Only Partly Uncensored


In Mouthy Broad on December 17, 2012 at 10:11 pm

In case you hadn’t picked up on it yet, or if I hadn’t blogged it, I got promoted.

I’m the new(ish) HR Manager at my cozy little BigBox.

Now, there’s being an HRM and then there’s being an HRM in retail. I, clearly, am the latter. Which is awesome and fascinating in the humans-as-anthropological-subjects kind of way.

Among the random downsides of my job is that my entire fabulous corporate femme wardrobe is completely wasted there… but whatever. It’s a paycheck that’s loosely related to my original career path. Ergo, a step in the right direction. A stressful, chaotic, nerve-wracking, across-hot-coals step, but a step.

Apparently, though, the job may be getting to me. I haven’t had more than a weekend off (and those only rarely) since I started. My entire vacation got cancelled because a member of senior management couldn’t read a calendar. I’ve done three full investigations in nine days, hosted a dinner for 123 employees, and started year end prep.

I may or may not be a little fried.

Be that as it may, one of my cuter things (and a coping mechanism to boot, win) is that, even though the Anne Klein heels are a thing of the past, Sharkman and Rhett keep me in awesome novelty socks to wear inside my practical Kenneth Cole loafers.(Much better on concrete floors than my 3.5″ needles.) My socks are a regular topic of conversation at morning meetings and sales recaps. I have little skulls in neon colors with bows on their heads, and rainbow stripes, and crazy Argyles, and sock monkey socks.

Did I mention I’m a tad fried? Now let me prove it.

This morning, I not only didn’t manage to wear cute socks – I didn’t manage to wear socks at all.

I walked out the door, dressed in khakis and a green-and-white polo that technically belongs to Sharkman…

In my house shoes.

With no socks, much less cute funky ones.

I left my skulls-n-bows socks laying on my bed, directly above my brown work boots. Which I totally meant to put on.

And walked out the door and got in my car and drove more than five blocks from my house before I realized I had forgotten to put on socks and shoes.

Of course, by then it was too late to turn around and go back, so there was nothing for it but to bluff out the day like I was rockin’ the jammie look on purpose.

Thanks be, my house shoes are unobnoxious, conservative brown Uggs so you couldn’t really tell I didn’t do it on purpose.

But y’all.

I wore my house shoes.

To work.

I’m pretty sure the I-love-me jacket and nice men with syringes are just around the corner.

Do you think they’ll let me put up my NKOTB posters in my new padded room?

  1. Is there a light at the end of this work tunnel? Because if not, perhaps it’s time to knock out a few bricks for some light.

    And…I’m concerned that I know who NKOTB are. And that most young people don’t.

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