Hey! Hi! How are you? Awesome!
So glad we've got the chance to catch up! And yes! My birthday is this weekend! I'm really excited because it's fun getting old! Can I tell you how I've spent this week celebrating? I can? Can we dance? Awesome!!!
(this is the part where you say: uh oh. this is one of those posts with a lot of exclamation points...)
This was a super-exciting week at work! Because I'm all anonymous and mysterious and whatnot, I won't tell you exactly what I was doing or who I was doing it for, but let's just say... I'm working in a place where we do stuff for a client! Who's super-nice! Also, she tends to disappear for weeks at a time! Which kind of makes it impossible for us to get stuff done! And then, when she gets back? She likes to act like she's forgotten every conversation we've had, conclusion we've reached and decision we've used as our rationale for the work we execute! It's like she has the memory of a goldfish! Know what I mean? When a goldfish sees its reflection in the glass and goes, "Hey, look! A goldfish!" Then it turns away, and three seconds later it looks back and says, "Hey, look! A goldfish!" "Hey, look! A goldfish!" "Hey, look! A goldfish!" and so on, ad infinitum.
All of which means it's kind of difficult to get things done, because not only do we have a moving business target, but a vanishing one! And one with the memory of a goldfish! Look! A goldfish! Which is awesome, because the leadership model I'm working with is predicated on the ability to read the client's mind! When she's vanishing for weeks at a time! And has the memory of... Look! A goldfish! Which means that when we fail to anticipate that the client will do a complete 180 from one day to the next - and then vanish for two weeks, and then come back and be another 90 degrees different from the previous 180 in terms of what she wants - we've failed! Which means that someone needs to get blamed! It's a culture of blame and panic! Fucking awesome!
So this time, a woman I work with became the designated scapegoat! Which was completely unfair, because she was absolutely not to blame! But who cares! Because our valiant leader - a woman who is basically the Kool-Aid Man with a perm - thrives on panic and blame! And that's how she leads! Awesome strategy! And my colleague! Decided to leverage her absolutely awesome habit of passing that stress and panic along to the rest of us via aggressive passive-aggression! And since I was the on-deck scapegoat, she focused on me! And kept demanding something, despite the fact that I sent her a detailed explanation for why what she was demanding was not, in fact, what our client had demanded on her most recent call with us and... look! A goldfish! Hey, when did you... Look, a goldfish!
And then she hassled me again! And I group-replied with my rationale! And a third time! And I replied a third time! And when she demanded it the fourth time - without any indication that she'd read my previous three, detailed emails - I group-replied: OKAY. One last time: (and then I re-detailed everything. For! The! Fourth! TIme!)...
And then about twenty minutes later... I got an email from the Kool-Aid perm woman! Which included a forward of my email to the scapegoat, minus the THREE! PREVIOUS! TIMES! I'd sent her the rationale! And the Kool-Aid perm woman suddenly turned all the blame for everything on me! Voila!
And as I read the email and realized what'd happened, I said: Oh my god. She totally threw me under the bus. In the most blatant, unadulterated way possible. And as I was sitting there, in my gray little cube, with my jaw hanging down, one of my other colleagues walked over, saw me sitting there with my jaw hanging down, asked what was going on, so I showed her the email... and she said: "Oh my god. She totally threw you under the bus." And then her jaw started hanging down in disbelief.
The bestest part was that all of this was happening mid-afternoon on Thursday! After a looooooong week of stress and panic and blame! And with me already planning to take Friday off, because of a Doctor's appointment I'd scheduled six weeks previously! But fuck me — this was PANIC! BLAME! And so I went into insane overdrive! And stayed late enough that I was late to pick up my kids! And then I brought them home and fed them and did dishes and changed them into PJs and put them to bed! And then I went back to work! And then I was up until 11 on Thursday night doing work! For a contract gig I hate! And am trying to leave! On a Thursday night when I was taking the next day off! And knowing full well that everything I was working on was just going to get torn to shreds by the forces of Kool Aid the next morning! Very gratifying!
And then it was Friday! And despite it being a day off, I spent most of the morning online following up on everything I'd done the previous day! Watching angry emails getting shot back and forth! Enjoying not hearing a SINGLE! SOLITARY! WORD! From the woman who'd thrown me under the bus! (SOOOOO very looking forward to seeing her again on Monday!)
And then it was time to go to my appointment! With a plastic surgeon! For a consult, to dig out a chunk of my foot for vaguely (but not in any serious, sinister way) oncological reasons! Which I'd scheduled in December! So I drove to the hospital, and showed up at the office 20 minutes early, because that's the considerate thing to do! So I could have all the paperwork filled out before my appointment! And I did! And then I sat! And sat! And sat! And somehow, the doctor showed up 90 MINUTES LATE FOR AN 11:45AM APPOINTMENT!
How, dear friends, how THE FUCK do you fall 90 minutes behind by 11:45 in the morning?
So I complained on Twitter, and people very kindly offered to show up and join me in trashing the hell out of the doctor's office. And then the doctor finally called me in... and the consult took all of five minutes. And then I got to schedule my actual surgical procedure at the first available time. AT THE END OF APRIL.
To review: It took me six weeks to get in. And he made me wait an hour and a half. For a five minute consult. So he could schedule another appointment almost THREE MONTHS AWAY.
And then my head exploded!
Then I paid for TWO HOURS OF FUCKING HOSPITAL PARKING FOR A FIVE-MINUTE CONSULT, and then I went and fought insane crowds of bitter, uncoordinated elderly suburbanites at the supermarket who were all freaked right the fuck out by the impending #snowpocalypse (check a Twitter near you for details) despite the fact that... uh... it wasn't going to hit Boston. And then I finally got home, unpacked, and looked at the clock. I had about two hours left on my glorious day off, this kickoff to my birthday weekend, before I needed to go pick up my kids.
So I decided to be decadent... and take advantage of my whirlpool tub. That's right: I'm a dude, and I decided to spend an hour reading in my whirlpool tub on a Friday afternoon in February. Because that's the way I roll.
So I filled the tub with 8000 degree water, started up the jets, and got in. I quickly discovered, however, that the water level was too high, so I turned the knob to open up the drain plug... and heard something strange click. And then the plug didn't move. Uh oh. So I began shifting the knob back and forth... and nothing happened. And then nothing more happened. And nothing more happened after that. So I started trying to pry the smooth, metal plug up with my fingertips, but couldn't get it to move, and suddenly I started having visions of my family being unable to use the tub or shower all weekend... so I ran downstairs - dripping wet, from both water and the sweat induced by the 8000 degree bath water, a towel wrapped loosely around me - and grabbed a few implements, and then ran back upstairs, and...
And that's how I found myself spending 45 minutes this afternoon, carving away at the drain plug in my bathtub, naked and dripping sweat, on the verge of a complete nervous breakdown. Finally, after a hundred failed attempts, I was able to use the back end of a screwdriver to hammer a steak knife juuuuust far enough into one tiny slender sliver of an edge to gain purchase and FINALLY SWEET FUCKING MERCY FINALLY pull the plug open. And as the water began to drain, I looked up at the clock and saw: I had 15 minutes to wipe off the sweat, get dressed, and get to my son's school to pick him up.
Say it with me now: AWESOME!!!11!!!!
I don't even know what to say about all of this, beyond the fact that there are forces at work here that are clearly conspiring to kill the fuck out of me before I reach the next year of my life. So if I'm not around to join you in celebrating my birthday and/or the Super Bowl on Sunday... well, thanks for reading this far.
(wiggling fingers at fate)
Bring it on, bitch.