Monday, August 07, 2006
Meh. An update of sorts.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
I am no longer Office Biatch. Or so my friends called me ... Nope. If that's the "real world" then I'm just gonna have to say fuck that.
It was partly because I hated that fucking job anyway. And I really did try. I hated it after a week. After two months. Decided it was new, to give it more time ... REALLY hated it after four months. Seriously. It was becoming a struggle not to just walk out the door without looking back every day. I hated the clothes. I hated the people. I hated how 10 hours of my day seemed to just disappear. I hated being tired all the time. Putting myself on lockdown every night, staying home or coming home early so I could get up early and head to that awful place. I hated that I didn't give a fuck about anything I did there. It meant nothing to me, yet everything was so detailed it had to be perfect, and if it wasn't at least four people or more would let you know it was less than perfect. Even the same fuck wits who fucked up as much or more than you did. They sure would let you know if a date was wrong on something, or if it needed to be e-mailed to one more person, blah, blah, blah.
Then they asked me to bend over one more time, and I said you know what? Fuck You. You see, my sister got married two weeks ago in Miami. I was her maid of honor. I had paid four hundred dollars for a plane ticket. I told my boss about needing one Friday off in July on my second interview. I told her that before she hired me, when she was explaining me about yellow days on the calendar and how every other six weeks people weren't supposed to take off because that was the busy time there. She said one day would be all right.
Then, three months in advance I got the day off officially approved, by my boss and then by HR. So why, one week before my trip was planned did my boss e-mail me at five o'clock on a Friday to let me know that the director of HR approached her and all the sudden I wasn't allowed to take my trip?
Because she was a cunt, I guess.
So Monday when I just wasn't there, she all tried to play it off to everybody else, like, Where is she? She's supposed to have her vacation day on Friday. She must've gotten her days mixed up ...
Uh, actually, I quit! Man, it was awesome. I didn't care. That Monday, when I didn't show up or call my job, I was beginning another job. Bartending at Slicks during the day. A different location. A different job. Which happens to be just a few blocks down from my new place. I work 10 hour days, but I work alone. That in itself is priceless. I am my own boss during those hours. I'm the only one there working. I have keys to the store. I have the combination to the safe. It feels good. And I make more money there than the man even gave me.
And I'm going back to school. And I don't have to worry about what evening classes are available anymore. I want to take 12 hours. I haven't taken that many since 2000. But I'm going to.
I'm glad I had the experience of working in the office. Sometimes, as my friend Stephanie told me once, the only thing you can learn from something is that you never want to do it again. I can say that about my stint as office biatch.
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