Okay, WordPress, I type in “Blur,” and you make the hyperlink read “blu?” The fuck?
Whatever. This is why they give me an Edit button.
“Blu” may not be an invalid description of my day. Let me put it to you in context. The nicest, most helpful person I spoke to all fucking DAY worked for the Social Goddamn Security Administration.
No, really. You read that right. I promise. You can even read it again.
So let me tell you about my afternoon. Because really, the afternoon was the amazingness that was the fucktardary that was my make-up Monday today because I was sick all through my actual Monday.
Wow, that was gross. *ahem* Sorryboutthat.
This afternoon, like every Tuesday, I had a department manager meeting. And this afternoon, like every Tuesday, it took longer than the budgeted hour. Which means that even though my day starts at 6 AM and ends at 3 PM, I’m still at work well after the aforementioned 3 PM. And then, to top that, I have two senior managers (because I am lowly middle management) request my presence after the department manager meeting for “just ten minutes or so, to go over a couple of things.”
I left work at 4fucking20.
Yeah. But we’re allowed no overtime, so it’s a good thing I’m eight hours short on the week due to the infamous sick day yesterday. Which I will have made up in 10 hour days by the end of the pay cycle, I promise.
So this ten minute meeting that really took an hour was all about how when these two senior managers were each individually in charge of my department (one of them 7 years ago, one of them 5 years ago), it ran this way and that way and the other way and ran so much better that way. And how I need to schedule training (which is already on the calendar I emailed them two weeks ago) and this is where I need to start the training. And how my office is disorganized (really? with two new people in a three man staff?) and how it seems like I just need to focus on catching up. (Which I’ve been doing for almost six months now and am within two weeks of goal) and how maybe I should just start working half-days on Sunday to get all this other stuff done.
In short, they kept me an hour after the regular meeting to tell me to do all of the things that I’ve already put into my action plan and started…
Which they would know…
If they ever actually spoke to the senior manager to whom I actually report.
And these people wonder why I so rarely come to them for assistance.
I’ll figure it out my damn self, thanks anyway.
Also, couldn’t I have spent that extra hour, y’know, actually catching up on something?
People like these are the reasons that jokes about the Redundant Department of Redundancy exist.
Have I yet mentioned that this particular job is with a major retailer? Now, I don’t work in actual retail (because who the hell would ever let that happen, I ask you?) but the company is a major retail chain. I’m still learning how to speak retail, but obviously, these particular senior managers are fluent.
As a semi-relevant aside, if you are over 30 and have never worked one day of retail in your life, even as a teenager, it’s not a move I would recommend. Even if you get into it peripherally, like I did. The transition might possibly be life-threatening. To you, and maybe to the other poor schmucks who work there and stomp around on your last frayed nerve. Or maybe that’s just me.
The rest of my lovely day consisted of dealing with my bank, who summarily decided to close my savings account and reopen a checking account in its place. On the day that a federal direct deposit was supposed to hit. Without notifying me, having me sign new signature cards, or even telling me what my new fucking account number is.
And then having a talk with a subordinate who is going through a very personal hell, but is also having very shitty attendance and so is causing me a mini-personal hell with my aforementioned senior managers and my HR department. In direct violation of my personal policy of never dealing with HR if I can help it.
And then having to deal with my mother who, bless her heart, can’t hear the word “bank” without hyperventilating.
And then having to deal with [edited for inappropriate exmarital referential content].
So, to sum it up, I don’t care if it is hell, high water, flu, or other random plague. I am never calling out on a Monday again.
And that, my kittens, is just motherfucking that.