It has regrettably been a while since I was last able to update. The reasons for this hiatus are both good and/or bad, depending on how optimistic (and/or naive) you're feeling when assessing them. You see, it was my last week at Arts-Friendly, and although I had figured on it being pretty much a bullshit week of me kind-of-catching-up-but-not-really-because-who-cares-and-what's-the-worst-that-they're-going-to-do-to-me-anyway?, it turned out the nefarious Sophie had something else in mind for our intrepid hero (by which I mean...me).
The positive side of this is that those plans involved her finally getting a replacement for me, to whom we will nowafter refer as Marcy. The negative side of this is that, obviously, this meant I had exactly three days to train Marcy on how to do every aspect of my job (Marcy's first day was Wednesday -- Wednesday, people). Admittedly, I'd been trained for only four days, and that one extra day really hadn't made a whole shitload of difference -- inasmuch as absolutely nothing was made any the more "easy" or "forthright" in those eight extra hours I spent following Susie around like a sycophantic Hollywood reporter for one of those substance-free entertainment newsmagazines who you totally feel sorry for whenever you see them scrambling after one B-list celebrity blowhard or another, writing down every little thing they say and acting like they really enjoy what they're doing and totally aren't seriously thinking about eating rat poison to end their sad, hollow existences -- but the job itself is completely different, and far more complex, than it was back then.
So anyway, the point I'm trying to get at is that I had three days in which to throw Marcy the training equivalent of a Hail Mary in the hopes that she might make it to the end zone. Or at least to earn the team another first down, I guess. In my opinion, I think she definitely caught the ball, but she looked perilously close to stepping out of bounds at any moment, or perhaps being crushed like dried parsley by the opposing team, so only time will tell. I mean, I did my best to get her up to speed and familiar with the territory, but Sophie really didn't make it very easy on me, what with the not actually telling everyone I was leaving, and all.
You see, Sophie wants to have control over the flow of information at Arts-Friendly in much the same way that Napoleon always kind of wanted to have control over the European continent. To such an end, she practically made me pinky-swear that I wouldn't tell anyone I was leaving, because she "want[ed] to make an announcement."
I'm still waiting for that announcement.
Seriously -- my departure was a better-kept secret that the eleven herbs and spices in the Colonel's Original Recipe (although I believe I have successfully identified at least two of those ingredients as 'grass clippings' and 'hair'). And when I say that the adjustment wasn't particularly easy, I'm not just talking about how off-putting it was to introduce Marcy to her new co-workers on Wednesday by beginning with, "I'm leaving forever on Friday, and here's my replacement." If you think that's awkward, try breaking the news to your clients the same way: "Hi Bob! I'm calling to go over your numbers for the week, and also to let you know that I quit and this is the last time we'll ever speak, and I've got my replacement with me, whom you've never met or heard of before, but I'm sure she'll do a great job and you guys'll be fine!"
Whatever. Like I even give a shit now, right? None of my beeswax anymore. If she burns the place down to the ground tomorrow, it doesn't affect me -- I already cleaned out my desk! When Sam left, she spent about two hours in the office on her last day, doing nothing but packing up her crap and gossiping with clients on the phone, and then went home early. On Friday, I was beating ass all over the office, filing shit, calling people, formatting files, and trying to encourage Marcy to develop a mnemonic device to remember how to work the coffee machine (it's temperamental).
Finally, Sophie dragged me into the conference room for a "wrap-up meeting" and thanked me for my services. She also gave me a little gift on behalf of one of the few clients who found out I was leaving early enough on that they could respond, and a weensy little bonus so small that I may need to ask NASA to borrow the Hubble Telescope so I can see it. Then she told me that, due to company policy, I was "unfortunately not allowed to come back" to visit. "Allowed". Like I'd be beating the door down at any time so I could could get crapped on again. I was like, "If by 'allowed' you mean 'couldn't be forced at gunpoint', we're on the same page."
And then it was out the door with me, and on to the next chapter in my life. Whatever the hell chapter that is. What awaits me, I know not, but I do know that whatever it is? It ain't Arts-Friendly. And that's enough for me.
Someone Got Here By Searching For: smash my pussy [Er...no thanks.] I'm Watching: Desperate Housewives. Diagnosis: Not Bad. With My Free Time I'm: Rearranging my furniture, because it keeps me busy.