This Work Is MINE!!!

I will admit that I'm not completely sorry I did what I did at work yesterday.  But did I make a fool of myself?  Definitely.

This story starts back on Friday.  I was supposed to be in The Fourth Department, but my bosses told me that I should do data entry instead.  So once I keyed as long as I was expected to key, I went back to The Fourth Department.  However, I didn't finish the work.  I stayed till 6:30, but I wanted to see college basketball on the TV, and I thought ten hours was more than enough.  In particular, there were forms that came in on Friday that I didn't get to.  I was told during the workday that that stuff could wait till the next day (Saturday).  So I thought I could come in the next day, yesterday, and finish up that work and, hopefully, get started on the work that came in that day for The Fourth Department.  I was anticipating a lot of stuff was coming in, and I didn't want all that stuff to sit till tomorrow, especially if I was assigned to that position tomorrow.  Besides, the department needed help catching up on work, and while I liked having surprise days off, it was eating into the time off I had built up; working yesterday means I get to take some of that paid time off back.

I thought the mid-South was up and running, seeing as we got monster shipments Thursday and Friday.  However, when I woke up yesterday morning, I was told that morning's shipment was late, so we should come in an hour later than scheduled.  (Also, I have a Facebook friend who said that, beyond, like, half a day, her neighborhood in East Nashville has been without power for eight days.  Maybe they don't have everything back up and running like I thought.)  Two of my co-workers, however, appeared to have either not gotten that text or ignored it, because they were at their desks by the time I got in.  Moreover, one of them was doing the work I left over.

This is not an excuse, but how I felt was: Why are you taking my work from me?!  I know that I have done this in the past, and I know that I'm not strong enough not to feel that way in the future.  This red mist of control descended on me, like it has so many times before, and so I asked her, "What are you doing?"

"I am just finding work.  Do you want this back?" she said.

"Yes, please," I answered.  (These might not be the exact words she and I said, and any tone you might take from these two quotes may not be as sinister, or as courteous, as it actually was.)

I regretted my words as soon as I sat down on my desk.  And any doubt as to how she reacted to my "taking back what's mine" temper tantrum probably was dispelled when she said, "Here's the cart," and shoved the cart into which we put the work in my direction with a force I have never, never seen her give.  She is a steady rock.  And frankly, since my supervisor left for a work-from-home position in the summer, she is the one I have relied on whenever I'm fuzzy about what to do next.  In other words, I don't want to get on her bad side.  And I think I did with that move, and it's probably going to cause a rift in our relationship that will never be repaired.

And the upshot of the hissy fit I threw is that it really didn't matter.  I got Friday's work done, but then my boss and my boss' boss told me to go scan documents all day instead.  We got done before eight hours, so I was able to do (or availed myself with) some Fourth Department stuff to make up the rest of the time.  But yesterday was clearly an all-hands-on-deck day, and while I knew that, honestly, I really didn't want to do that.

I shouldn't have reacted how I did.  But it felt like she was taking my work from me.  Moreover, she was ruining my plans.  "I got this under control, don't mess this up for me," -- that's what I was thinking.  And no, like I said, that's not an excuse.  But shit, what's done is done.  I should get off my butt and start updating my resume.  Because I acted like an ass!

Boss Back On His Bullshit Again

Well, I guess it was going to happen some time.  Over the weekend, after yet another week of staying late, he finally e-mailed me "worried" about my work.  Not necessarily that I'm working late, but that I am leaving so much left over after working late.

I wanted to respond immediately.  This, at first blush, was another of those, "Why in the hell are you working so long?" e-mails that would have made me snap.  But I didn't want to say anything I'll regret, and I really wanted to tell him off about all this shit I have to do -- shit, by the way, he doesn't know how to do.  But I needed to stop and think, two things too many people in this country don't do.  I think he understands that there's a lot to do in The Third Department (although he pointed out that, in winding language, my co-workers don't stay late and I do -- I think I'll have to let that slide).  He said that my supervisor asked me on Friday if I needed help and I said no.  Now, I don't remember what I said on Friday -- not only because I read the e-mail yesterday/Monday, but also because my hair is on my fire whenever I start working in The Third Department, so I won't know what I said to anybody there a minute after I say it.

The big takeaway I think I get from him is that he is surprised that, even after staying late, there was so much other stuff to do.  This ties back into all the shit I have to do in this position.  But there is another dimension to my work, namely what do I need to do before I leave at the end of the day and what can wait till the next day.  Frankly, I don't think there's much I want to leave till the next day.  If I do leave it till tomorrow, I'll just, you know, have to do it tomorrow, along with all the other shit that comes in that day.  Why not just do it before the next day?  But in his e-mail to me, my boss detailed a lot of things I didn't get around to that he thought I would.  Beyond not having the time, many of those are tasks I thought I could put off till the next day.  That's partially why I told my supervisor I was good.  Again, I'm not one to tide stuff over to the next day.  But at some point even I have to call it quits, and without a natural stopping point, I feel there are some tasks that don't have to get done right then and there.  I believe I was told as much, but apparently my boss thinks otherwise.

This brings up a lack of communication of how The Third Department is now supposed to go.  My boss said a few months ago that he did not want us staying late.  But in this e-mail, he wants me to do all the things that I left after I left work on Friday.  So which one is it?  I haven't been sat down by my boss or my supervisor (who didn't acknowledge me at all yesterday/Monday and may be pissed at me for all the shit I left over on Friday because she might have needed to do them on Saturday) and told this specific task can wait and this specific task cannot.  There are a lot of things I could use more direction on, but everybody seems to be so damn busy, I didn't bring it up until problems came to a head.

I'll look at his e-mail again.  But I'll "invite more discussion" on what should be taken care of and what can wait.  Maybe this will smooth things over.  But when I initially read the e-mail, I thought that I need to go on a job search again, just to cover my ass.  And I still think that's a good idea.

Couldn't Hide My Annoyance

So whenever I buy coffee or a mocha before coming to work, I transfer the cup into my mug so it keeps hot.  I do this in the break room, obviously, so I can get a stirrer and to make sure I pour it into the mug over a sink in case I spill.

The break room, however, has only one sink.  I guess it doesn't need two, but when it gets crowded, and it oftentimes does at work because some departments get scheduled breaks, it would make sense.  But it would make sense for me in this different case because, the other day, as I was about to do this pour, this guy from the lab comes up and starts to wash his hands.  He has done this before, and that is what annoyed me on this day.  Since it would be weird to remain right next to him, I scooted a couple feet away.  

Because I didn't want him to splash water or soap onto or into my cup or mug (usually there is still coffee left in the to-go cup, so I drink what's left in that, pour out a little more from my mug back into the to-go cup, drink all of that, then drink from my mug -- it's my thing), I grabbed both (or maybe one of the two, I don't remember that distinctly) when I scooted over.  And then, well, I just looked at him.  I looked at him while he thoroughly washed his hands, then grabbed a couple sheets of towels to dry them, then he started to walk away from the sink as he was drying his hands.  And that's when I swooped in to do my thing.  So, I think he got the impression that I was impatient and annoyed with him and that I would have rather him not be there.

And you know what?  That's totally true.  He ruined my routine.  All I wanted to do was pour my coffee/mocha and he interrupted that, and it wasn't the first time.  My problem was that I didn't hide it or give off the idea that what he did was not a big deal.  But by staring at him and waiting, I was totally saying, "Are you done yet?"  I didn't sigh heavily, but I might as well have.

So I'm afraid this incident is going to come back on me.  What happens if he does this again?  What happens if we cross paths in the lab?  Will he throw soapy water into my drink when I'm not looking?  Will he tip it over?  I'm not saying it will happen ... but there's a non-zero chance.  Just sayin'.

The Passive-Aggressive Dance With My Boss

You know, at this point I shouldn't be surprised that my boss is making me cut hours so I don't do overtime anymore.  And yet I found myself shocked and even angered that I was told to leave so that I would stay at 40 hours one week, and then to also be told last week to do the same even though I was taking days off and therefore, theoretically, he could balance out the hours I actually worked with paid time off so it would add to 40.  But no, for some dumb damn reason I can only work 24 hours last week.

The week before last I was in The Fourth Department all week.  Try as I might ... no, that's a lie, I was at work back there until all the work was done, I accrued OT -- not a lot, but enough so that I know he noticed.  He can be brusque, and I think he demonstrated that to me by the way he walked without veering from his path if we were about to cross paths, or by giving me the silent treatment until he absolutely had to speak to me.  To be clear, I am chafing most of all by the edict (that I am certain he is following according to the wishes of his boss or bosses) that I am not supposed to work overtime.  It doesn't matter how nicely my boss is treating me as he cuts my work shift short; I think I do good work but it takes some time, and I hate being told to leave my work so that I don't cost my company time-and-a-half.

So I have to admit I am dreading this coming week.  I am in The Fourth Department again all week.  And I know he's going to pressure me to just work 40 hours.  But you know what?  I think I can also play this passive-aggressive game.  I will not cheat to work past 40 hours.  But knowing that working more than 40 hours is an inevitability (or just about: One week earlier in the year I barely reached 40 hours because we had no work), I will not pop a blood vessel in order to leave at my appropriate time.  I know for sure that my boss is dreading my time at work in the Fourth Department this upcoming week, however, and I do not want to anticipate how he'll broach my overtime pay.  Hell, he might blindside me again and yank me out of that position for one day just so he can save our company ... what, $25 an hour he has to pay me in total, including OT?  Regardless of what happens, there is a burgeoning test of wills between my boss and I.  A part of me wants to stay and win this battle of wills.  Another part of me is a lover and not a fighter, and wants to take the course of action that kicks up the least amount of trouble.  I know which camp I'm in.  I think.  Maybe.

Customer Service Sucks And I Don't Mind Saying So

Man, I think I'm entitled to basic manners like eye contact and saying goodbye.  And yet last week while working the Twins Game I was telling the press box concession lazyass he's run out of coffee lids and he tells me he already told his supervisors about it while scrolling through his phone, probably looking at TikTok while on the clock.  And just now, when I made an appointment for my check-up (which is fucking December, for crissake), she confirms the appointment, I say thank you, and she just hangs up.

I don't think I'm an entitled douchebag to expect decency when it comes to customer service, or any interaction between strangers.  Is that so difficult?  And I really don't get people who don't care about customer service, who think just getting what you want matters.  How transactional of a prick are you to think like that?  Does being kind mean nothing to you?  Am I the asshole for wanting that?

Hottest Babe In The Hooters Calendar: December 2022

You know, I want to start off with getting the Honorable Mentions out of the way.  Out of the dozen (or baker's dozen -- you'll see what I mean) babes for this month, I want to give some plaudits to Haley out of Lone Tree, Colo., and Kimi of Costa Mesa, Calif. -- the former for her, uh, full-frontal posing and the latter for having that sexy-ass vertical line down her abs.

I can rank five/six above them, but I'm torn between the top two.  Again, that's a tease that I'll pay off later.  At any rate, fifth place goes to Katherine, hailing from Downers Grove, Ill.  She's a blonde wearing a light-purple two-piece swimsuit.  What I like best about her is her aw-shucks body language -- right arm languidly hanging just in front of her body, left hand up to her neck, head slightly tilted to its right -- even though she is so goddamn hot.

In fourth place is Olivia, of Loveland, Colo.  Slim brunette sporting a light-blue two-piece.  There is a general cuteness about her, an approachability that some of the other models, for all their gorgeousness, lack.  And her smile, as Mona Lisa as it is, helps a lot.

OK, so the reason I gave two different numbers up at the top is that, for the first time I can recall, there is one photo of twin Hooters waitresses, Megan and Kalen, out of Pensacola Beach, Fla.  Long raven hair and matching red two-piece bikinis.  Yes, twin fantasies stir in my mind whenever I see that photo.  So they get third place.

So now I'm up to two.  One of them is the main girl, Allie, also hailing from Lone Tree, Colo.  The other is Haley, also of Loveland, Colo.  (Aside: There are two Hooters waitresses from not one but two cities in the same month, and they both just happen to be in the same state.  Maybe next time you wanna, y'know, mix up the women so that they aren't all on the same damn month?)  I remember Allie.  She has been in previous calendars.  She was just in the last Hooters pageant, and I believe she placed fourth.  Hell, I vacationed in Denver, went to her Hooters restaurant, and had her sign her photo (from a previous year) for me.  And yes, she's fucking hot as hell, including in her photo: Periwinkle two-piece bordered in white, cascading blonde hair, kneeling on a rock with her right leg in the water, fake snow giving the picture a unique mise-en-scene.  Allie's a knockout.  However, Haley is showing her ass.  Showing only about half of it around her deep blue two-piece bikini, but showing it nonetheless.  And I have a rule that if a Hooters girl shows her ass, she immediately rises to the top of that month's list.  But ... it's Allie!  (Like she remembers who the hell I am, but still.)

So, who to pick first and who second?  You know what?  I'm not going to decide.  Allie and Haley can tie for first.  That way I don't violate my rule and, more importantly, I don't have to decide.  You two are both winners!  And I will eventually masturbate to you and all the rest of you so I can retire the calendar and actually move on to 2023!

Safe Space No More

So I went to this basement bar for the second Thursday in a row last night.  I planned on doing it after having a wonderful time there last Thursday; the drinks were great, the customer service excellent, and it was a great way to unwind after working The Fourth Department -- even though, as far as I can recall, last Thursday wasn't so bad and yesterday was quite possibly the easiest day ever back in that position because there was not an avalanche of work that was stressing me out late in the afternoon.  I started going to these secret bars because I needed to unplug for a bad day at work.  I didn't have that bad day yesterday, but I wanted to go back to this bar that I was set on going as soon as I left there last week.  Hell, when I came in and saw the same bartender who served me my drinks last week, I told him that I wanted to be back in my safe space.  Also, I wanted to go back because this will be the last Thursday I'll be back in The Fourth Department for a while now.  Because my co-worker left, chances are I will be filling in that position Mondays through Wednesdays (though sometimes just through Tuesdays), and this place is open only Thursdays through Saturdays.

I also had a great time last night.  Got a different bartender, but she made fantastic drinks.  They now serve food, and after getting one of the three plates last week, I actually got the other two this time around.  Add all that up and, frankly, I may have been a little punchy.  But hey, I was in my safe space.

They have great music there.  So much so that, when my ears perk up on a really interesting song, I Shazam it.  Well, there was this one that I had to know about, so I got up off my chair and stuck the butt of my phone at the nearest speaker.  This song was so damn obscure, Shazam couldn't identify it.  This speaker was close to a couple sitting at a table.  The man of the couple tried to peg the song through Shazam, but he too was unsuccessful.

The cool part about this bar is that these songs are played on turntables.  And right next to this speaker I sidled up against are the two turntables the bartenders play the music from.  They put the album covers right behind both turntables.  I swear -- I swear -- on a previous visit I was told by a bartender that I could pick up an album cover and look at it.  So that's what my drunk ass did.  I looked at it and put it back -- and by the way, I ate finger food before all this and I didn't wipe my hands, I confess -- and I turn around and almost run into one of the bartenders.  Now, I say that the customer service here has been excellent.  It has.  But I have to say that this bartender, the first time I met her, she fucked up my order.  She gave me a spirit different from the one I asked for, and so she made me two drinks that were similar to each other, and she charged me for both.  That's OK.  But ever since, whenever I've seen or spoken to her, she's given off nonplussed vibes.  So I apologize for grabbing the album sleeve and she said it was OK ... "just ask first."  And you know that means she didn't want me touching their records.

It could be me, but I kind of felt a chill from the bartenders after that.  I was going to leave soon after anyway, but at that point it felt like I overstayed my welcome, so I skedaddled -- well, after drinking a couple cups of water to cool down my tongue after eating the serrano peppers that came with that finger food.  It's going to be a while before I have an occasion to go back there, and maybe it's best that I cool it for a while.  But I don't know if I can be as 100% happy as I had been after that, uh, encounter.  And all because I got a little handsy with an album cover and she didn't like it?  Maybe I push things too far ... but I swear I was told I could pick 'em up and look at 'em!

Everybody Was Being A Shithead Yesterday

Oh, God, I hated everybody and everything yesterday/Saturday.  My supervisor was getting on my fucking nerves because she was frazzled doing everything by herself and then told me to come help her.  Never saw her so bossy like that.  Then I said hi to another person who worked there, seemingly amiable chap ... and he didn't say hi back!  But he said hi to the cleaning lady.  She gets a hi but not me??  FUCKING SAY HI BACK, MOTHERFUCKER!

And then there was the cop whose job it is to stop traffic so we could walk toward Allianz Field for the match.  She didn't say anything; no, she just walks onto the road and grabs the bottle of water her co-worker got for her.  So can I walk or what?  You're almost as bad as the officer in the Uvalde Police Department.  And then there was the guy in the bathroom trying to make a jump shot of his dirty towels right in front of me.  Get out of my way, jackass!  And on my way home I was trying to make a left but a couple were jaywalking.  They not only walked when it said DON'T WALK, they walked on a red light -- with a bunch of cars turning left along with me right in front of them ... and as our left turn green turned red and as the cross traffic was about to get the green light.  I honked the car in front of me, and that was the wrong thing to do because he or she was fucking flummoxed about whether to stop at the intersection or to turn.  My honking, uh, "compelled" him to turn (and I drove right up on his ass through the left even though the left turn signal was red), but I should have honked and flashed my blinkers at those selfish dumbfucks instead.

Goddamn, I hate everyone and everything.

Bad Energy

Something I remembered at work from a couple weeks ago. ...

Afternoon break is when I usually don't go to my car to rest my eyes.  Instead, it's the time I eat the stuff Father gives me to eat in the break room.  Our break rooms are too small as they are (we need bigger break rooms), and in the winter, when no one wants to eat outside (pandemic be damned), sometimes they're all filled.  I sometimes have gone outside to eat -- when it's cold and windy, such as a couple days ago, when I thought my mask was blown off my face, I saw it on some rocks, I touched it, then realized my mask was still attached to my neck with a cord that was given to me in the middle of the pandemic.  Anyway ... I've also just stood up next to the sink and ate my snacks.  In a situation like this I just prefer not to eat because I don't want to be put in that situation.  I've told Father many, many times that I don't need to bring food with me to eat.  And still he goddamn insists on giving me food -- and he expects me to eat it before I come home.  It's been almost a quarter-century of this bullshit.

I'm going off on a tangent.  So sometimes I do find a chair and a table all to myself so I can eat in peace, glory be.  And sometimes there is a spot open in this small row of three chairs arranged, desk-like, right up against the wall.  Each is partitioned so that you're eating by yourself even and eating next to someone, know what I mean?

So a couple days ago I wasn't having a good day at work for whatever reason.  I grab one of these solitary-but-not-solitary desk chairs, on the right end.  The left one is occupied, but the middle one is empty, so it's good for social distancing.  Just as I begin eating, this girl stomps up to this middle chair, I think kicks the chair out so she can sit, throws her food on the desk, and starts to eat.  And she doesn't pull in her chair while she's eating; she's balancing on the front legs and shaking it back-and-forth, like she has a nervous tick, or whenever you are working but you're either nervous or bored, or you're trying to do anything you can to stay awake, like bouncing your leg up and down, you know?

Add that she was eating both quickly and loudly, and my mood turned back dark.  I don't know what her deal was, but I wanted no part of it -- fuck, I didn't want to even be next to her.  Thank Buddha there was an open table, because I got the fuck up out of that chair and sat at the table for the rest of my break time.  But I went back to wipe down the desk chair I was at, the one right next to her, because we've been asked to quickly disinfect any surfaces on which we eat.  I'm not a rude philistine.  She, on the other hand ... man, her bad energy bugged the fuck outta me. ...

You Know What? I Don't Think She Likes Me, Therefore I Don't Like Her

OK, so in my blog post here I had a short essay about my co-worker who, after I asked her how many folders she had gone through for an hour that was not trackable because the pens were somehow screwed up, went "I did lots of folders!"  Well, that annoyance has become a full-on frustration.

Now I will say that I don't know for sure she doesn't like me, but I can sense body language and I am an expert on passive-aggression, so I know microaggression when I see it.  Yesterday, I bring over the clipboard because this co-worker was the one who has to do the hourly check.  I sit down, she gets up, takes the clipboard from where we usually put it, and does the check.  "You don't like that I give you the clipboard?" I asked, to which she replied, in a tone that I'm not going to say is unfriendly, nor would I say is genuine, "Oh, I just like it over there."

I'm gonna say it: What the hell is she talking about?

And this is where my spidey-sense continued to look in her direction for the way she was giving vibes that I was creeping her out.  (I realize I may be talking like an incel.  I'm not an incel.  I just know I'm right.)  From that point on, I have to be honest, she irked the ever-lovin' shit out of me.  When she started on the job she was quiet and kept to herself and did her job.  I thought that was cool.  But now that she's settled into a groove, apparently the real her has come out.  She checks her phone a lot.  She doesn't say anything to anybody -- well, maybe the guy in our department who started along with her.  (Are they boyfriend-girlfriend?  Brother-sister?  Fuck if I know, and it's been a year!)  Once break or lunch time begins, she gets up, buries her head in her phone, and walks out, not caring about anybody who might be coming her way down our narrow hallways.  People who do nothing but talk at work are annoying as fuck, don't get me wrong.  But the quietest ones can be absolute dicks too.  Quiet people are often not helpful, they're insular to the point of being self-centered, and they are indifferent to the work and the work environment.  Add to it that I think she doesn't like me, and now she's making toxic my work environment.

No, I don't have absolute proof.  But I see a pattern of circumstantial evidence that I don't think she likes me, and in order to defend myself, that means I don't like her.  Great -- another fucking person whose personality bugs the shit outta me.

Oh, God, She Must Really Be Fucking Sick Of Me By Now

Goddammit, man, I don't fucking know how and why I just lose all sense when I'm around her.  I don't!

I was scanning a folder today.  She was scanning another folder.  One of the forms I was scanning got stuck in the scanner.  That happens from time to time, and it sucks, and if there are days when it seems to be happening frequently, I get pissed off.  Sometimes but not always, once I get the scanner unjammed, a ... I have no idea what to call it, but the software we use to record the images onto the system kicks into a, for lack of a better word, error message.  Usually that means I need to delete all the images that are already in there, then scan the whole damn folder again.  Upon further later reflection, there was a way I could have possibly "saved" the whole folder, but ever since I started this job, when I got that message, I was trained to just erase it and do it over.

Anyway, once I saw this error message, I immediately took all the forms that were in the feeder and pulled it out, I stopped the scanning process, and I deleted the whole thing.  It was around this time that she got done scanning her folder.  Then she was waiting, and then she was looking at me.  I realized why she was waiting for and looking at me: These particular folders would eventually wind up at her desk, so after I got done scanning my folder, I would just give her the folder because she's right there, and she would walk back to her desk with both folders.  Makes sense, right?  So she said, "You done?"

"No," I said, "I had to ... um ... delete the ... uh, thing ... because ... um ... I had ... (fingers gesturing at nothing) you know ... that black ... rectangle thing on the screen!"  That is basically what I said to her, with about the same number and length of pregnant pauses and blathering stammers.  And it is not the first time I have had trouble finding the words to describe simple things that we routinely do at work to her.  And I don't have no goddamn clue why I am tongue-tied around her, because not only do I not have a crush on her, I don't even like her.  Yeah, it's her.  That supervisor.

So she goes, "You don't have to delete those folders."  Don't want to get into it, but there are two types of forms we do in The Main Department.  The more important ones are the ones I can save from this error message/black rectangle with this process -- a process, by the way, she showed me -- but I guess these forms are, like, immune to this error, which I did not know, or at least don't remember I was told.  "Uh, I already deleted it," I replied, and I think I got the right words out in the right order and said them all without pausing.  And she either said, "OK," or "Great," and she picked up the folder she was scanning and went back to her desk without the folder I should have easily scanned and gave to her.  And a part of me wants to react to her barely-lidded contempt by saying, "Oh, fuck you!" but I really don't have a goddamn leg to stand on because I just shit my mouth when she spoke to me, AND I DON'T KNOW WHY THE FUCK I KEEP DOING THAT AROUND HER!!!

She's fucking sick of me by now.  I know it.  Guess I have to be sick of her in kind.  War of attrition!

First That Guy and now That Supervisor.  Man, I need a fucking long vacation.

Doggin' It!!!

Man, I had such a shitty day at work yesterday.  All my fault.  But I don't care that much.

So I started off in filing.  And ... well, it probably was because I slept for three hours in the evening, and then only three hours overnight, but I got tired, and so I fucked up big time in the morning before lunch.  See, when you're putting away forms in the filing cabinets, you're supposed to go onto this software and scan them into the specific folder these forms are going into first.  Well, I forgot that part; I just, you know, physically put them away.  I stuck all those forms into those folders, got back into my chair, woke up, and realized I might have missed a step.  So I went back into those cabinets (well, actually boxes), pulled the first form from a bunch (though not all -- that would have taken me an hour) of folders, and just for shits and giggles, see if I scanned them in (there's a process for that in the software).  Many of the forms I did not put away because they were where the software says they should have been; I just pulled the wrong ones back out.  But I found three I had missed; as far as the software was concerned, they might as well have been in Des Moines.  So I informed the software I was putting them into these particular folders, and then I did ... and I have no idea if I got all the forms that I had mistakenly put away.  And there's no way I could even tell, because I sure as shit don't remember what they all look like, or even how many I initially put away without "scanning" them in first.

Hey, like I said, I was tired.  But I think it may not have mattered.  Earlier in the morning That Guy was going through folders I needed to sort out because I had to put them into the boxes that would eventually be filed away (and into which we would put forms such as those I inadvertently put away), and he pointed out one that needed to go to a different department, and I'm sure I gave him a frustrated, pissy look before I did.  I think I've come to the realization that filing just ain't for me.  The concept of putting away shit -- but not before documenting that I've put away said shit -- is one that I have not demonstrated I do with any diligence or interest at home, so would I really be more diligent or interested in doing that if I were getting paid?  You would think yes, but time and time again I have acted as if I don't give a fuck.  And as much of a mistake I made ... no, man, I don't give a fuck.

And there still might be forms that are in those folders when I hadn't told the software they are where they ... uh, are supposed to be.  Fuck it, man, whatever.  Can't do anything now except prepare for the blowback.

---

OK, then in the afternoon I was training with my supervisor.  Except that I was 15 minutes late because I was doing all this bullshit with the forms.  I said sorry and I informed her of my error in case a form I had forgotten to scan in is requested by someone (that happened before; that's how I got in trouble the last time).  She said that I can't come in late because training's on a tight schedule.  And I really, really wanted to say then and there something like, "Hey, there are forms I forgot to scan in.  I needed to undo my mistake."  But I didn't say that because even with my lunchtime nap, I was too tired to explain myself.  'Cause I realized that it doesn't matter.  The damage has been done, and more important than that, I could and would undo only so much of the damage.  I do not regret staying a little later trying to fix my fuck-up, but I also know that I probably didn't completely fix my fuck-up, so there's a good chance I'll be caught for fucking up.  I'm in a no-win situation, so why bother saying more than I did?  And so no, I don't feel that bad for beginning training late -- because we would up finishing early anyway.  Shit.

---

So not only did we finish early, my main department finished early, too.  They were able to clean their desks for a bit, but everyone was dismissed early, using paid time off to make up for the, uh, hour or so they were supposed to work but didn't.

My trainer leaves an hour earlier than I do, so I had about an hour to kill.  I would have actually been productive with this time by redoing my training notes, but my supervisor/trainer did not feel she could let me do so without my actual boss' permission, and he took off for the afternoon.  So she told me I would also have to leave early.  Well, fuck that, because that's stupid.

She left before me.  My boss wasn't there.  And while "cleaning" my desk (that was the one task I was able to do after training was done), my other boss left.  That meant that no one who has direct authority over me could tell me to bugger off before my shift was over.  So I didn't.  I started typing up an e-mail to my actual boss I will send later today.  I ... uh, put folders away.  I tried to pick up staples that snagged on the carpet.  I did as much shitwork as I could do just to complete a full day.  It got too ridiculous even for me, but I was able to dog it for about 45 minutes and leave so that, up to this point in my workweek, I am five minutes under, which I can perfectly make up for by dogging it either today or tomorrow.

My supervisor has no control over my timesheet.  My boss probably won't ask what I did while he was gone yesterday afternoon.  And my other boss, for all she knows, thought I was doing a deep cleaning of my desk.  (I looked at her office door a bit past 3; it was closed and locked; I'm pretty sure she didn't see me at my desk as she left, so I am going to assume she didn't even think of me at all on her way out.)  Unless those three talk to each other and begin to wonder what I was doing between 2:35 and 3:25 yesterday, my plan on dogging it is going to work.  Because even though I don't give a shit about forms I mistakenly filed away or coming to training late, I will do my goddamndest to fuck around in order to get my money.  No doggin' it there!!!

One Year Ago. ...

I just looked back at the blog posts hours into and just after Thursday, March 12, 2020, the day when, at least to me, the coronavirus pandemic shut down the world -- or, in other words, the day when Shit Got Real.  Since sports constitute an overwhelming part of my life, the Janus point, the event when things changed irrevocably, was the Class 4A Girls' Basketball Semifinal between Stillwater and Hopkins, the latter of which featured Paige Bueckers, the top player in high school last year, the reason I went to watch the Game, and now leading Connecticut as a freshman into the NCAA Women's Tournament.

I don't know if I blog posted about my thoughts during the Game before, but even if I have, I'll do it again.  I still remember the sense of foreboding that came on the early days of the pandemic.  It seemed as though things on the surface were normal, but that only made me and probably others think that things definitely were not normal, and that this invisible monster was cackling at our ignorance and indifference to thrive and ravage humanity.  Everybody was in a panic, even though to this day I don't know how many people will admit they didn't know what they were doing then.  As a result, sporting events were changing conditions on the fly -- going from barring fans except family to barring everyone except essential team members to, eventually, cancelling Games.  For example, before the Semifinals I watched (and I think this was announced in the late morning or early afternoon), the Minnesota State High School League said that the following days' Games would be played behind closed doors.  The next/Friday morning, the MSHSL announced they were cancelling the tournament altogether.

So why did I go to the Game?  The re-calculating of risk was coming at break-neck speed, for everyone involved in sports.  The evening before, Rudy Gobert of The Bastard New Orleans Jazz tested positive for the coronavirus and so the whole NBA season would be postponed.  To many people, that was the day Everything Changed.  And if I recall correctly, that/Wednesday afternoon it was revealed that Tom Hanks came down with COVID-19; for many non-sports people, that was the day Everything Changed.  However, I and the MSHSL probably were intent on staging the Games, at least the Games that were going on for that day.  While experts said the risks of catching this virus, especially in its ominous, mysterious early days, could cause rampant death, it still appeared to be a menace in the distance, whereas this relatively important basketball tournament was happening now.  And I told my folks that I had to stay at work for overtime.  In other words, we all had plans.  And even in the face of a pandemic, we didn't want to change them.  Well, the MSHSL and other sports leagues were going to change what they could change relatively easily, most notably preventing down large crowds.  But the show must go on.  And until the MSHSL reconsidered, I went ahead with my plans, too ... even though I had a feeling even back then that would be the last sporting event I would attend in person in 2020.

While watching not necessarily the Hopkins-Stillwater Game so much as Bueckers herself, I had to admit that more than half the time I was thinking to myself, "Should I even be here?"  The crowd at Williams Arena wasn't big.  There was no one in the upper deck.  Just more than the upper half of the lower deck was empty, too.  There was room to spread around, but probably because we didn't entertain the concept of "social distancing" seriously (although I don't know if we entertained COVID-19 seriously a year ago), all the fans who were there sat together, filling up the closest several rows all around The Barn's court.  Because why not?  You're at a Game with friends, you want to sit together.  I, going to the Game without friends, sat by myself, sorta; I hung back a couple rows from the rest.  I thought I established a bubble no one would penetrate, but then during the Game a couple high school dicks sat within six feet of me for no reason.  I think I shot them a couple looks; they didn't leave until the first Semifinal was over.

I didn't feel sick after that night.  I have signed up to give a blood sample to the National Institute of Health for an antibody sample, twice, and I tested negative both times.  I dodged a bullet, even though it was possible no one in the arena had the virus.  But after having the fun I insisted on having that evening, it was my turn to hold my end of the bargain I made by myself, and I accepted the world shutting down after Thursday, March 12, 2020.

Crazy year, huh?

What's His (My?) Problem?

On Wednesday I was working in The Third Department.  Did I tell you all that in order to get to The Third Department, I have to cut through Filing, which is where the guy who was complaining behind my back about things I did wrong while I was in Filing for second shift works in?  That was a big detail I think I've never said here in WAF.

I think this guy holds a grudge.  And I think he's petty enough not to forgive my mistakes and, in fact, want to bully or even punish me for them.  I know that I don't like it when people continually judge my work.  And when that somebody doesn't speak to me, about anything, he at least proves that he doesn't think everything is OK between us.  Well, maybe I need to take that back.  He's quiet.  So am I.  But when you add that to complaining up the chain of command, constantly, I can't tell if you are willing to be friendly with me.  Add that to the bad vibes I usually get from him when I'm working with him, and I don't think he deserves the benefit of the doubt.

So what do I do about it?  Well, not yell at him right in the middle of work, at least for now.  I'm not entirely clear that he thinks bad of me.  But neither am I clear that he thinks good of me.  So you do what you are supposed to do at work -- not say anything and do your job.

But that's hard to do when you have to pass through this guy's area to get to your desk.  Every run-in where he's filing something and I have to walk past him, every time we are both going through the door, every time he's going in and I'm going out -- every single interaction is a possibility that he'll passive-aggressively show he doesn't like me ... and, in order to defend myself, show that I will do the same.

It was a busy day, so such run-ins happened a lot.  And two stood out.  One: I was going into the room when he was going out, and we were at the pad to punch our key codes to go through the secure door.  Who opens the door and goes through first?  We both demurred and stood back thinking the other would go through.  We shared a brief look of, "What?"  He went through first.  Two: I had to leave to take papers into the next room.  He filed away something and ... I guess he was walking on the same path I was walking on my way out.  And we exchanged another look.  And I'm confident his look was one of, "So ... where you goin'?"  And I look him squarely in the eye and pointed right past him and said, "I'm going out."  And I walked past him -- but he didn't step out of the way for me.  So we almost, almost, bumped into each other.

About that: I think he expected me to walk around him.  I think he expected me to back down.  I interpret him thinking that me going around him was me backing down to him.  And ... no, I was not going to do that shit.

Yeah, I kind of think he's trying to get to me.  I do know, through my actions, I was sending a message I was trying to get to him.

I substitute in that area later this week.  May cooler heads prevail.  Namely, his.

And Now For Something More Awkward

So, beyond the shitty phone call. ...

Just finished the last of two nights of second shift in filing.  It wasn't bad.  The back half of my night, from about 5:30 on, flies by, but that's because I'm so busy doing work by myself.  But that "by myself" part is key: I absolutely love my nights there.  I think I still might underestimate how much I like a work environment in which no one is literally or figuratively in my space.

Still, things aren't perfect.  In fact, there were a few times where I just bleepin' didn't know what I was supposed to do.  I had to text my supervisor, who technically was off work but invited me to ask her any questions if I got stuck.  God bless her.

But another thing went awry last/Thursday evening that still grinds my gears.  In short, there was something that told me I needed to send a form over to a different department.  But I was wrong; I needed to fax this form instead.  This was brought to my attention by my supervisor this (Friday) afternoon, but yesterday (Thursday) someone from The Third Department I Work In brought it to my attention ... even though this mix-up has nothing to do with her or the department she is in.

She brought it to my attention because someone from that department literally walked into filing.  In fact, I remember seeing this person from the other department look at me and slow down as if she wanted to tell me something ... but decided against it and brought it to this other person instead.  Why?  She knows that this person has nothing to do with this form and how it was supposed to be handled.  Moreover, she had to go through the filing department in order to reach This Third Department, and she saw me working in fiing.  Why couldn't she have asked me?  Is it because she thought I was the one who made the mistake and was so disgusted by me that she wants nothing to do with me?  If that's the case -- well, shit, we've got a problem then, don't we?

At any rate -- AWKWARD!!!

Eh, I'm just so pissed off today.  Woke up to more banging and stomping by My Fucking Father.  I should have moved back to my old room instead of Grandmother's so I would have to hear that asshole storm back and forth between the kitchen and pantry.

Thus I was so tired at work.  Even for half a day I was pooped.  I was tirangry.  Never should be happening, especially now.

I was bracing for my dumb shenanigans at this stripper's place while I restore her iPad.  But actually, things worked out.  That allowed me some peace and quiet at a part where I tried to take a nap but couldn't.

My Fucking Father was pissed about something.  That's why I put my defenses up -- no talking, tense body language, eat as fast as possible, wash the old mask as fast as possible, iron the new mask as fast as possible.

But then My Fucking Mother calls me out for some help.  Turns out she tried to dispute a credit card charge I think she just changed her mind on, and the credit card company rejected her because she didn't send them the letter they wanted.  So now, this weekend, I need to help them write a fucking letter ... past the deadline at which the credit card company closed the case ... without being able to type anything at all ... and while My Fucking Mother is still trying to remember the details of what happened.

Fuck it, I hate everything and everyone right now.

Flesh And Bone By The Telephone

I have no idea whether that song has anything to do with psychotherapy via phone call.  But that's what I did this afternoon.  My therapist is very old, and to make sure that he doesn't catch anything from his clients, he is now doing tele- ... something.  Tele-therapy?  Anyway, I wanted to see him because I'm anxious as shit over ... well (gestures all around me) and his secretary said that he, like I thought, will only talk over the phone.

Smart.  But I had no idea what to expect.  Worse yet, I was late for my appointment time because ... well, OK: I left work at 1, thought about eating fast food, all the drive-thrus are packed (well, the more popular ones; McDonald's and Burger King, not so much), got my shoes shined (should blog post that, too), then wanted fast food so bad that I went to Culver's and, by the time 2:30 rolled around, I was still stuck in line.  Thankfully, I think, my therapist called several minutes late -- after I got through the line and parked in the parking lot.  I began my spiel as I opened up the Butterburger Deluxe I ordered.

I had little idea how different it was going to be talking to him over the phone as opposed to in-person.  One thing I thought would happen was that the session would be much shorter, and it was -- 45 minutes rather than an hour.  Honestly, a part of me wanted to take a walk at a park before I would be coming home for dinner too late; thankfully, as I was cutting the call short, he thought that I should take a walk in order to deal with my stress.  Another reason why I cut it short was because the parking lot was fairly busy.  In fact, as I began my session, a car pulled up in the space next to me, left after a bit, and apparently went through the drive-thru because, after a while, they were back in that same space.  (They left a bit before I took off for the park.)  There were three people inside, and I would bet that they could hear me speak to my shrink over the phone.  I don't like that.  Oh, and they weren't doing a whole lot of social distancing, either.

But the main drawback over this tele-session is that it was difficult for me to have a conversation with my psychologist without seeing him.  It helps tremendously to look into the eyes of the person you're talking to -- anyone, not just your therapist.  Without it, I can't pick up any body language, which would make me think I should repeat myself, or slow down, or go into greater detail.  And without the aid of those cues, two people speaking to each other over the phone wouldn't be able to shift the conversation based on those subtle, non-verbal cues that coaxes the other person to deepen that thought, and to clarify that question.  And phone calls are rife with pregnant pauses followed by both of you talking at the same time.  That makes for a rough conversation.  Now, that hasn't stopped me from having deep conversations in the past with my friends.  But maybe I'm used to seeing my psychologist and thus calling him will always be inadequate.  Also, it's been a long, long time since I've had a deep conversation with a friend.  And by the way, can you imagine anyone, but especially millennials in Gen Z'ers, talking over the phone?  It's Facetime and Skype and texting.  I do more of that than calling, and I still find it weird.

He asked me to call next week.  It'll have to be at a time before I come home, and it'll probably be at, like, a park somewhere.  And still it won't be the same as seeing him face-to-face.  But I'll have to.  Because right now, I need to reach out to someone in the face of this impending doom, someway.

OK, This Wasn't The Slickest Move, But ...

OK, so I'm at the coffee place last night.  They have a frequent diner's program, you know?  (I wonder if I said anything about this before.)  And sometimes there's a person who didn't sign up, but the transaction is there for anyone, such as me, to take as credit for your account.  You normally get your credit when you use your credit card, but if you pay cash you put in your phone number.

I have done that in the past to steal credit.  Why not, you know?  If no one's going to take it, why can't I?  It was just going to waste otherwise.  So I did that last night.  And the barista came over and said, "I'm going to ask you not to do that."  I felt kind of sheepish whenever I did it because it looks like it's stealing even though it isn't, and now I "got caught."  But he explained further: "Your number is now attached to that person's credit card."

And you know, I get that.  Well, I did at the time.  But then I started rationalizing.  First of all, I've done this a few times before, and I check my credit card statements, and I have never seen any phantom charges on there.  (Well, besides the time I got my credit card number stolen, but the credit card companies were all over that.)  Second of all, if this program allows credit card numbers to be screwed up with phone numbers that aren't tied to those credit card numbers, well, maybe this isn't a good program.  So maybe that happens ... or maybe the program has no memory, as in you can put in any number after the transaction is made, and that's it, and in no way would the phone number be "tied" with the credit card number.  And finally of all, if this somehow means that I or the person whose transaction I "used" the credit from suddenly get charges they didn't charge, I'm sure the credit card company will be able to figure it all out, like they did when my credit card got stolen.  So maybe he's overreacting.

But, sigh, I'll stop.  I kind of look bad.  I don't think it's a big deal, but ... fine.

---

I'll say this, though: I've always had a weird feeling about this barista.  He's done the minimum he needs to do as a barista, and that's fine.  But I always feel as though, deep down, even though I go there all the time, he doesn't give a fuck about me the way he would about the "real" regulars at the place, and if he wants to, he'll shit on me.  It's just ... I'm not completely comfortable with him.  I don't need him to be charismatic and we don't have to shoot the shit or anything, but I've seen him for a couple years now and he's giving me nothing.  The warning about not putting in my number for other people's purchases is the longest we've spoken about something besides what I order.  Oh, and he's loud -- he slams a lot of things while working.  It's as if he has some unspoken anger he's holding in.  Yeah, I see you, and I see that -- because I DO IT TOO!!!

Worried About Father

They got home fine.  Once I got home, the first thing I saw was Father ambling up the stairs with a jacket on.  Told me I could eat dinner whenever (even though later Mother told me we were eating together).  But he was shivering and walking really slowly.  Asked him if he was OK; he said he was a little tired.  I can understand that since they my parents had to sleep in the airport and wake up to take a flight after only several hours (and after a day of being diverted to a different city [New York City instead of Washington] for a few hours before getting to their stop city).  But still, I am worried.

You know, once I understood the concept of death, I am absolutely sure that every day, I have had at least a millisecond-long thought that everyone I know in my life would die.  Some thoughts last longer than that, and some thoughts are more haunting than that.  And right now, I am having one of those thoughts.

But the thing is is that she is extremely friendly to other co-workers, but she is just really cold and impersonal to me.  Is what I have said in the past (whatever that was) so bad that she just thinks I'm a bad person?  Because some of the things she has said to me are, frankly, downright rude, and I don't think I deserve it.

Hey, to be clear, she is totally professional.  Well, I should be clearer than that: If I have a question, she'll answer it, and that is the absolute minimum I feel I am entitled to at work.  If I don't have that, then there's a problem.  But beyond that ... there's nothing beyond that.  And while it's not necessary for anything beyond that, dammit, it makes for a difficult work atmosphere.  And, frankly, that's her doing, not mine.  This is one of the drawbacks to being totally by-the-book at work; I can never relax around her.

And yet it's inevitable I'll ask her questions today.  Wish me luck.