Showing posts with label getting caught. Show all posts
Showing posts with label getting caught. Show all posts

Saturday, November 1, 2025

My Sister Knows Too Much

So my sister Thursday night busted me for not putting aside the bathmat.  My Mother is using the upstairs bathroom because for now she's confined to one floor and she should where the food is.  But she's still using a walker, which means that any loose object on the floor can trip her up.

My sister had warned me to put the mat away once I was done in there, but I forgot after I took my shower.  She told/admonished me through my bedroom door, and she specifically told me that she was just going to leave the mat there for me to put away.  I guess I can't complain about her move too much, but in the context of siblings calling siblings out, I'm still quite peeved.

---

Just to blow off some steam, I tried to look at porn Thursday night, too.  But the damn pop-up ad started off with a woman moaning in ecstasy as the guy stuck himself inside her, and I was listening to Halloween music on YouTube when that fucking happened.  And my sister's bedroom adjoins mine; we share a wall, and both our beds push up against that wall.

Did she hear?  I assume she has, even though she may be asleep.  I turned the sound down on my computer as soon as that porn star screamed, but it may have been too late.  My sister's smart and observant; she hears everything.

I love her, but I'm getting to the point where I wonder when is she leaving.

Tuesday, October 7, 2025

Got Busted Not Flushing The Toilet

OK, now I really need this place all to myself.  My sister busted me for not flushing the toilet after peeing.

I was fake taking a shower, and even though I was on the toilet, I didn't pee much.  And I swear, when I looked into the bowl, it was wholly white.  There was no yellow; it didn't look like I did anything in there.  So, as is my wont when it's late at night and I don't want to wake the 'Rents downstairs, I let it mellow until I pee again after I wake up.  Yes, I am aware my sister is here.  I thought I could slip it by her.  Besides, I didn't hear any commotion from her room.  I thought she was asleep.

But goddammit, she wasn't!  As if she heard me "take a shower" but not flush the toilet, after I got done in the bathroom, she immediately goes in.  (Also, not for nothing, My Father came upstairs to tool around in the kitchen for some reason.  A lot of commotion at night, inexplicably.)  And afterward, she texted me to "remind me" to flush.  She said she saw pee in there, though I still believe she was suspicious I "showered" but didn't "use the toilet."  Hrmph.

This is the sign that this house is too crowded, but then again, if she left, I would have to help My Mother with rehab, and I ain't doin' that.  One other thing: If I am right in thinking she is minding what I do and don't do while I'm by myself, no way can I get away with masturbating.  Dammit, no peace!

Tuesday, June 18, 2024

Expenses Without Receipts

Starting from Monday, June 17:
  • Let's actually take it back to Sunday, June 9 ... despite my misgivings, I got to *****y's place in the afternoon like she rescheduled.  Her dog was jumping at me, which wasn't good since I entered her place with my cock out.  Also, I think I walked on some of the dog's piss.  Plus she was hastily trying to pack for her trip to Los Angeles with her son.  Oh, and she was afraid her son would be coming home while we were getting down.  But once she was able to reach him and know that he wouldn't be home from his trip for some time, I reclined in bed and she wanked my dick until I finally came.  She started cupping my balls, and having her warm hand cradle my testicles felt more erotic than the handjob, to be honest.  She's an expensive HJ giver, though: $150.
  • To Saturday the 10th 8th, where I worked on my receipts at Diamonds with a bowl of beef chili and a can of regular Coke.  With tip: $10.
  • And then to Friday the 7th, where I went to south Minneapolis and got double-teamed by ******e and ... not ***e*, but ******e's other friend, *****a.  I don't think she's a stripper, and I definitely believe she doesn't do ... what we do.  Her lack of experience, and maybe her reluctance, was on full display.  I noticed that as she was taking her shirt off, *****a kept her panties on, and while ******e was whacking me off, *****a did nothing more sexual than bite m right nipple.  I'm not worried about it; I can understand if she was nervous.  She looked down at my penis, so my dream goal of introducing one new woman to my genitals every year remains apace.  I just wonder if we do this again whether *****a will take a more, uh, active role.  Anyway, I spent the same amount of money than if this were ******e and ***e*: $240.
  • To replenish my energy I went to one of the great taco places nearby where ******e, Pineda Tacos.  They're great ... except that I continue to eat their sauces even though they're so damn hot.  I don't have a spicy tongue.  I'm sure other people could drink those sauces, but they're so powerful to me that I have to stop eating.  Stuff that's too hot simply aren't edible.  And yet I feel obligated to eat everything I paid for.  I charged my meal of two tacos and a can of Coke, yet I still needed to extinguish the lava I poured down my gullet, so I paid for a bottle of Mexican Coke, which I summarily finished in my car just as I drove off.  That Mexican Coke cost: $3.54.
  • Finally, back on Sunday, May 26, after seeing Southampton beat Leeds in the EPL Play-Up Game, I wanted to stay out for a little bit more before going home, so I went back home through the side streets and found 56 Brewing.  Neat place tucked away at a somewhat industrial, somewhat bucolic part of outer Minneapolis.  Also, I liked that I was able to sample a cute dollop of a beer.  The glass and the beer were both nice.  And with tip it cost me a manageable: $4.
Glad I had something to write about.  Good through June 17.

Tuesday, April 30, 2024

Did Not Dodge The Other Bullet

So it was more than a week ago that I got to my car, which I parked illegally, and drove off before the tow truck came.  For the first few days I checked online to see whatever fine I needed to pay for the illegal parking and I didn't see any record.  That led me to believe, or at least hope, that because I sped off in time, I didn't have to pay anything.

With that being said, the fine print in the back of the ticket said to wait a week to check, just in case.  I was going to check this weekend, but I got caught up doing other fun stuff.  Finally checked just now ... and goddammit, they did record the ticket, and I do have to pay, albeit $45.  On the one hand, I should thank my lucky stars that's all I have to pay.  If I didn't get to my car in time, not only would it have been a pain-in-the-ass to get it back, but that's better than the, gulp, maybe $450 to get out of the impound lot, which is fucking obscene.  On the other hand, I have to pay $45 just to go see my dentist, and that's pretty shitty regardless.

I was invited to a stripper party for Friday afternoon.  It just so happened that I plan to take that afternoon off from work.  It would've been perfect timing to go, but because I need to shell out $45, I don't feel like I can afford it.  Actually, I wasn't planning on going anyway because I don't have the money, but I'll blame it on this ticket I have to pay.

Tuesday, January 30, 2024

Oh, Wait, I Can't Watch Porn Now ... And That's OK ... ?

Yeah, I kind of realized this last/Sunday night before I went to bed: Since I don't have my laptop with me because it's getting fixed, I can't watch any porn if I want to.  At first I was bummed out.  I am not going to go on either of My Father's computers to look at it because I'm too scared I'd get caught.  (Granted, that didn't stop me way back when, when I didn't have my own lap and was using his computer to go on the Internet regularly.)  There are my old Playboys I've stashed in my desk, and there's the Hooters calendar hanging up on my wall right now, but physical media is so nineties.

So, what to do?  How about nothing?  Once I had my realization, I shrugged.  I don't feel the need to jerk off much these days now that I'm old and frail.  I certainly don't feel it now, as I'm typing.  So frankly, I'm not missing it.  I think I can go a week without porn.  Now, if the urge hits me out of blue some time before the weekend, well, I will take back everything I just said.

Tuesday, May 9, 2023

Do They Know I Take Half An Hour In The Bathroom?

OK, so whenever I'm not in The Main Department at work, I take my breaks whenever I want.  It's one of the best perks about my job.  While data entry is brainless and nothing is expected of me, the regimented shifts are a pain-in-the-ass.  Sometimes the work requires you to stay until a natural break in the workflow.  Sometimes you just don't want to break when people expect you to.

Moreover, whenever I'm not in The Main Department, I don't have a direct supervisor keeping track of where I am.  Sure, I still have supervisors and bosses, but whenever I'm not keying, they're doing their own thing while I get to keep to myself.  I have taken breaks all over my shift and I have yet to be questioned -- either as to when I take them or, ahem, how long my breaks are.

See, as I am left to my own devices when it comes to breaks, I come and go as I please, and I pay no attention to the clock.  These breaks are supposed to be only 15 minutes, but I have regularly exceeded it.  Usually, I have exceeded it by an obscene amount.  This happens more for the morning break, which I usually take some time after 11 a.m., which is when The Stephanie Miller Show ends, because I usually have a bowel movement that I need to, you know, pass.  So I grab my phone, walk halfway in the building, lock the door and use the single-person bathroom.  While I poop, I'm scrolling through my phone -- you know, Twitter, maybe newsletters, possibly a text or two.  And it's great to just defecate in peace on your own time, with no one expecting you to be back at work at a certain time.  So I let it go past 15 minutes ... to maybe 20 ... or, probably, 25.

And then there was yesterday, when I think I spent a half-hour in the toilet taking a crap.  I was reading an article in my News app, I texted a stripper apologizing for missing yet another of her house parties, and, yes, nature was calling.  By the time I got done, it was possible, possible, that I spent 30 minutes in there.  And to be honest with you, this probably wasn't the first time I was in the bathroom for that long for my break.  It's just ... safe and comfortable in there, you know?

The thing is, though, is that, inbetween the other places I work at besides The Main Department and these single-person bathrooms is ... The Main Department.  As I am walking back to where I work, I am walking past my co-workers.  Normally I don't think about them, but yesterday/Monday I walked past my supervisor, who came in on a Monday to help out because we're behind on work.  This is not the first time this has happened, either.  But perceiving as though I may have taken the longest I ever have taken a morning break, I wonder if she noticed that I was gone a long time.

Come to think of it, I also have to walk past the break room, too.  Sometimes, when I start my break, I see my co-workers sitting and eating.  I see them sitting and eating when I come back.  But I know it has been way more than 15 minutes.  Do they notice that when they notice me?  And even worse, what if they see me going as they're eating, but when I come back they're back at work?  Is there an internal clock that makes them think, "Geez, he's been gone way more than 15 minutes -- and it's not the first time he's done that!!!"

I try and make up for it by cutting short my afternoon break, maybe way shorter.  It helps when there is no Father around stuffing me with food I don't want to eat.  But I don't think that's really "allowed" in an effort to take only 30 minutes' worth of break time.  And I really don't think you can plan on joining your breaks together to make a half-hour break where you get paid.  Besides, if no one is noticing me, I really plan on taking my breaks whenever and doing whatever the hell I want.  Well, until my supervisor and/or boss finally brings up that, "Hey, we've noticed that you seem to be taking really long breaks."  At which point I'll feel humiliated, stop doing that, and/or quit.

Sunday, March 19, 2023

And Now I Have To Fucking Show Up On Time For Work

Well, it finally happened: My boss finally noticed and called me out for not showing up for work on time.

Honestly, I knew this hammer was coming.  Working in The Fourth Department from the outset was so stressful that I needed to indulge in some self-care before I went in.  So, I bought myself a coffee and some breakfast to eat -- sometimes McDonald's, sometimes a gas station, sometimes a coffeehouse.  And I would sometimes park my car at work and eat the sandwich or biscuit or muffin before heading in.  I simply didn't want to rush in to work and face the shit that was The Fourth Department.  And if I got in five minutes after the top of the hour, well, I felt entitled to it.

Now, I will say that it's gotten a lot better.  But I still have days.  Also, and this I think is an important distinction, while the work is getting easier, it's not getting shorter.  In other words, most of the crap I deal with now I know how to handle, but that doesn't mean there's a lot of it, especially on Mondays when I need to tackle all the work that piled up over the weekend.

Thus, I still feel like I should, you know, treat myself for working that position.  But I've started to take more and more minutes to myself, even as the stress over it has eased.  Five minutes became ten, and lately, I've been pushing 15.  I've been doing it for the past few months, to be honest.  I just thought my start time was kind of flexible, especially since I often have to stay more than eight hours to get all my stuff done anyway.

With that being said, however, I remember talking to my boss about starting at the top of the hour.  We are hourly, so there is some regimentation to my positions, all of them.  So I kind of knew that what I was doing was not OK, especially since I've been slipping later and later past the top of the hour.

Now, with that said, I need to tell you how he busted me.  He did it via text yesterday, while I was not at work.  Being called out like this, justified though it may be, still rankles me because it hurts my pride: "How dare you question my integrity?!" is something I still viscerally feel.  I thought about not commenting, and then being defensive when I text back to him.  Finally, after breathing deeply and thinking about it for a few hours, I decided to give a somewhat half-ass explanation -- that I just gave myself time to myself -- but fine, I'll start showing up on time.  To which he only replied, "Thanks!"  I thought we were going to have a bit more of a back-and-forth on this.  The hell?

However, there is a tardy policy that the company has.  I don't know how consistently it's enforced, but if anybody has demonstrated a pattern of tardiness, anodyne as I think it is, it's me.  Frankly, if the company went by the strictest definition of "tardy," I think I would be tagged for it dozens of times.  That would be really bad.  But in his text, my boss said that he'll chalk it up to a "misunderstanding."  I have to take that.  I don't have much of a choice.

And yet it's going to be both awkward and a bit humiliating coming in "on time" from now on, especially if I walk through the front door and see him walking by.  I will have half a mind to say, "What the hell was that text all about!"  But I know I don't have a leg to stand on.  I can bitch and protest all I want; he's the boss, he can set my hours, and I'd be lying if I insisted I could come in whenever I wanted to.

And yet ... goddamn, I need that breakfast in the morning!  Can't I just get five fuckin' minutes!  Well, that led to ten and then 15, so. ...  Anyway, if I really want to buy something in the morning, I'll have to, like, wake up half an hour earlier, or -- well, stop lolling in bed and get to work sooner.  But that fucking sucks.  Man, I don't know what I'm gonna do, especially tomorrow, the first day after getting busted like this.  Dammit. ...

Tuesday, April 12, 2022

It is hard to blog about things when you're harboring a deep, dark secret.  And that secret can come back at me in two ways: That I get caught, and that the thing I'm, uh, suffering from isn't going away as quickly as I thought.  Um, it's been a while.  Too long.  And I'm scared I'll be fighting this a long time ... if not forever.

I'll leave it at that in the hopes I can blog post something different the next time.

Saturday, April 9, 2022

I honestly think I could tough it out.  And hopefully, fingers crossed, they won't figure out.  It's just ... I blame my parents.  No, that's just self-serving.  It's all me.

If I do get caught, I hope they forgive me.  And I hope nothing bad happens.

Friday, April 8, 2022

You know what I'm really scared of right now?  Getting caught.

Just want to say that.

Sunday, March 27, 2022

After it happened last night, I was so afraid to be outed that, honestly, I had an idea about wandering into ongoing traffic and ending it all.

Right now, as I type this, I'm still thinking she could out me.  All the criminal texts. ...  I want to go out and enjoy the day, but I'm scared as hell she'll find me.  So should I just stay cooped up inside, in my house ... where she could still find me anyway?  I fear a knock on the door from her, or her druggie boyfriend.

I calmed down a bit after walking, which I needed.  But I still sent out a bunch of messages, casting about for safety, for approval.  I regret some of them now.  There is one who is a lawyer, for example.  But, just to cover my ass -- again, who knows how she'll get to me -- I think I'll disclose some things to him.  Oh yeah, I should talk to my therapist, too.

Maybe I should have just went up, told her she misrepresented herself, gave her money, then told her never to talk to me ever again.  She's been a pest for a long time, and this way would have told her not to contact me anymore.  But if she wanted money -- well, that would have been a small price to pay in order to get her to leave me alone for good.

Shouldn't have deleted her texts, either.  I regret that now, too.  But she was threatening me!  That's my go-to defense mechanism, and now I have no way to offer proof of my side.  Meanwhile, she has all the texts I sent her.  She has my license plate, too, and I'm scared to death she'll find me.  Bitch is fucking crazy.

Maybe not giving her money is better.  If I did, she'd just ask for more ... or else she'll tell on me.  Maybe that's why I need to admit the truth.  Truth will set you free, you know?  That's what I told myself last night.  And even though I came to the quick realization I was fucked no matter what I did, I stopped having the idea I should run into the street to escape it all, either.

---

I'm being vague about this, I know.  Let's just say that my, uh, hobby has blown up in my face.

Wednesday, January 5, 2022

Did Those Dumb And Lazy Car Repair Motherfuckers Rat Me Out?

So when I called The Mechanic Around The Corner while I was at work (I asked them to call me, which may be relevant; see below), they told me probably the worst-case scenario: The water pump is not sealing anymore, and since they need to get to the timing belt in order to repair the water pump, they might as well change the timing belt, too.  It's over a grand.

I initially said no.  But then I figured that I could use a second car in case my main one is in the shop or, Buddha forbid, it breaks down for no good reason.  Plus, I have the money for it.  Finally, my parents aren't here, so what can they do?  So I immediately called the guy back and told him I changed my mind, and go ahead with the fix.  I'll get it end of day today ... assuming I can trudge down there on my own, braving the blowing snow and cold, all without falling and freezing to death.

But about my parents not being here?  There's a good chance they now know I've brought it in for repairs, goddammit.  Driving home from the gym I get a call from Mother on Father's phone.  She said they heard a voicemail from someone about, and please pay attention to this, a car needing repair on the "passenger side," or something.  Just going by what she said, I don't know what the hell she's talking about -- fucking language barrier erupts from the ground again -- and she specifically mentions the make of my main car and not the minivan.  But I have to go with the logic here: The guys at the shop called Father's phone instead of mine.

Might need to back up a bit.  I don't remember bringing the minivan to The Mechanic Around The Corner.  But they have a record of the van there.  So either I brought it in unbeknownst to my parents knowing and I forgot that I had, or they brought it in.  Either way, they have Father's number.  Maybe I'm wrong, but I can see them leaving a message on Father's cell telling them the diagnosis of the pressure test for which I brought in the minivan.  He is the owner, after all, so I can see one of the dudes there lazily just looking up his number and leaving a message for him -- even though I made a point, as I was dropping off the van, that they needed to call me, not Father.

You may have sensed Mother's reaction to what this VM could have been: Do not pay them to fix the car.  They've always been so fucking cheap when it comes to car repairs: Don't agree to the repairs they say the car needs, then go to some brokedown immigrant chop shop where they'll, like, replace the intake manifold gasket for $10, and then probably they won't do all the things the car needs and instead will do only the bare minimum so that the car can get by.  That's why My Fucking Mother freaked out.

Not going to do it.  Not going to back out and take the minivan back without the repair to the supposedly damaged water pump.  The thought of an insurance car in case my main one fails me was too much security to ignore.  (Aside: I remember in a previous blog post saying that I was deathly afraid The Mechanic Around The Corner will rip me off.  If they called Father even though I told them to only call me, I could then see them being dumb enough to think the guts of the minivan have to be completely ripped off when it's something else.  Honestly, I have forgotten that sentiment right now.  I just want the minivan to be fixed.  I was acting a lot more cynical in that previous blog post.  So, does that make me a hypocrite?  Well, that's a fair argument.)  But now I have to check in with those guys tomorrow morning to make goddamn sure that if they need to talk to someone, they talk to me and not Father or Mother.  And then I have to get to the bottom of who called my folks when they weren't supposed to, and I might rip a new asshole to someone and thus napalm the bridge to a car mechanic that is reachable on foot.  I'm praying that this is all a big misunderstanding, but I have to believe that those dumb and lazy car repair motherfuckers inadvertently ratted me out because of their inattention.

Monday, October 4, 2021

I Was Demoted, And It's All My Fault

Well, what I was afraid was going to happen at the end of last Vikings season happened: I was busted down from my job in the lofty studio, banished instead to the guts of the production trucks.  I knew it: My lack of attention and interest in checking out my fantasy football scores instead of what was going on during time outs did not go unnoticed, and despite what the people I worked with said, I was passed over for a guy who had never done it before.

And you know what?  It's nobody's fault but mine.  I knew I should have been more attentive.  But I didn't, and it was obvious to the decision makers, and so they went in another direction.  It's not fine with me, but like I said, it's all my fault.

Now, this might be a case where they might prefer me to stick with them in the truck and have just some other dude looking at the field.  Or, maybe they don't care.  Or, they do care, and that's why I got demoted.

Well, I guess I should be lucky I still have a satellite job in the profession.

Monday, May 31, 2021

Where Did Yesterday Afternoon Go?

Yesterday afternoon was, pretty much, My Ideal Day: Overcast with temperatures just above 60.  It could have been a tad grayer, but I really can't complain.  It's Memorial Weekend, The Unofficial Start To Summer.  It should not be mostly cloudy and that lukewarm in late May.  It's basically stealing the kind of weather I love; I shouldn't act like a socialist and nitpick over every single thing that I want and don't get.

But I didn't enjoy yesterday as much as I should have.  Why?  Well, let's break it down by time:
  • 9:30-10-ish: I woke up and lolly-gagged it.  This was supposed to be my last time "working" Sundays at work, but when I actually had to go to work, I had to get to work by 10, which usually meant waking up at 9.  I gave myself a half-hour extra because it was Memorial Weekend.  I really should have woken up, and left, earlier.
  • 10-ish-11-ish (?): I wish I had a better handle on time.  Anyway, I went to Glam Doll for a donut.  On weekends there is a line, and so I waited for a bit.  I then went to Bogart's, not too far away, to do the donut two-fer, but the skies opened up and it began raining.  It was drizzling off-and-on all morning, and I was hoping that it would relent so I could exercise at Lakewood, but far from it.  I didn't want to eat my Glam Doll in my car then, but I wanted to wait out the rain, hoping it was just a squall, and so I did eat it.  And then I remembered that Bogart's is only accepting cards, and yesterday was a cash day only.  My best laid plans were ruined because of my principles.  So I just drove to Lakewood.
  • 11-ish-12:15 (?): My plan was to visit Grandmother, take a walk to the mausoleum where my uncle is, walk back to say goodbye to my Grandmother, then leave.  But I'll be goddamned, right where I was parking, there was the huge old car with its front bumper halfway torn off.  And I don't know about you, but when there's a dumpy-ass car that somehow is at the cemetery, and it's still running, and (turns out) the driver's still there, I don't feel safe just leaving my car parked there while I walk around the grounds.  That driver probably isn't there to visit their late loved ones.  So my plans were blown up; I did not blow up my plans, my plans were blown up.  I started up my car and drove it to the mausoleum where, of course, there was a visitation group mourning the internment of their late loved one.  And they were Asian, too, so now I'm scared that one of them knows my parents and recognized me.  Shit.  I drove back to my Grandmother's plot just in case that dude left, and not only did he not leave, another car drove up behind them, and the people in both cars were standing around.  Well, I have said goodbye to Grandmother many times before, I'll do so again in the near future.  Hopefully.  Cutting short ... er, having my time at Lakewood cut short should have gotten me back on schedule, but I started way too late, especially considering what I still wanted to do:
  • 12:15 (?)-1:42: Went to the Mall Of America because I wanted to go to Hooters because I had a coupon I wanted to use.  I was determined to go there, plain and simple.  But there were a lot of people there, the waitress was busy, she seemed a bit uninterested in providing customer service, and I stayed to eat 20 boneless wings for more than an hour.  And I was really bummed because ...
  • 1:42-2:13: ... I set up an arrangement where I was going to get a massage from ******a.  But it was for 1:30.  I thought she was cool if I were late, because we often let the times of our sessions slide, and she was this time around.  But it was 45 minutes later than we initially scheduled, and ...
  • 2:13-3-ish: ... when I got there, ******a said that she had to cut our session in half because, according to her, she had something else to do around 3.  Great.  It was my fault, though, and so I have to remember not to stack things up so tightly next time.  Or, maybe I can be late for my next session and she'd be totally cool because she wouldn't have anything planned afterward.  Who knows?  And, oh, beyond all that, I haven't been able to enjoy walking underneath the cloudy sky.
  • 3-ish-just before 4: I should have been home after ******a's, and being at her place only half as long as anticipated helped getting home "on time" helped a lot.  But dammit, I was going to enjoy the cloudy sky.  So, after getting gasoline for my car, even though it isn't a trail, I went to the park I usually go to to walk and I walked -- from the entrance, past the ball fields, to the gazebo, and back again.  And even though it was short and by no means is it a trail at all, I did my best to stop asking myself, "I've been up for six hours -- how in the hell have I not been able to enjoy this beautiful weather?" to walk, look up, smile, and breathe.
What we got yesterday probably won't happen until September at the earliest.  Next weekend we're expecting temperatures to reach 90, for crissake.  I wish I had more time outside yesterday, but it was raining, some dude probably was going to ram my car while I was out walking, and I had a lot of plans indoors, some of which I was late in getting to.  But at least I had, like 20 minutes, so (shrug)

Thursday, April 29, 2021

They're On To Me

So Sunday was kind of a shitshow at work.  For the second time, I stayed longer than I should have.  A lot longer.  Like, six hours as opposed to four.  I think labor laws dictate that once you are working six hours, you are supposed to take a half-hour unpaid lunch.  Didn't do that, and I still think that is a mess that my bosses are going to have to clean up for me.

I was under the impression that I would have to stay late.  Shortly after I got there, I was told by one of the lab workers that the shipment of pee samples was late.  Therefore, I thought that I had to prepare to stay a bit late because the lab workers were going to be late shoveling out the forms to me, which means I will be late in keying and processing them before shoving those folders down the line and getting out of there.  Before my four hours were up, I shouted to the lab workers something to the effect of, "Hey, are you still going to be sending forms my way?"  And the two people there -- one of them whose face seems familiar to me, one who is new, neither of whom I remember working on Sundays because, as I found out yesterday, the person who was working at that position on Sundays left the company -- talked to each other a little bit before one of them said, "Yeah."  Just like I thought.

So I waited.  Well, I didn't wait.  There were other types of forms I had to work on, and so I did them (slowly -- this will be an important point later in the story) while keeping an eye out on forms that I would need to scan and do.  What I got, however, were empty folders.  They need to be done in a technical sense, but I was told on Sundays that if there were no forms in a folder, those folders could bypass data entry; they can be handed off from the techs in one department to the techs in another.  As I have learned, on Sundays these empty folders usually are the last ones to come out.  Also, I was told that if they are the only ones left to be done, I do not need to do them, even if they are passed to our area.  I can leave.  Actually, I think I had been told by my higher-ups that I should leave under those circumstances.

That wasn't the case here -- well, at least I was not led to believe that would be the case.  But as the minutes dragged on, I would see from across the hall an empty folder, and then several minutes later another empty, and so on.  Soon, I was bumping up to the magical threshold of six hours (plus I wanted to get the hell out of there), and the important work I thought I had to stick around for I was still waiting for.  So I go up to them and ask again, "Hey, are there more folders coming?"  And the two guys had a skull session before one of them said, "Nope.  All empties from here on out!"  That's great, but ... did you know that all you gave me the fifth and sixth hours I was there were empty folders?

---

I work for a company whose employees scrutinize work.  I like a company, and people, who are serious about it.  Then again, if the scrutiny is about my work, well, I don't like that

Monday morning my other boss e-mailed me while I was filing stuff away.  She wondered why I worked six hours on Sunday.  She's doing her job and checking my work, I understand.  So I explain why I stayed so late.  She appeared to, uh, not really care about that per se.  Instead, she gave me a screenshot of work I did not of the two extra hours I stayed, but the first two hours.  I told her what I was doing ... and that was the end of it.

Now to yesterday.  Well, let me back up ... these days, overtime usually is not given.  However, there have been several weeks so far this year where there has been extra work and so we have been given the opportunity to either stay late or come in early to work.  When that happens, there is no need to worry about technically working more than 40 hours.  However, when overtime for a week is not granted, the company is coming down hard on not working more than 40 hours.  I get, like, a three-minute cushion with which I can go over.  But if I'm at, like, 40.06 hours for a week, apparently my bosses catch hell for that, and that would certainly roll down onto me.

I have been banking on a sudden bubble of work to pulsate through the building this week.  The week's not over.  But if overtime were to be offered, it most likely would have been to either come in early yesterday or stay after yesterday.  That did not happen.  With a full day on Wednesday, that would thus mean that I can only work ten more hours (give or take) today and tomorrow.  My boss wasn't banking on that.  He assumed I would be working twelve hours these next two days.  (If I do a half-day on Sunday and I'm limited to 40 hours, that means I would have take another half-day Monday through Friday -- do you see what I mean?)  I could have waited till this afternoon for a Hail Mary of work to come through, thereby authorizing OT, but if it didn't come through, I would be working eight hours today and thus only a measly two hours Friday, and like I said, my boss isn't prepared for that ... especially if he didn't know I worked six on Sunday.

So I had to raise the issue with him.  Just before I left yesterday I had to let him know what happened on Sunday and that as a result, I was at ten hours left.  I am scheduled to fill in for someone in Filing Friday morning, then leave.  If I'm a sub, I don't think I can deviate from the four hours I'm committed to, which means I would be working only six today.  So I tossed out that suggestion, and he agreed.  And then he asked if I could speak with him about Sunday.  Great.

I had a meeting with him about the miscommunication and the ultimately unnecessary need to stay that late.  But that didn't really bother him at all; he just chalked it up to people not knowing how things are done on Sundays.  What really bothered him was, uh, my lack of production my first two hours, the same hours my other boss noted to me Monday morning.

Honestly, I wasn't dilly-dallying.  There are those other folders that I needed to go through and rub out all the mistakes.  In particular (and I won't bore you with the details), there are a subset of these forms that are fairly important to push down the conveyor belt.  That's not the main priority; those other forms are.  But frequently on Sundays, as you're waiting for those very important forms to pass through the window, you have these slightly-less important forms that are still important, and so you do those in order to fill in the rest of your day (which, again, for me, is supposed to be only four hours).  These particular folders are important because many of them have outright mistakes on the forms.  The name is illegible, or the code on the form doesn't match the one attached to the sample, etc.  There is a process by which you are supposed to look at the discrepancy and decide which errors you can overlook and which you have to keep for others to investigate.  These important folders are ones that have, like, 30 forms, most of which have a discrepancy.  So going through them takes time.  And I took my time to do it right, even though, like my boss intimated in our meeting, other people can do it faster.  And so he talked about how I could be more productive when it comes to that particular job, as well as being "visible" by keying in programs whose metrics can be looked at by supervisors like my bosses.

So that wasn't great.  What I thought was the biggest problem with what went down on Sunday was in fact an ancillary issue to my bosses, and the real problem according to them was something I didn't see coming at all.  But I'll confess something.  I wasn't half-assing it on Sunday, and I usually don't on Sundays.  But could I go faster going through these forms, and these folders?  Yeah.  I don't really want to.  Why?  Because it's Sunday and no one's there to pick over my work.  Sure, they pick over my work the next day, but not while I'm there that day, and I feel like that difference is real, not illusory.

And it doesn't really matter because this time next month another person will be working Sundays so I won't have to anymore.  The focus on speeding up my rate of production, however, will remain.  Yep.  They're on to me.

Thursday, April 8, 2021

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!!!

Thursday, January 14, 2021

You Know The One Good Thing About Wearing A Mask?

As a guy who talks to myself a lot, and has a propensity to mouth both things in my head and songs I'm listening to, I'm sure I've been caught talking to myself.  But when you're hiding behind a mask, people can't see your lips.  So I can sing to myself or move my lips to the things I'm saying in the violent images in my head as much as I want, and people will just see a guy in a mask!  Kewl!

Friday, January 1, 2021

Hey, Mother, How Do You Like My Closet?

So my brother and niece came over this afternoon, for two reasons.  The main reason, or so I thought, was for my parents (well, actually Mother) to play with my niece.  But besides playing bingo and bowling over water bottles, she was more concerned with the new laptop my brother sent to the house.  My mom got it a few days ago, my brother told her to charge it up, and when he came over, he set up ... everything my mom wanted him to set up.  Eventually that took over Mother's attention, and so I was the one tasked with playing with my niece.  And that was hard.  I love her, but three hours felt like 30.

We played a quick game of hide-and-seek.  I hid first.  I went into my room to hide; I slipped behind my bed, the side away from the door, ostensibly because I wanted to scroll through my phone.  My bedroom was the first place my niece went into, but she did not even peer around the bed.  Eventually she gave up, whereby I just walked out and told her where I hid.  I'm surprised she didn't find me.

But let me fill in the donut hole.  After going into the room the first time and then walking around to other rooms, my niece enlisted the help of Mother, who, for the first time I can remember, walked into my bedroom.  She did not look behind the bed either.  Instead, I think she asked my niece, "Could he be in the closet?  Why don't you open it?"  To which my niece replied, "Can you open it?" at which point Mother did.  Oh, shit.  My Mother and my niece didn't see me ... but they did see all the clothes I've piled up and don't use, they did see the bags of pamphlets and brochures I've accrued from Twin Cities Auto Shows over the years, and they did see my cum towel.  Maybe, they even smelled it.

I can totally see Mother telling My Father, "WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!  You should see all the clothes in his closet!  And all the papers, too!  And the towel!  My God, it smells so bad!"  And then Father will either confront me about it, or just rummage through my closet and tell me to throw some of that stuff away ... and, my goodness, he might even wash the towel, too.  Fuck me.

Maybe she won't rat me out.  But maybe she will.

Goddammit, why did my niece want to fucking play hide-and-seek?

Thursday, December 17, 2020

Fucking Got Caught Coming Back From Break Late

Yeah, I was a few minutes late coming back, and I just fucking happened to run into one of my bosses on the way back to my seat.  And sure enough, several minutes later I got an e-mail from her -- a "friendly reminder" that I needed to be back at work when everybody else was, because "the others see me."  And now I regret not doing the bootcamp and eventually finding a job where I can be late to come back from break and no one will bust my balls.

I will use this time to complain, once again, about My Father insisting on packing a lunch for me.  I had repeatedly told him no, that it was unnecessary, that I can find my own food, that what he gives me is too much, and he fuckin' did it anyway, and I got tired of fighting him because he could threaten to throw me out of the house.  So I suck it up (the food, literally), but not in time to come back from break in 15 goddamn minutes.  If I don't have any food I have to eat, I'd be chilling in my car for ten minutes and then I'd be back in no time.

Yeah, I stayed long.  And yeah, I had a feeling that one day I would get caught.  And yet, still, I feel this wave of humiliation coating my skin like paint from a roller brush.  I don't think it's a big deal, but fact is, it's my fault for not coming back on time.  And now I have to be a good boy and do so or else I'll really get in trouble.  Man, I need to find a new line of work, shit. ...

Thursday, October 1, 2020

The Belle Of The Ball ... Or Carrie At The Prom?

This college thing ... I have been personally requested to be part of the next working group meeting, which comes up tonight.  This request has come from the other side, which makes me worried.

See, as I think I've said before, I haven't been much of a contributor to these "negotiations."  I am, however, a representative for a part of the country my alma mater has relatively little presence in.  Part of the negotiations is finding a compromise in recruiting people who will represent the university, just not in a formal, official way as before.  (Sorry to be so vague; I don't think I can go into detail lest I get in trouble with the other side, plus I scantly understand this model myself.)  I have been told by the people on my side that is the only, anodyne reason.

But what if it's not?  We resisters have come to the conclusion that the head man on the other side, the president of the alumni association, is a conniving dick.  He was the one who made the unilateral decision to put down all alumni clubs in the United States.  And many of us hold him in low regard when it comes to negotiating over these Zoom meetings.

I am getting paranoid over the depths to which he will be underhanded.  So, I am afraid that he and/or the people who work under him have been busy digging up dirt on all of us in the resistance, including me.  And when the time comes, such as in a Zoom, he'll show up (which, by the way, he's not supposed to, because the number and the specific people who are supposed to be in these respective groups are set; he just popped up the last time this working group tried to work together, which was seen by us as a power/dick move) and go, "So, UW, I see that you have a hankering for ... eggplants!" and then he'll post screengrab after screengrab of me giving eggplant emojis to all the hot women I befriended on Facebook.  And then I'll get all embarrassed and then we'll be divided between people who think I'm a pig and people who think what I did doesn't matter in the face of these negotiations.  The other side would have successfully deployed a divide-and-conquer strategy, and the resistance to those who want to save our clubs would fall apart.  And this guy would laugh diabolically.

I brought up this paranoid fear with my therapist Tuesday, and he asked me why would the other side want to shame me and potentially cause me to cut ties with them permanently, thus making it harder for my alma mater to have any engagement in a lower-density part of the country.  He has a point, although I don't totally dismiss destroying any obstacles to this plan he wants to implement as the sole goal.  So, I go into tonight's meeting not believing the other side is completely acting in good faith.  Seriously, they want my input when I have offered little to none up to this point?  There has to be something up their sleeves.