Frankly, it isn�t so much that I�m running five campaigns for a wage that one would expect to be illegal in the Free World, nor is it that I�m simultaneously doing all back-end administration for an additional twenty-three campaigns, that really gets my goat about working here at Arts-Friendly. What really pushes me to precarious lip of my patience is the fact that I am also expected to do all the filing for the entire office of some 75 employees, all by myself. On top of that, I�m also apparently the only person who can figure out how to affix a damn FedEx label without a guidebook. This bowl of irony is not particularly delicious.
The thing that really sticks in my craw about this is the fact that Friday is when every other self-respecting office worker catches up on all their shit for the week. Not so, I. I spend half of every Friday hip deep in sheaves of paper, like fucking Ponce de Leon in the damned Everglades, trying to clear a path to the filing cabinet. Then I get to jaunt back up the stairs to my office, where twenty-some-odd unread emails are waiting for me to do something about [INSERT SUBJECT HEADING HERE], and another half-ream of paper is slithering out of my inbox and spreading across my desk like an outbreak of diphtheria. TGIF, my ass.
It also doesn�t help matters that, tacked onto the bottom of what is by now a completely jury-rigged job description, the phrase "Idiot Wrangler" has apparently recently been added. (By which I mean that my responsibilities now include the herding and looking after of idiots, not that I am a wrangler of below-average intelligence.) Seriously, I can understand people being confused, particularly when the delineations of a project are redrawn partway through, but I just don�t have much of a soft spot for people who can�t even navigate their way around a Punnet Square.
The best part of Friday, of course, is that moment when you finally get to kind of say, "FUCK IT!" and run out the door, leaving the paper and the email and the idiots behind to stew in their own juices for a while. I used to have a really hard time just leaving work at work, and not stressing about it around the clock. I quickly learned that some things just aren�t worth getting worked up over, especially during the time at which you are both a) no longer responsible for getting them done, and b) no longer on the clock and thereby getting compensated for your wrinkles and frustrated headaches. Also, I don�t give a shit at this point, because what�s the worst that Sophie�s gonna do? Fire me?
Probably I shouldn�t joke about that. I�ve already made a few too many, "I don�t give a crap whether this gets done or not," jokes around the office today, and people are starting to get a little concerned that I might hide things or set stuff on fire before I go. I wouldn�t do that, though. If I can�t be around to watch people being screwed without me, then what�s the point, really?
Anyway, it�s now about the time when I get to flee the premises with a spring in my step and stop caring about this place for a good 63 hours or so, and damned if I�m gonna wait to get my apathy on! Peace out, y�all!
Someone Got Here By Searching For: mad crazy sex [Sounds good to me.] I�m Watching: The Apprentice. I think the charges of mental instability against Stacie were somewhat (forgive me) trumped up, but "There are people I�ve known my whole life who don�t think I�m crazy," is not really a great defense, all things considered. I mean, Ted Bundy said the same thing. And: CSI. Which is�still about dead bodies.