Hi. I'm Mrs. Squirrel and this is my blog.
Things That Make Ya Go "WTF?"
We moved our offices. We were suppose to have the move completed well before I returned from maternity leave; however, no matter that I extended my leave an additional two months, the move went down the week after I returned to my part-time gig.
Getting out of the move? It wasn’t to be.
Thankfully, the poor woman who got stuck doing my job (in addition to hers! twice the fun! one low salary!) packed up most of my files and belongings, going so far as to bubblewrap my various bobbleheads and beloved pens bearing witticisms from The Office. Gotta love the attention to what’s important!
I had nothing to do with organizing the move. Our office manager-type bitter employee handled most of the questions, held most of the move-related knowledge and hated life more than anyone I’d seen in a while. Another employee, who I formerly shared an office with, stepped up to the challenge and met every problem, bonehead question and ridiculous request with a smile and kind word. Really, I want what she’s on.
This angel, who knew she was leaving after the move (like *poof* gone already and I’m SOBBING about that), still gave her two weeks notice. Who DOES that when during that two weeks they have to deal with DRAMA and missing furniture and complaints and workmen and organizing an overwhelming amount of crap and bad moods and shit? She does. Dude. If it weren’t for her, the move would have imploded into a heinous hellacious nightmare of the heinous and hellacious nature. Seriously. So when she left, she got a cake. Doesn’t seem fair. I’m going to send her a gift…if she ever gets around to sending us her address, which, now that I think about it, may never come.
She dealt with a LOT of drama…drama that we continue to deal with. Let me just give you some highlights of our move:
1. We went from a nasty, dirty, unhealthy building where everyone had offices with large windows to a clean, birdmite-free pretty building where only a certain “level” of employee have windows. Those without windows, the majority of us, now have this allegedly natural overhead lighting. If that’s natural, then so is Pamela Anderson.
2. I went from a big ass shared office with two couches, two chairs, four desks, at least 20 feet of windows, a sink, room with toilet and two closets to … a small shared interior office with three desks and four people. Again, I have to share a desk.
3. Oh yes, I have to share a desk…even though I’m an EMPLOYEEEEEEE and the other people in the room are graduate assistants or interns. Being a part-time employee immediately lowers you to “scrub” status.
3a. Unless you’re a part-time administrative assistant who has her own office to herself. How did she score that? WTF?
4. Someone (who, although they don’t enjoy a window, has several degrees and full-time status) called me a scrub when telling me that I was going to share the desk with their intern (and like it, dag gum). Which, no on the “dag” and the “gum.” Heavy on the “BITE” and the “ME!” I’m a scrub? Really? Me? The one that you relied on for every decision when I first started and couldn’t think without getting my opinion first? The one that you begged to come and help decorate your office? The one you constantly ask out to lunch because I’m your only friend…you called me a scrub? Really? Interesting. Oh, and yes, I’ll watch your food while you hit the bathroom…just don’t be surprised if I hack one majorly phlegmy loogie into your burrito, douchebag.
5. Even when the political tour took place and our leader showed off our new space to the muckity mucks, I was lumped in with the “GAs” even though I’m decades older than them and um NOT A FUCKING GA it makes me just want to rack up some serious health and dental expenses. That will really hurt the (wo)man.
5a. Except that plan blows since I lost health and dental coverage when I extended my maternity leave past 3 months. snap!
6. The bathrooms. Oh where to begin. Our ginormous lobby has two lovely bathrooms for the male and female clientele. Two lovely bathrooms stocked with toilet paper, paper towels and smelly handsoap. That doesn’t seem odd, though, right? I don’t work at a truckstop. HOWEVER, towards the back of our space are the employee bathrooms (two of them)… single stall. They are not designated “men” and “women” which drives one of our male colleagues nutso. He’s taking informal polls and carefully dropping hints that the men have the first bathroom and the women should only go in the second one. This would be all fine and stuff if the male/ratio split at our office was even remotely close to 50/50. Nobody but him is going for this. Who would want to go to these bathrooms when there is NEVER any toilet paper NOR soap NOR papertowels. NOTHING! Apparently, the management company won’t clean those bathrooms because oh wait, yes, there’s no excuse that makes any sense. Kind of like nominating a vice presidential candidate with minimal political experience.
7. I finally received keys to access the office and our lobby last week. Finally. For weeks I was locked out and had to duck into our crabby office manager’s office to request keys, wherein I’d sit through her bitter rant as to the Key Fiasco of 2008 (which basically is: she didn’t order the keys in time. she didn’t want to have to drive to …gasp… campus to pick them up.). She eventually picked them up after a dentist appointment, which she made sure everyone knew was on HER TIME (I’m guessing 15 minutes of her time TOPS); this is from the woman who gets in at 8:59 and slams the door shut on her day at 5:00:01. So boo fucking hoo.
8. The Relaxation Room. Oh dear LORD don’t get me started on this bullshit excuse for a waste of space in the back of our office. If you were to have a relaxation room at your place of employment (which is for the students, apparently), what would be in it? Something, say, relaxing? Like a desk, desk chair and office armoire? And computer? Well, that’s what our director finds relaxing apparently. That and stacks and stacks of unpacked boxes of who knows what because no one is missing them yet OR perhaps they are the “missing/stolen/lost” boxes one of our more paranoid employee continues to search for/blame the movers. The relaxation room? I have made it my Pumping Station…when yet another part-time employee isn’t in there. And yes, he’s claimed it as his office.
8a. I don’t mind though because he’s funny and nice and has a funky name that reminds me of another funkynamed dude I know, so I immediately liked him and he can have the relaxation room and I’ll just pump in the lobby.
8b. No, I’m not that desperate. yet.
9. Office furniture: I can’t even GO INTO the lobby furniture because its hideousness cannot be conveyed through writing except to say…when I saw the two fabric choices, I flashed to this (bad bad bad) outfit our director wears come fall, and guess who picked out that fabric? Oh yes.
9a. The colors of the desks is a warm, reddish maple(ish) material and the shelving and cabinets are all gray. It doesn’t go, but whatever, it’s uniform throughout, so the myriad of dinged, damaged and tatted up filing cabinets were FINALLY filed under DUMP. HOWEVER, one nameless person ordered an additional filing cabinet for my small shared office to go with her GA and guess what color she chose for the fucking cabinet? Beige. Not gray (the only other color choice. you know? the one that the other THREE HUGE SHELVES ARE). Beige. So now against one wall we’ll have three gray sets of shelves and one stupid beige filing cabinet. Thanks.
I could go on. Really, I could because the insanity continues. For now, however, I must stop and read some teenage vampire love before bed. Cuz you know I have to go to work tomorrow. Even though my parents are here visiting. And the kids will be in daycare (everyone is working on the basement playroom! Wee!) Oh yes, and my FIL is coming. Even though his evil wife will probably whine that her fingernail is falling off and he can’t leave her (that was her last excuse and it worked).
Stories? They just keep coming.