust behind their desks in hopes of finding that one lone paperclip that fell back there a year ago, when it happens.... There's a single pen! A new pen! A pen full of that wonderful, blue, euphoria inducing ink!! "If only I could sneak over there and reach it before anyone else spots it....." And then they lock eyes.... Someone else has spotted it as well, and they know the other person has seen it too... A stand-off ensues. Who's going to move in first? Eyes narrow as each waits for the other to move.... When suddenly, someone else enters the picture, completely unaware of the current stand off, grabs the pen, thankful for this bounty, and is immediately tackled by both participants of the previous stand-off, and suddenly you're in the midst of full on office warfare.
Okay, so maybe it won't happen quite to that extent, but I'm telling you, things are becoming the veritable powder keg of anxiety and bloated egos around here. This thing could go off at any moment, and only the strong and really cunning will survive this fallout.
At least when it goes down, I'll have my stash of pens to get me through the fallout.
~GG
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