LIFE AT WORK: Bumped from Conference Room Edition
Our program meeting is a standing meeting that was scheduled for the 2nd floor conference room before the scheduling conflict in the 3rd floor conference room arose.
I understand that (YOUR IMPORTANT) program standing meeting dropped off the 3rd floor conference room calendar. If there is a scheduling conflict with (YOUR VERY IMPORTANT) program meeting, I would suggest that you inform the planner of that conflicting meeting that (YOUR SUPER VERY IMPORTANT) program meeting takes precedence as per (DR. GRAND POOH BAH) and (OTHER POOH BAH). If the planner of the conflicting meeting can move into an available slot in the 2nd floor conference room that’s great, but it is not appropriate to bump a standing meeting from the 2nd floor just because there was a conflict on the 3rd floor with your (SO INCREDIBLY IMPORTANT IT CANNOT EVER BE MOVED) meeting.
(Floor numbers have been changed to protect the innocent.)
Yesterday, the assistant to the administrator of the division I work in (300 people strong) came to my office. She gave me a nylon bag (Made in China) with our organization’s logo on it and said, “A— (name of administrator) wanted you to have this to thank you for all that you do.”
A soul-sapping thank-you if I ever received one. Administrator can’t be bothered to walk down the hall herself. And what the hell is “all I do?” I do my job. I get a paycheck. I avoid products made in China—practically a full-time job in itself. Try to find something that wasn’t either made in China or made in a modern-day sweatshop. Oy vey.
This picture has nothing to do with what I just said. I prefer posts with pictures, that’s all. Here’s a fun one (and perhaps a bit more germane)…
You’d think that with the 24 hours news cycle and blah blah blah, we’d be hearing more about the nice folks in Wisconsin who are mad as hell and not going to take it anymore. My local papers seem to have a lot more about Libya than Madison.
Here’s where to go for info: The Daily Page (dot com).
Here’s a nice encapsulation of the hubbub from Salon:
Union leaders have agreed to pay more for their benefits, which equates to an 8 percent pay cut, as Walker has proposed as long as they can retain their bargaining rights. Walker has refused to compromise, although he said last week that he was negotiating some changes with Democrats.
For those of you like me who never thought the American public would break away from the couch and the remote control to do something like this, well, this is pretty cool stuff. Here’s a link to Huff Po’s The Best Wisconsin Protest Signs.
Happy Spring, everyone.
This morning on the way to work I saw a guy finish his breakfast, ball up the paper bag it came in, roll down his window and toss it on the ground. He immediately caught my eye and started chiding me (with his motions) for powdering my mess of broken capillaries that passes for a face.
I started yelling at him about his trash. I rolled down my window (passenger side – he was to my right) to make sure he knew what I meant. He had hypocrite all over his face. I could see that he routinely chides his wife/lover/significant other/spouse/ward/charge/his own mother/(your name here) for stuff that he does all the time.
He knew I was angry and he was waiting to see my white middle finger once the light turned green. He glanced over, hoping for vitriol.
He got Gandhi. I pressed my palms together in such a way as to say, “I’m praying for you buddy.” Not in that wimpy Christians-we-look-down way, in the Gandhi way. I might as well have had a white diaper on.
Ape that he was, he had to do the same to me. Never was a man with a mustache so unappealing.
Or to be more precise, O Santa Ynez Valley!
I have a new job working for a large bureaucracy, but I can’t tell you more than that because I signed something or other swearing me to secrecy. I haven’t worked in many large institutions, and my head is spinning with wonder. If you take the one bureaucracy I’m in and multiply it by the number of bureaucracies worldwide…well, don’t do it. Your head will explode.
The Scout is carrying on without me—most recently in the Santa Ynez Valley. One of my favorite places evah.
When The Scout called me from The Hitching Post, I groaned out loud.
He had a pork chop, but I have a paycheck.
It’s very quiet in the building today, but I have the cubicle next to Loud Mouth Louie. He is interviewing prospective candidates over the phone. “What draws you to the non-profit world?” he asks.
The new employee is Dimitri, and at the end of Day Two, they say to each other, “This was a good day. A good day.”
Is this the building where foreign policy is decided? Or environmental policy?
You. I don’t know who you are, but I have been writing to you since my earliest days of writing in a diary. Continue reading “Remember me? I used to blog here.”