Don't Be A Complete Tool

It's been a long time since I've had any gripes with EmployeeVonMunchausen.  The last month, actually, has been bliss.  She hasn't called in, she hasn't overshared, she didn't withdraw and pout in her little corner.  For the first time in a very, very long time, she acted like an adult member of my team.  What changed?  I'll speculate and say:

• She got the head of H.R. involved in our war.  Honestly, she didn't get anything of use out of the encounter, but she did get an empathetic ear.  This is something she has not had in the office for quite some time.  She burned us all a long time ago.

• She started posting for positions at other locations.  In a desperate get-me-the-fuck-outta-here maneuver, she started putting herself out there for every open position that she thought she had a chance of landing.  Nice try, but the managers of those offices called me.  I hate to shoot myself in the foot, but I hate the idea of passing along a horrible employee more.  My relationship with my peers means a lot to me.  Besides, I sincerely don't wish her on anyone.

• She started posting for positions outside the company.  I was, obviously, not listed as a reference for her, so I never got to weigh in on any of that.  It's better that way.

Yesterday, she found out that the last of the internal positions declined her, so she decided to call a meeting with me.

What she said:

I'm actually really happy that it didn't work out.  I feel that the last month has been really good and it's like old times again.  I wanted to let you know that I'm interested in talking about what I need to do to move forward to the next level.

What I heard:

Well, since I got fucked out of every other job I applied for, I'm stuck trying to make this work out.  I have been a total shit head for the last year, but I'm just crazy enough to ask for a promotion on the heels of one of the worst performances I've ever turned out.  Whadda ya say?

I'm a good sport.  I gave her some criteria.  The next level of promotion for her is to Lead Representative.  I already have a Lead.  She's awesome, because she's everything EVM is not: dependable, assertive, respectful...sane.  This is what I need as my right hand.

The next act to this circus comes later in the day.  EVM has been suffering from a sinus infection for about a week now.  In all of this time, she's known what was wrong with her, but has not tried to get an appointment with her doctor or to check into Urgent Care.  Very suddenly, after returning from lunch, she says, "I just can't take this anymore, I need to go to Urgent Care.  I'm just going."

Well, now.  I guess I'm not going to stop her, but I'm wondering what's changed between this morning, when she seemed okay enough to be there, and 1:00.

My best guess: our discussion.  She's testing me to see if we really are "cool".  I hate tests and I suck at them.

Guess who doesn't accrue any sick time until the end of the month.  Right, EVM.  So, to start off the year, she's got -4 hours of sick time.  Guess who's getting another warning to start off her new year off right.

Experience tells me that this game just started.  Maybe I could have some fun this time if I understood the rules or the object, but I have no clue.  Whatever this damn game is, though, I'm determined to win in the end.

It's on.

"Insanity: Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results." --Albert Einstein


Dear Landscapers:

When the ocotillo in front of our building was blown over during the hail storm a couple of months ago, you really should have tossed it out.  Instead, you replanted the thing.  There was no hope of recovery for this plant.  It was pulled up by its roots and was laying on its side for days.

So now we have this dead plant decorating our building.  I, sure as shit, wasn't about to go dig the damn thing up, so I let it go.

Until it blew over again.  I called our facilities department to make sure you knew that you really needed to get rid of it this time.  Like, fuh-reelz.  You must not have gotten the message, though, because the thing was up again when I got in to work the next day.

Until it blew over again.  This time, it snapped apart right above the roots (because that's what dead plants do sometimes; they're just kinda funny like that) and I naively thought, "Oh, yeah, it's definitely getting thrown out now.  No. Doubt."

Except when I got in the next morning, it was back up again.  Propped up with rocks.

Are you fucking serious?!

Then it blew over.  Again.  This time, I made sure to catch your asses out there AS YOU WERE TRYING TO PROP THE FUCKING THING UP AGAIN.  What do you say to me when I asked you to throw it out?

I'm going to have to ask my supervisor.  He's the one who told us to put it back up.

Sonofabitch.  When the manager of the property you're paid to work on tells you to throw away a very dead plant that keeps blowing over, just throw the fucking thing out. I told you to refer your supervisor to me, because I wanted to talk to him before you left.

I turn to go inside and could clearly see you signalling to the guy trying to Bernie my dead ocotillo.  I know enough Spanish to understand that you were telling him to take it down.  Less than a minute later, the truck was up front so you could get rid of the dead plant.

Huh.  I guess you have walkie-talkie implants that give you instant access to your supervisor.  Your landscaping business must be more lucrative than I thought.

Sincerely,

Awesomeness

On the heels of recovering from both the black plague and ebola (um, strep and a crazy stomach bug), the last thing I needed was the possibility of having to break up a cat fight in my lobby.

It isn't often that our customers talk to one another, and the conversations are usually helpful and friendly when it does happen. Yesterday was the exception.

An older lady came in and decided that we wanted to hear all about her harrowing experience of being asked for spare change in our parking lot. She made it sound like she just escaped an ass-raping.

A younger lady heard her nowhere-near-death tale and, surprisingly, wasn't moved. The conversation that followed didn't start off too wildly, but it declined. Fast.

Young: If you don't feel comfortable getting out of your car in this neighborhood, there are other locations you can go to.

Old: No, I know. I like coming here, but I just didn't feel safe when he approached me.

Young: Well, he was probably just hungry. I don't know why anyone would be afraid of a hungry person.

Old: It wasn't that he was hungry, he looked like he was on meth.

Young: Well, when I first saw you, I thought you were on meth.

Old: I'm not continuing this conversation with you.

Young: [something about Old being too good to talk to anyone]

Old: [something about Young growing up]

Young: [something immature and hippyish]

Old: [something about Young having a nice life]

(I don't know, after the meth comment they started talking over one another. This is what I picked out anyway.)

Now, of course, it's completely amusing, but yesterday I wanted to grab both of those two by the scruff of the neck and shake 'em.

And so ends 2010. Happy New Year!

While I'm recovering from ebola (strep), I have plenty of time for extra-curricular activities, such as building my own Hell: