The Time Where I Almost Fucking Lost It Watching The World Cup

So I made the mistake of going to downtown to catch the last Matches of Group G almost a month ago.  I heard downtown was dead because it was dangerous (which of course is bullshit), plus there were no Twins or Lynx Games whose crowds I would have to worry about, so I thought I would have a good time digesting both Matches in relative peace.

I found a table where I would be able to see two TVs, each showing one of the Games.  One was farther from my vantage point than the other, but that was fine, or so I thought.  Shortly after I sat down, this group of three people sat at the table next to me.  That was OK, even though they got a little loud.  One guy ordered a round of shots and another guy was wondering if he could eat, and then I got a bit concerned.

Then, this fucking group grew like metastatic cancer.  A fourth dude came, then another group of some number, then another, then another.  They started blocking my view of the TV further from my eyesight, which was Egypt-Iran, the better of the two Matches going on simultaneously.  (That finished 1-all; in the other Game, Belgium routed New Zealand, 5-1.)  They of course started getting really loud, which only worsened when this same motherfucker who bought the first round of shots decided he was a bigshot and ordered a couple more rounds with even more shots.

As bad as that was, I really started to boil inside when they invaded my personal space which, in this specific environment, was my table.  The group got so big that a couple of them began standing inbetween my table and theirs, and their clothes and, for all I know, their body fat pushed up against and hovered over the side of my table.  I was already upset that I couldn't hear or see the World Cup Games I was there to see, so that shit really put me on red.

Then, some guy who probably was not part of their group (I'll get to why I say that in a bit) put his glass of water on my table.  The other end of this short table I was sitting at, but this was My.  Fucking.  Table.  And this asshole just walked away without it.  This was my red line.  This was the point where I lost it, or I had to do something while knowing I couldn't yell or punch someone.  I saw him talking to his group around the other side of the pillar against which my table was at.  I just grabbed the glass of water, went up to this dude, and said, "Hey, this is your water," then sat back down.  And he probably thought I was crazy and/or an asshole, but he, I guess, was puzzled enough to find another place to put the glass of water and then forget about it.  But at least that goddamn cup wasn't at my table.

As for these fuckers to the left of me, which seriously grew to about 20 or even two dozen people, it didn't get any better.  They got even louder and rowdier, and they even started pushing up against my table.  But hey, at least they got into the Eqypt-Iran Match like I was.  The only thing I can think as to why they seemed to be so OK with getting sorta close to me, and this is a complete guess, is that, and I was able to hear this with little difficulty because they were talking so fucking loud, they were in town for a conference of Asian journalists.  They were all Asian, as, of course, am I and, even though I didn't have that good of a look at him, the shit who left his water at my table.  They may have thought we were all a part of this conference in downtown Minneapolis.  I find it kind of funny since I have a degree in journalism.  I am out of the industry, way out.  And while looking at these drunk and dumb fucks ruin my night, it crossed my mind how many of these young, over-confident shits will wash out of the industry like I did.  From those who are able to carve out a career, I wonder how many of them will become "insiders" whose egos will be so big they'll become insufferable pricks who fall in love with the smell of their own shit.  Then again, they're Asian.  They might not be allowed to get that big.

Thinking/Wishing all of these journalists-to-be will fail was the only socially-acceptable way I could get back at these assholes that ruined my World Cup viewing.  Good luck in journalism.

I Want To Know When I Need To Go Into Work, That's All

Now, I preface this by saying that I'm blog posting this due to unusual circumstances, namely that my co-worker is going to be out for a while because she is hurting in a big way, though I don't specifically know why or how.  One would think that would be an acceptable reason to see one's schedule change, even though that would mean a change in time you start your shift, like my job does.

But most of the time -- and again, I'm not blaming anyone, this rises only to the level of annoyance -- I don't know what I'm doing at work, and therefore I don't know what time I need to get in, sometimes until my last day of my workweek (usually Friday), and sometimes I don't know until I get in to start my workweek (usually Monday).  Beyond knowing what time I need to get in and thus knowing what time I need to set my alarm, I would want to know what I'm doing -- whether I'm doing data entry, I'm in The Third Department, or The Fourth -- before next week starts so I can get into the right frame of mind.  Each different position requires doing different things, obviously, and I want to know what I'm expected to do each day of the week before that week begins.  Again, I understand I might not know when I want to know.  Things come up, such as my co-worker being in traction for a while.  Also, my boss is real busy.

But when things change on me, I have to alter my plans.  Let me be selfish and rant here.  I was given my work schedule for this week on Friday.  There, I was supposed to come in to work early on Friday only.  And considering we have been asked to stay beyond our shift to key almost on a regular basis since, oh, the year started, my plan was to work a bit extra yesterday/Tuesday, go to the post office downtown, mail my taxes, then celebrate by going to a fancy restaurant downtown.

My co-worker being out injured switched around my entire week.  Now, my early day was, actually, yesterday/Tuesday.  And while I had to stay a bit after to get all the data entry done, I got done before the post offices (at least the ones here) closed at 5.  That meant I didn't have to pay for parking downtown to file my taxes at the downtown post office, which closes at 8.  Yeah, that could be seen as a good thing.  But I don't like it when my plans are changed for me, even if it means I could get home earlier than I thought and wouldn't have to pay for parking, which is a huge pet peeve of mine.  I spent a substantial portion of my workday wondering if I should just go to downtown anyway, even though I would be there way earlier than I thought.  Ultimately, though, the facts that I could mail my taxes before the conventional workday was over and could do it without paying for parking convinced me I should move this dinner at the fancy restaurant, which I was looking forward to, to another day.  (I also realized that the Twins were playing at Target Field last/Tuesday night.  I don't think they're getting any crowds, even though they're playing quite well right now, but I didn't want to risk any chance of losing my temper over traffic.)

However, having my evening freed up invited another opportunity I had to spend some mental bandwidth contemplating: Working out.  I haven't been to my gym in weeks, and after bellyaching over, well, my aching belly after eating so much while watching the WNBA Draft Monday night, this might be a sign that I could, and should, work out.  But I remembered I also had a plan of finishing off the two ginger beers that have been open for weeks in a dark 'n' stormy.  Not knowing what to do, I decided to go home after eating dinner at a mom-and-pop Mexican restaurant and try and sleep.  If I couldn't lose consciousness in half an hour, I'd get up and work out.  Instead, I woke up around 7:30.  I walked up and down the street for exercise instead.  And I drank my cocktail.

Still feel kind of bad I haven't gone to the community center.  But that's what happens when your work schedule changes on you.

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!

What Would I Do?

Maybe I have to face the truth.  Maybe the reason I avoid venturing out during the day, or fear getting stopped by these assholes while driving, or run through my mind what I would do if I see someone getting abducted, is because I am scared of what I would say and do ... or not say or do.

I have proof that I am a citizen.  But it looks like these motherfuckers don't give a solitary fuck about that.  If they don't, and they decide to haul me in, what would I do then?  But there's something way more sinister than that.  It sounds as though these pricks insult you to your face in an effort to get you going.  I have a temper.  Could I be baited into saying something or doing something that'll be justification for getting taken away?  Absolutely.  Now, I have to remember that these pieces of shit have guns and therefore hold all the cards.  It might not matter what I say or do, or don't say or do.  They'll do whatever they want, at that time, just because they fucking want to.  And yet, I wonder if some of it would be "my fault" if I lose it.

And then there's the other side.  What if I get stopped in my car or on the street, and when they ask for proof of citizenship, even though I don't have to (and I have heard conflicting advice on this), I give them that proof?  And let's say they let me go.  Frankly, I would be relieved I wouldn't be kidnapped.  But what I did in order to remain a free man is to knuckle under this fascist régime's orders.  I would be complicit.  I just decided to give them what they want because I didn't want to get my ass kicked.

So what kind of a man, what kind of an American, what kind of a patriot would I truly be if I did what these Republican shitstains tell me to do?  And am I going to look the other way if someone gets spirited away into a plateless SUV to points unknown?  I'm afraid the answer to that last question is yes.  That murder Saturday morning really frightens me.  The first one here a couple weeks ago was bad enough.  But I am a big believer in that once you do something unfathomable and heinous, doing it again is much easier.  I'm afraid I can see a rash of killings by these racist government thugs.  Hey, in for a penny, in for a pound, right?  And it's that backdrop of these goddamn bullies threatening your life if they don't get their way that makes me scared that I will not be courageous when the time comes for me to be brave.

So, who will I be -- or maybe more to the point, what side will I show -- when these sons-of-bitches come for me -- the chickenshit too meek to do anything so he can go home in one piece, or the dead man who had to stand up to someone because it's the right thing to do?  I don't think I want to know.  And that's why I stay home as much as I can.  And that's why I hate myself right now.

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.

Pressure At Work --> Eating (Out Of Order) At Home

So I just ate a slice of turkey and colby jack cheese even though I ate a cookie and part of a brownie a couple hours before then.  I have a rule whereby if I have dessert, I eat no other food that night.  Dessert is the last thing you eat, so you don't eat anything else after that, right?

Well, I did, partly because I realized I bought more food than I can finish before my parents come home, and partly because work is still stressing me the fuck out.  I am absolutely convinced now that The Third Department is a two-person department, and firing one and letting the other retire without filling her position full-time has become a mistake because I worked back there, by myself, for another ten hours yesterday/Thursday and, once again, I still did not get everything done.  In fact, I think I left more work (for myself; I'm there again today/Friday) than I have ever before.  It's a combination of heavy work that came in late and one particular test that I swear took 45 minutes and talking to four other people, one of them three times, to finally figure out.  Tedious problems like that take time, and frankly, I don't have a lot working in The Third Department to spare.

What makes this day worse is I kind of told my boss about the workload I was facing.  He was about to leave, and as he normally does, he asks all of us how we're doing.  My thinking was there was no hiding or sugarcoating all the work that was still coming in.  I think he knows this and is at least tolerant about this; otherwise, he would be on my case for working overtime so often.  The problem this time around is that he asked me, semi-point blank, "How late (do you think you're staying)?"  I hesitated; part of me was really frustrated throughout the whole day (seriously, one comment that I decided to take wrong and I would have exploded -- that's how bad my day turned out to be) and wanted to let him know that, the other part wanted to keep my head down because my cover would have been blown, in a way, and then I would lose all the OT holding in all this frustration is for.  Luckily (?), my co-worker immediately asked him a question and he gave her his attention, and once he answered her, he left for the day.

I am afraid, then, that he will remember that he asked me how long I was staying yesterday/Thursday when he reviews my timesheet.  He then might start to impose time restrictions for me to prevent me from taking any more overtime.  That day is coming anyway, but like I said, I am holding my temper in just because of all the OT I'm racking up, so I want to do (or not do) all I can to not jeopardize the gravy train before I have to get off.  At the very least I am going to receive more scrutiny from my supervisor -- I will come in in the morning and she'll say, "Do this and I'll do that," and I don't how I will feel from such a direct order.  Maybe I'll be relieved to finally have some direction.  Or, maybe this is the start of being reined in to just eight hours of work per day.

So that's what awaits me today/Friday.  At least I will face it with a full stomach, even though I ate stuff after dessert

And Now The Black Cloud Descends On Our Nation

I do feel a palpable dread from the correct-minded people of this nation now.  It has animated my anxiety and a lot of my short temper since November, but now that it's finally "here," I feel my sadness, anger an bitterness runneth over.

The thing I am still trying to reconcile is that, if I recall correctly, I felt things were going to be just as bad eight years ago.  Why is everything worse now?  Well, we correct-minded people really thought that our fellow Americans would remember the facts that he was convicted of multiple felonies, was called a rapist by a judge, acted like a petty asshole who talks like someone who has Alzheimer's and thought, "Yeah, I want more of that good shit," or didn't care enough to vote.  Our fellow Americans seem to be OK with liars and grifters and people who break the law.  And all of us who hated what we went through cannot deal with how we'll have to deal with all that bullshit again.

I see a meme on social media likening the second TFG's administration to watching the second plane hit the other Twin Tower.  That's totally apt.  The first time we were so confused as to what's going on.  Now?  We now know what's about to happen.  And we're terrified.

I hope that I have the courage and the resilience to resist more than I did the last time.  It'll be very, very hard doing so with the knowledge that there are Enemies Among Us who prefer dictatorship over democracy, and want to kiss the ass of a con man.  But soldier on I must.

Motherfucker Back To His Cruel Ways

I'm just kind of running red right now because Father went through my bedroom and threw everything away.  Well, not everything, but the papers I keep around my bedroom which, for some goddamn reason, has always set him off.  I didn't think he would do it, but the occasion of my sister and brother-in-law gave him an excuse to go on his fucking cleaning jags.

I went home to see my bedroom a lot less, uh, "cluttered" than usual, and then I had to really control my temper in order not to lose it.  I acted passive-aggressively after that -- I had to go out and retrieve two bags of my stuff that motherfucker stuffed into the recycling bin (glad I did that; recycling day's today), I stomped into my sister's room and my former bedroom to find my other stuff, and I didn't eat much dinner (there wasn't much I liked anyway).  I didn't want to start a fight with My Fucking Father, but if My Fucking Father wanted to start a fight, I was ready to meet his challenge.  But he didn't, so I didn't.

And yet my paranoia and anger still wells in me.  I had to alter my plans tonight; I wanted to buy stuff at Target in anticipation of them coming back home, but I had to go to my storage unit to give my stuff safe harbor.  But there is still one big bag of my stuff that, for some fuckin' reason, My Fucking Father put into my old room and not the recycling bin.  He might've thought he couldn't throw it away.  But after I leave in the morning -- and I will leave earlier than I do, and because it's Halloween, I won't be coming back till late -- I could see him going outside, looking into the bin, see that I pulled stuff out (if he hasn't already suspected it), and dumping the rest of my stuff there.  Would he be so cruel?  Yes.  He's My Fucking Father.

The only reason I haven't is because, if he doesn't care enough to look at the bin in the morning, then he has done all he wanted to do, and moving even more stuff into storage is wasted energy when I have other shit I need to do.  But considering this supreme violation, I cannot put anything past him.  He had to fucking escalate again because he has nothing else in his life, that asshole.

I Did Something Yesterday That Still Terrifies Me

Goddamn my temper.

So I was driving to work yesterday/Monday.  Since I had my timing chain replaced, I've slowed down while driving -- for the most part.  But there was this van that got behind me, then changed to the lane to my left, then merged right in front of me.  Like, "Why are you gettin' that motherfucking close to me, you fucking asshole?!" close.  And I felt violated and attacked and as if my manhood was taken from me, and so I needed to take my manhood back.  So I went to the lane to our left, floored the gas pedal, and cranked my car back onto our lane and right in front of him.

But I didn't.  I did all of those things, but by the time I thought I was showing him up, he (and it had to be a he) moved one lane further to the right, and he was slowing down because he was getting onto the off ramp.  When I saw that I kind of dusted him but he was not in a position to see that I did, I stepped on the brake.  Hard.

I have had bouts of road rage like this before.  Rode my car hard many, many times -- accelerated to close to 100, then cut off the son-of-a-bitch who cut me off and slammed on the brake.  Afterwards, I always felt as though I may not have "succeeded" in showing who's boss, but I felt true to myself in taking back what was taken from me.  But not this time.  I'm not disappointed in myself.  But I am still shaking -- not exactly over what happened to me, but over what I did in response.  Yes, I've done this before.  And yet I can't believe I did this, or allowed myself to do this.

I'm getting older.  My uncle dying probably is weighing on me more than I am conscious of.  But I feel this sense of shame now because of what I put my car through.  It's getting older, and it's not as if I can afford to buy another one off the lot.  And I know that you hurt the car when you suddenly accelerate and suddenly brake.  And oh, by the way, I have new tires on it.  There's a breaking-in period of about 1,000 miles where you should go easy on them, and I sure as hell didn't yesterday morning.  Now, if my car is ruined after this one rush of blood to the head, then this model needs to be recalled for being a piece of shit.  But I can't let this happen again.  And I certainly can't allow this hard driving because of my road rage contribute to a pattern that will ultimately kill my car.

I am under no illusion that I will do what I have pledged to do in this blog post.  This prick (and by the way, the car that almost sideswiped me was a minivan from, I think, a company called Royal Transportation [there was a decal on this fucking vehicle], which I believe is a public assistance transportation company for those who cannot drive themselves, so I believe the driver was someone who was hastily trained in driving) could be riding my ass again this morning.  I am not absolving this piece of shit for what he did to me; I have never had someone merge in front of me so closely.  But that van's gone and I still have my car which I totally abused because this red mist descended in front of my eyes again.  People suck at driving, but I have to walk the line because getting revenge means I destroy the vessel that gives me mobility in this world.

Still have this aching suspicion that I've hurt this car past some irreversible point just because of what happened, though.  In the meantime, I think I will try and drive slowly -- and, Lord willing, let things go while I'm driving.  Just don't know if I will.

Thoughts On 2023

Things weren't bad, if I am being honest with myself.  Lost Grandmother's best friend back in May or June -- I should look for an obit again -- and that represents the final closing of any connection with Grandmother on Earth ... well, there is her family, so I am being melodramatic.  But everyone else I know and love are still alive.  I risk that streak in 2024, but I don't want to think about that right now.

Work is good.  I think my boss's discouragement of me having overtime may grow to be a problem, but it hasn't been more than an occasional pain-in-the-ass.  As another person gets trained in, I will be working in The Fourth Department fewer and fewer days.  I will see how I feel when that finally happens.

Family is good.  Parents and I didn't fight as much while they were here.  I still get annoyed and sometimes get into arguments with Mother, like last/Saturday night, over being diligent over bills and stuff.  But hey, as long as they're on the other side of the world, they can't touch me.  And really, as long as they're over there, I like them more.  Because they can't hurt me while they're in the house.

I continue to try and maintain relationships with my stripper girlfriends.  I don't go out to strip clubs anymore, and I realize now that the ones I have made friendships, and friend-with-benefits-ships, with, are basically the ones I've got.  Going out to new strip clubs is an expensive venture, and maybe I'm happy with who I have.  Or, maybe I will get restless and see if I want to see other women.

I love the stability 2023 gave me.  But I wonder if I am, or am going to get, restless, and not just with seeing other women.  Eating and getting fat remain an issue with me, for example.  I feel very obligated to eat everything my parents made for me in the freezer -- I still have, I think, more than half of it left -- and to drink all the alcohol I have bought.  That's a lot of pounds I'm packing.  And after tomorrow/Monday/New Year's Eve, I don't have the excuse anymore of indulging for the holidays.  I should be watching my weight regardless, but I really, really should start taking care of my body starting in 2024, specifically slimming my waistline and lowering my cholesterol and high blood pressure.  (I honestly think that I now weigh more than most of the people I know.  I was a rail all through college.  Swear I was 125 pounds when I graduated with my bachelor's.  Humbling and sad.)  You know, I should work on my temper, too.  I fall into a violent dream and my heart starts racing to the point my chest hurts.  Maybe I should do things to stop that.

That requires change, and I hate change.  But there are some things that I can do and be better at, and I wonder when, or if, I will get sick of the same old same old.  Should I go back to school and upgrade my skills so I can get a better-paying job?  Should I make a more concerted effort to find someone to spend the rest of my life with?  The more things stay the same, the more I fear things get staid.  And the world won't stay the same for me.  If things change around me, what will happen, and how will I fare?

You know, maybe this time next year I will be doing the same damn thing I've always done.  And maybe I will be fine with it knowing that, deep down in my heart, I am who I am.  But there might always be a chance that I will do something different.  Will I reject that?  Or will I embrace that?

Happy New Year, everyone.

So It Wasn't The Batteries???

My temper continues to get the better of me.  A couple or few weeks ago, I was fuming because the Wild were crushed by The Bastard North Stars.  Couldn't help but think and ruminate and just stew in my anger.  Once I allow this red mist to descend upon my mind, it's very hard to get myself out of this anger spiral.

I was lying in bed thinking about it.  My thoughts in this state often turn into revenge fantasies whereby I am at the X and see some Dallasshole rooting for The Team That Was Stolen From Us v.2.0. and he starts to fight me and I kill him.  Like it usually happens, I kind of snap to from this fugue state and realize I should get my mind off something else.  I think I was going to grab something from the fridge to drink because I was thirsty, so I flung the blanket open so I could hop out.  I did not remember, however, that I had recently turned off the TV set and placed the remote control beside me on top of the blanket and not at the corner of the dresser where it would have been safe.

Since it was not safe, that poor remote control went flying -- Whooooomp! across my bedroom onto the wood floor.  It was still intact, but I couldn't change the channel or turn the volume up or down.  I took apart the whole thing the next day hoping that I could put back something that got loose from the hit.  But nothing seemed out of place and I still couldn't use the remote.  This reminds me of the time way, way back when I was watching the Vikings play The Tampa Bay Buccaneers when the Bucs were permanently shitty.  Or was it The Detroit Lions?  Anyway, the team the Vikes were playing were bad, but the Vikings this Year (and really most Years) were underachieving, and so in this Game they were struggling to take the lead late.  A pass was thrown to, I believe, Wide Receiver Anthony Carter, but it went through his hands and into the hands of the defender behind him for an Interception.  And I got so fucking angry that I threw the remote I had in my hand across my room.  It hit the floor and shattered into a dozen pieces.

So based on experience, I was sure that, once again, because of my temper and because I didn't put the remote where I should have, I have ruined another remote control.  So I bought another one through eBay.  Got it, took it out, exchanged the batteries in the old remote into the new one ... and it still didn't work.  Man, did I get suckered into buying a lemon remote control?

But then I stopped and thought.  This new (well, actually used) remote has to work.  So ... is it the batteries?  I grabbed two new AAs and put them into the remote control I bought -- and it worked.  And so I put those same new batteries into the remote that I flung across my bedroom -- and it worked, too!  So the remote wasn't broken, but the batteries just didn't work?!  I was able to use that remote up to, oh, 30 minutes before it got catapulted by my blanket, and that is precisely when the batteries decided to run out of juice???

I don't believe it, and I still don't fuckin' believe it.  Now I got a back-up remote I don't need (no way am I returning that to the person who sent it; I have some sense of pride and I can afford to waste eight bucks) and two batteries I'm still puzzled as to how it suddenly died on me at the exact same time I should have broken my remote control.  But hey, I don't have to get up to change the television any more like I used to when I was a kid, so maybe this will be the last thing I say about it.

Addendum To: All The Times I Said I Just Had The Worst Day At Work Ever? I Lied -- Yesterday Was The Worst Day At Work Ever

Yeah, as bad as Monday was, yesterday/Tuesday was worse.  Why?  Because my boss decided to blindside me with a move fully intended to prevent me from racking up the overtime.

My co-worker was one of the first people I saw at my desk at The Fourth Department.  I didn't expect her there; she should only be back there to fill in one of the three positions that are regularly filled back there, and they were all, you know, filled.  That's when she told me that she was "helping me out."

I suspected as much, but she confirmed what I thought could have happened when I came in in the morning: That my boss saw that I was working more than he thinks I should be and he was going to put a stop to it.  I should be more generous and say that she was there to "help me out," but there was an obvious ulterior motive on his part, which I am still, frankly, pissed about.

But let me go back to what specifically happened in the morning.  A little later into the day, my boss flitted in and told me his "plan": My co-worker is going to come in when I come in first thing in the morning and we are going to do Fourth Department work together for a couple hours.  This is supposed to happen Tuesdays and Fridays.  What work she did ... well, that was the most immediate of the things that I hated about this move.  What I was going to do first was all the stuff I communicated out Monday.  Any answers I got from clients overnight I was going to look at, process, and send over to the lab.  That is stuff I have always felt was best done by one person.  And now I have another person coming in to "help me out?"  I don't mean any disrespect to her; she's only doing what our boss told her to do.  But I was at a loss as to how she could help.  I actually had to think for a bit before deciding that she should be doing the new work (stuff I didn't touch and therefore wouldn't, frankly, fuck me up).  I was afraid that me telling her to do that wasn't enough to last her two hours.  Hell, I was too busy trying to catch up with my own work, but it felt as though she wasn't just waiting for me.

First of all, I am very upset that my boss pulled this move without giving me a head's-up.  I could have better planned on to what to do if I knew beforehand.  I know that something similar has been going on when it comes to parceling out work when my supervisor started stepping in.  But plopping my co-worker next to me and essentially ordering that we start working together when I didn't have the faintest goddamn clue about this was, tbh, a dick move.  The mental switching of tracks alone took time and mental energy that I needed to do the job at hand, and I didn't like that I needed to stop and think of things I don't think I needed to stop and think for.

Mondays are a shitshow.  There is so much work that is piled up from the weekend that that day is the busiest and heaviest.  It just is.  So yes, it stands to reason that any spillover work into Tuesday could be shouldered by another person.  With that being said, there could, and I want to emphasize could, be a second person to do the work on Mondays instead of Tuesdays.  (And by the way, I don't get why I might need to be brought in to help on Fridays.)

And with that being said, I want to say that, while I appreciate her help, and she did help, I didn't need my co-worker's help yesterday/Tuesday.  I left a few minutes short of eight hours yesterday/Tuesday.  In that quick spiel in the morning, my boss actually encouraged me to leave early.  For some fucking reason he threw out an hour early.  That would have meant I "should" have left at 4:30.  He went ballistic once he saw that I worked ten hours on Monday, and so I do not want to venture a guess at all as to how he feels about me doing "only" eight hours yesterday/Tuesday.

Anyway, if it were just myself yesterday/Tuesday, would I have stayed late?  Yes.  Hey, it's just the work in The Fourth Department.  I remember being stressed and overwhelmed when I started off.  But you know what?  I got used to it.  Like I have said many times before, I hate change until I adapt.  Also like I have said many times before, this position has gotten way easier for me once I knew how most of the processes are supposed to work and remembered to whom I need to talk to to get the information I need.  That is the vast majority of the work, and the source of my throw-my-hands-up frustration when I started this position.  That is over and done with.  This job isn't hard.  It's long, but it's not hard.  And I wonder if my boss understands that I hold this distinction -- or cares.

So I guess I need to get real and get down to the brass tacks of this: I have come to enjoy the extra money I get from working in The Fourth Department.  Let me state this: I do not milk my time here.  Despite what I know my boss believes, I am busting my fucking ass every goddamn hour back there trying to get the work done as best as possible -- but yes, I take my breaks and my lunchtime, too.  My co-worker and supervisor get the work done sooner.  As I have said many times here in WAF before, I don't know how the fuck they do it, but I know that I like how I do my job, and I am proud of my work, and I sure as shit will not change ... and, I will get paid for it.

And I think that's the crux of this matter to my boss.  He is under enormous pressure not to give me OT, and OT is what I have been racking up for many months now.  So he imposes this move.  It may be to "help me out," but I think my boss and I both know that if he weren't under so much pressure to cut costs, he would let me do things my way.  So, what he is doing to force me to take stuff off of my plate represents, to me, another change.  And not only do I hate change, but I hate this type of change, the type that is also going to take money out of my wallet.  I have gotten used to doing this position all by my lonesome.  Frankly, I relish it now.  (More on this on my next blog post.)  I have gotten used to the long hours and the commensurate pay that goes along with it (although I should check my pay stub today at work to be sure I am getting paid for all the hours I have worked).  That is being taken away from me.  And while it is a massive blow to my pride and my manhood, I really don't appreciate the "obvious ulterior motive" I have been talking about all this time: To make sure I work only 40 hours and therefore not be paid time-and-a-half.

The time to "help me out," frankly, was back when started in The Fourth Department, when I was so angry at this job that I wanted to launch my head into the monitors because I was staying ten hours at work.  But that didn't come.  I was left to fend for myself, and while I was and am stressed out, I finally did fend for myself.  And now he's unhappy that I have settled upon my way of doing it.  I guess one could say that he was waiting for me to understand the job to the point where he thinks I should be doing it all under eight hours.  To which I say: Bullshit, if you think you can do the job that fast you are either doing a shitty job or I've been praying to the wrong god all this time.

I have nothing to apologize for.  So frankly, I am afraid my temper is going to get the best of me.  This overtime situation is coming to the fore.  This is my last day of the week in The Fourth Department.  From here on out, I am doing this only half of the week -- another change from what I am used to (although, to be fair, I was told in advance this was the plan all along).  That will allow my boss to tell me to leave early on a Thursday or Friday, presumably, just so I don't work overtime anymore.  I am really going to chafe if/when he tells me that, and on top of this bullshit move he pulled on me yesterday/Tuesday (I stammered out an, "Yeah, I understand," and I shouldn't have said that, but I wanted to not pitch a fit right there and scream, "You just fucking pulled this out of nowhere, man, and I don't appreciate it" instead), I really might snap at him.  I might say, "If you think I'm working so slow back here, maybe you should be honest with me and tell me I'm not working back here any longer.  How's that?!"  I hate how he is now nosing in on this cozy situation I have finally figured out for myself.  He ain't fucking leaving me alone, and that is costing me both my autonomy and my paycheck.

---

Partly because of the work in The Fourth Department and partly because I am mourning the impending part-time change (or change back) away from The Fourth Department, I am going to one of my favorite speakeasies after work today/Wednesday, regardless of how stressful the day is or isn't.  After all the bullshit I got and will get piled on me, I think I am entitled to a drink or two.

Addendum To: And This Is Why I Hate Calling People At Work

So I got back to the woman I talked to about those mysterious pills that came in with the pee.  Frankly, this woman is psychotic.  She was incredibly passive-aggressive when I just wanted to know what she wanted me to do with those pills, became very accusatory because she believed our lab broke some urine bottles she shipped to us several weeks ago, and came off as so narcissistic that I don't think she listened to a word I said and instead just was waiting for a moment she could begin spewing out what was stewing in her head.  And she was incredibly, absurdly thin-skinned, too.  Get this -- I was just listening to her talk and talk and talk when my co-workers, who were behind me, started chuckling.  And this bitch goes, "Are you laughing?"

"That is my co-worker," I said, incredulously and sternly.  I have never accused someone of laughing at me while I was on a business call.  I wouldn't say it even if I thought the person I was speaking to was.  How borderline fucking paranoid do you have to be to think someone at work is laughing at you??  And I thought I was crazy, holy shit. ...

She wanted a photo of these tablets ("Those aren't really tablets, but capsules, but anyway ..." she actually said that -- my God, she is insufferable and out of her mind) and I was only too happy to e-mail it to her because I was praying to Buddha that would be the last goddamn time I would ever, ever have to speak to her.  And that was my last phone call with her ... but she was going back and forth with me through e-mail.  Luckily, her tone got less combative once she realized that the testing was underway for the pee she presumably intended to send.  That doesn't excuse her tone, of course; she didn't have to fly off the handle over some cold tablets.  Turns out they were thrown in to the bag by mistake by someone who thought the bag those tablets were in was empty.

Unfortunately, I have spoken to human beings a lot.  I was verbally abused too many fucking times by assholes when I was an usher, and that was because those assholes thought I was beneath them.  As I have gotten older, however, I have realized that fuckers who scream at customer service people do so because they feel like they're not in control, and they feel demeaning people is their only way in which to get that control.  That, shall we say, power imbalance is in my favor at my job.  These people who call need test results, and my company provides them.  That means those people are waiting on us, and on me.  I will always try to help.  But if they refuse to be cooperative, I remind myself that we got the answers, and I will lord those test results over the pricks who call in and want to be nasty with me.

So, I will say that those interactions I described above are way worse than this bullshit she pulled.  In fact, believe it or not, I have to admit that in dealing with her nuttiness, I saw a little bit of ... myself.  Hey, I'm no angel.  In order to get what I want, I will become passive-aggressive and defensive and yelly as she was.  I'm not proud of that behavior (necessarily), it's just that I have had temper tantrums like that many times before, and I know that I won't change because that's how I act when I am pissed -- just like she was.

---

Her last e-mail to me was that explanation of how those liquid gel caps got in that bag.  It was a mistake, and there was no intention of testing them or anything like that.  The thing is, I never asked her how those tablets got in there.  I don't care.  And so I wonder what her point was in fleshing out the story.  Did she think I wanted to know?  Or is this another demonstration of her narcissism, that she just assumed I had to know how Nancy Drew solved The Case Of The Stowaway Capsules.

Should I have responded to that e-mail?  There may be, unfortunately, a time where I'll have to contact her again, so maybe, just to keep the peace, I should acknowledge what she discovered.  But ... well, it was another ten-hour day at work (the problem of her took up almost an hour of my time) and I needed to pick up lottery tickets for my parents and sister and I wanted to go home ... and, frankly, I needed to send her a message that if I ever fucking heard her psycho voice again, it would be too soon.  So I left without replying to her.  And, yeah, I think I won't reply to her.  I got what I wanted from her.

Not At My Best Friday

I admit I was not at my best when I got to my screening Friday.  I was asked if I had my "order," apparently a piece of paper that I was supposed to take with me to the screening.  I was not aware I had to bring one.  I wasn't even aware that there was one.  The technician who helped me thought I had it in my e-mail; the only thing I could even come up with (and this was after I logged onto my work e-mail from my phone, something I never thought I would ever do) was a confirmation number for my appointment, and that wasn't even close.

Perplexed, seeing that my best laid plans of going to Al's Breakfast immediately after this to break my fast were ruined, and not knowing what to do, I literally bolted out of there without even acknowledging her.  I was not having it right then and there.  And although I didn't want to, my only recourse was to go to work (which, thankfully, was about five minutes away), log onto a computer, and literally go to the website where I made the appointment to see what the hell kind of "order" she was talking about.

Although I had a computer free, my supervisor thought it better to let me use hers because it was already turned on.  And she helped me find what turned out to be this "order" since, well, it had an order number, or something.  I drove back (this took me about ten minutes), hurriedly knocked on the door, showed her this sheet and the technician went, "Yep, that's it!"

And ... everything was fine.  Everything.  Well, I was an hour late, and so maybe there wouldn't have been a line to Al's Breakfast, but maybe there would have.  But I got done what I needed to get done.  Hell, I even believe my blood pressure was below 120/80, and that was after I got pissed off and drove back-and-forth.

So ... crap, an apology was in order.  I apologized to the technician for my behavior.  She said forget it.  She shouldn't.  She has a right to fucking hate for the rest of my life because I was one of those horrible customers that makes a front-facing worker's life miserable.  And for what?  Also, and I don't quite want to admit this, when I saw this "order" I had to present and show to the technician ... I kind of remember printing one out in a previous year.  I don't remember a technician taking it, but I think I at least brought it, which means I have been aware in the past of an "order" I need to take whenever I have a screening.  Which means I blew up at her for something I should have known.

To be fair, I don't think I would have been so calm if I hadn't found this "order," and not have found it so quickly.  Thank Buddha, then, for my supervisor for letting me get on her computer and for helping me find what I need to find.  I still gristle at any criticism she gives me, and I will continue to do so.  But she answers my questions at work so I can do my job.  And whenever I'm in a bind, where I am as upset as I said I was when I bogarted her computer, I can't think of anyone who can help me better.

Once again, if I didn't find this "order," or if I had to go to some damn library to print it up, thereby pushing my screening back another hour where I have to wait behind a bunch of other people (oh yeah -- when I came back, there was no line, another good break that extinguished my temper), I would not have been so sanguine about the whole situation, and I don't think I would be so apologetic now.  But when I was running around feeling like I got screwed, it never occurred to me that things could work out.  And they did, easily.  So maybe, instead of losing my temper, I should just fix the fucking problem -- one I probably made.

Trying To Be A Good Boy So I Can Get A Break On My Health Insurance

My screening is in the morning.  I am doing my damnedest to stay within my self as I fast, but either I'm so bored or so manic with hunger pains that my mind is racing in a hundred different directions as I write this.  Damn, I could use a croissant right now.  I'm just dreaming of Al's Breakfast and Hooters after I get my blood tapped.

This screening is for work.  The results of my blood will partially decide whether I get a break for my health insurance.  Things have changed when it comes to that, unfortunately.  Before, you only needed to clear two hurdles: Signing an attestation saying that you don't smoke, and having a BMI below a certain threshold.  I could clear both of those in my sleep (and heck, even if I were a smoker, couldn't I just lie and attest that I don't smoke?)  Starting now, there are three additional measurements they're looking at: Blood pressure, cholesterol, and A1C.  And to get that insurance discount, you now need to "win" three out of the five.

I've been above the universally-regarded normal BP of 120/80 for years now, so that's out.  I've been looking at my results from my visits to my doctor, and I can't find a test for A1C, so who knows if I'm under it or not?  And my cholesterol level was treading in the downward/right direction when I last got it checked, in November, but before I was perilously close to 200.  So, there's a possibility that I "fail" all three of these new metrics.  I could still get a discount at that point, but I'd have to sign up for some diversionary program offered by the health insurance company, and I know part of my paycheck is already paying for that, so that kind of feels like trying to make friends with your bully.  Besides, I don't want to let things get that far.

And so I am in the middle of doing things that I hope will bring down my blood pressure, A1C and cholesterol.  I took yesterday off to eat a healthy lunch (a salad with nuts and avocado and a nopales [that's a cactus] taco) at Centro (albeit with a gin and tonic -- but hey, no calories!), and then I exercised.  Will these concerted efforts help get my levels down?  Probably not.  I should have started this "cutting weight" a couple weeks ago, or better yet, maybe I could just start eating less and eating better as a lifestyle.  But hey, I'm doing it.

I also got a massage after exercising.  (Wanted to take a shower at home before going to the salon, but apparently my masseuse had so many cancellations the salon left me a message to see if I wanted to move up my evening appointment.  I feel as though they were strongly encouraging me to.  But I was starting my workout, and I need to be active for the next day's blood draw, so I compromised and went there straight from the community center.  Doesn't feel great to get a massage when you're all sweaty.)  I want to think that getting all the toxins out of my body will somehow lower my weight and cholesterol.  Doing this also meant I skipped the big dinner Mother inevitably would have otherwise made; I had water, yogurt and a banana instead, and that's a healthy meal, right?  

Finally, getting rubbed down really takes the edge off of you.  I wanted to glide on that good feeling as I went home and, best case scenario, just lay in bed, or fall asleep until I had to go the blood panel.  That was my strategy in hopefully getting my blood pressure below 120/80.  I figure that BP is the easiest of the three goals to manipulate 24 hours before the draw (and maybe the only one), so that if I do hit that mark, the A1C and the cholesterol level wouldn't matter.  That was working until the drive home, when I got stuck behind a slow car.  I looked at the lane next to me.  It was clear.  I went over, but just as I did, a truck did the same, and my damn heart jumped.  And then my temper flared up even more as I failed to make the light to turn left and eventually to home.

I still catch myself having these violent fantasies where I'm beating up bullies, and of all the times I can't have this red mist descend over me, this is the worst.  I need to be calm, relaxed, Zen.  That's the best way to get my blood pressure down and hopefully qualify for this discount.  But maybe I'm going to let myself down.  Hope not.

Not Starting Off This "Work Faster" Plan On The Right Foot, And I Don't Give A Fuck

I am always prepared for the worst at the start of the workweek, but yesterday/Monday was, I swear, the most work I had in The Fourth Department.  It's a Monday, so it's going to be busy with stuff over the weekend (and I keep telling my boss that of the five days of the workweek, I most likely will be staying late the longest and the most often on Mondays).  But yesterday, for some damn reason, the forms and the crap just kept coming, and coming, and coming.  So did the weird stuff, the "Oh, this isn't ours!" or "Hey, I needed to call you because I don't understand. ..."

What happened was something that is, if I am right, unprecedented: I left after ten hours at work with stuff I still needed to do.  This isn't like my first weeks back there figuring stuff out.  I know what to do now, but I didn't have time to do it ... well, maybe more like I didn't want to stay there for half the day.  At any rate, I left stuff there that I will have to pick up this/Tuesday morning.  No easing into the day for me, no sir.

And considering that this week I am supposed to start working faster so as not to rack up overtime, going my self-determined maximum of ten hours the first day probably won't look good in my boss's eyes.  And you know what?  I guess I don't give a fuck anymore.  I busted my ass back there yesterday.  I tried keeping up, but the lab kept giving me stuff, and there were answers that weren't straightforward, and I had to deal with all of that shit, because that is what I am supposed to do.  Sorry to sound like a broken record, but I really don't want to be back there more than I have to each day, but I want to do a good job.  I want to do my work correctly and completely, and then I'll worry about speed.  I think that's the right way to go, and the worst case scenario of what usually happens when I do things the right way happened yesterday.  It is what it is.  You want me to do a shitty job instead?

And I have been trying to tiptoe around this particular issue, but maybe I need to be a bit more direct.  I cannot even frickin' fathom how the two other people who work in that position can face the workload I got yesterday, or any typical Monday, or a typical day period, and get through it all in eight hours.  I don't believe it -- unless they're cutting corners or not paying attention to detail or doing things I was taught not to look past.  I am trying back there.  Goddammit, I am trying back there.  But if my boss has determined that those two can do the job in eight hours that I "have trouble" doing in ten ... well, shit, maybe he needs to find someone else to do the job.

The only upside to all my frustration yesterday is that neither my boss nor my supervisor were at work.  I don't know if I could work through everything I worked through and also dealt with their prying eyes and their judgement.  But both of them certainly will be at work today/Tuesday, and my boss will fucking look at my timecard and see ten full hours and figuratively throw up his hands.  And when he or my supe starts implementing this stupid fucking "plan" while I probably am playing catch-up with the bullshit I had to leave yesterday, I will literally throw up my hands -- and maybe throw some other things, too.  I know what he's going to say, and I know what he's about to do this week, and I cannot take how he wants me to now work back there as anything less than an attack on my character.  I haven't done one goddamn thing wrong, but he thinks I have, and I resent that, I truly do.

The Week Where I Get My Manhood Fuckin' Taken From Me

So I sent that e-mail to my boss, right?  Well, my boss replied to me as soon as he got in that Thursday morning and I read the goddamn thing as soon as I got in an hour later than he got in.  You know what he said?  "Good -- I'm gonna put you on a plan!"  And he wrote down a list of benchmarks of decreasing amounts of overtime starting this week.  Fuck.

He has never done something like this, specifically write up a plan to fix something that he says I do wrong.  This is very micro-managing of him, and the fact that he is micro-managing me now really upsets me.  More than that, I feel as attacked -- no, more so -- now with this "plan" than I did with his initial e-mail dressing me down for just doing my work.  Because I am doing my work -- to the best of my ability, and yet as fast as I can do it while paying attention to detail and trying not to screw it up.  It's impossible on most days not to go over eight hours.  I don't know how the other two do it, but if they are finishing within eight hours, they may not (and again, I mean no disrespect) do it as well as I do.  I take pride in my work, and that takes time.  Never more time than need be, but many times it takes more than a typical day.  And my boss is attacking me for it, and thinking it all can be done in a way that doesn't force the company to pay me OT for my honest work.

I think, deep down, what I hate most about this stems from the first step in implementing this "plan": My supervisor is supposed to talk to me about what I can do to shorten my day.  She is the one who taught me everything I know in The Fourth Department, and I still go to her when I have questions I can't answer, which on some days is more than once.  I think I follow what she has taught me.  Anything else is a matter of style and does not, in any way, lengthen my time at work.  So what else can she teach me?  And is there really anything I have forgotten that she needs to re-train me in?  At the risk of sounding arrogant, I say no.  But she is still, at the direction of her/our boss, going to nitpick over my approach and routine and style, and that pisses me off the most.  As long as the work gets done, I don't think anyone has the right to leer over my shoulder and criticize me for how I do it.  And anything she does call me out on I think will really upset me.  It's a "back off, leave me alone" type of deal.  I hope I don't lash out at her, but I think that's going to happen, and now I have to watch my temper at someone who is also just doing her job over something over which I already feel very defensive.

So I will have to deal with that bullshit.  In the meantime, my boss tossed out the possibility that there just may be work that I don't have to do at the end of the day.  I find it irresponsible to just leave work because I'm approaching eight hours.  The information needs to be asked for, and once it's given, it needs to be sent to the lab, posthaste.  There are clients who want to know what's going on, and that's money.  I'm making sure they're happy.  I'm doing my job.  Leaving it for the next day will not make those clients happy.  Moreover, knowing the pile of work that comes in every day, work that carries over from the previous day pushes the work that comes in the morning to the afternoon, and the work that comes in the afternoon gets pushed to the next day.  Again, if this is not a problem with the other two, well ... maybe they're better at this shit than I am.  Maybe I need to find another line of work.  Because fuck knows why I need to be subjected to this humiliation I'm about to walk into.

God, I fucking hate this job.

I Am Afraid I Am Getting Mask Fatigue

I continue to wear surgical masks at work.  You never know, and besides, if there is ever a place to keep wearing a mask, it's in an indoor setting where you're relatively close to people for 8 1/2 hours a day, right?

Well, sometimes the masks I get are bad.  I've come to the conclusion that the boxes the masks come in have varying degrees of quality.  Sometimes the masks are relatively small for my face, so when I stretch the loops to take it off (to drink, to blow my nose, etc.), they snap loose.  If one does, it's almost certain that the next mask I get, which likely will come from the same box as the first one, will also be too small and also will snap.  And they do.  I have gone through half a dozen one morning.

And I am going through a similarly bad run as of late.  I believe I had to get a new mask twice on Monday and twice one day last week.  Yesterday/Wednesday was going to be different; it was going to be a day where the mask lasts the whole day (it usually does).  But about an hour before I was done with work, I unhooked myself to finish off my coffee and snap! there went the loop of the mask.

And to be quite honest, my initial thought was: "Well, I'm only going to be here for an hour longer.  I can go without it."  But then common sense (as well as a pull to toward the routine) kicked in and I grabbed another mask.  (It seemed larger than the one I had been wearing all day, for the record, so I'm guessing it came from a different box, a better one.)  But that thought wasn't uncharacteristic of me as of late.  I am getting mask fatigue.

I have resumed how I lived my life before the pandemic began: I go out to eat a lot and attend movies and concerts when I want (well, my previous blog posts about passing the Fleet Foxes show notwithstanding).  I usually wear a mask, and quite often an N95 mask I have hoarded (and sometimes, at least for this hazy summer of smoke, a ventilated N95) over a surgical one, either one I have in my car or, if I'm going somewhere straight from work, the one I have been wearing at work.  But I've been slipping.  I have slipped my masks off indoors when eating or drinking something, and now, when I sit down to eat, I keep it off until I put it back on.

Lately I have stopped putting a mask on if I'm dashing into, say, a gas station to pay for gas.  I have let my guard down for longer periods as of late, too; I watched Bullitt Monday night (and have I told you how much of a badass motherfucker Steve McQueen is?) and I kept my mask off after I got done eating my popcorn and drinking my Coke.  Moveover, the past couple weeks I have become acutely aware that I am one of the vanishing few walking around with a mask on when I have been at, say, Target or the Mall Of America (I really felt awkward when I was at the latter Independence Day/Tuesday).  I hate that I have allowed to creep into my head the thought: "Do other people think I look stupid still wearing a mask?"

I don't know if COVID-19 has reached an endemic phase.  Maybe it's still a problem but The Media isn't covering it, so it's easy to dismiss now as a dark chapter in humanity's history that's finally behind us.  But like I said, you never know if some chump coughing up a storm next to me while pushing past me on the concourse at Allianz Field (I know I'm going to lose my temper there again on Saturday) is spewing the 'Rona.  Or the flu; that can still circulate during the summer.  And heck, mask-wearing might come back into vogue in the winter months, when more people are cooped up indoors and the coronavirus won't be automatically vitiated by the outdoor air.  But yes, I am catching myself slipping from mask-wearing.  Some of it is risk I'm willing to accept.  But I think some of it is me finally getting tired of a killer that might not be tired of me.

Vexed By The Pushy And By The Slow

Alright, another instance where I hate myself.

So I was at the United FC Match Saturday night.  And goddammit, like last time, I had lost my temper by some skeetering prick pushing and slaloming his way past me and everybody else on his way to God knows where.  And just like last time, I took it upon myself to catch up to him in order to ... well, just like last time, I don't know, I don't fucking know.  So armed with pissed-off energy, I slalomed and pushed my way past people in order to catchup to this short motherfucker, who, thankfully, was going into the MNUFC store, just like me.  I finally caught up to him on the line going into the store.  And now that I was the dog who finally caught the car, the only thing I thought to do let this asshole know I got him was ... fan him with my program.  That's all I could come up with.  Now I was smart enough to stop after we got in to the store.  Well, maybe I stopped after we walked in a few steps.  Or several.

Affter I "accomplished my mission," and went to grab a beer, however, there was another goddamn pissant pushing his way past the crowd.  This is a tall (and probably Mediocre) White Guy who didn't have manners because he didn't he had to mind his.  So this red fucking mist descended on me again.  This piece of shit I failed to catch; he was too tall before he dove into the men's room.  But in trying to catch up with this pushy fucker, I got held back by a few slowpokes, and this time around, they really, really pissed me off.  In particular there were these two big dudes, one of whom I remember being dressed in a Portland Timbers jersey.  They were taking their time, talking to each other and walking very, very slowly -- slowly enough where I would have gone around them if I weren't fucking hellbent on revenge.  I was able to look around them, however, and I saw no one.  There was space in front of these two dudes for at least 15 feet.  And that angered me to no end.  Couldn't they see they're blocking up the concourse for everyone else?!  Again, if I weren't trying to catch up to that pissfuck, I might have taken a more calm approach to getting around them.  But I was, so I literally shoved my way past them.  Rudely.  And frankly, for at least those two, I'm glad I did.

Saturday night was a reminder that I'm no good around crowds.  People walk too slowly, so I push my way past them.  People walk too fast, and I take it upon myself to passive-aggressively extract my vengeance upon them.  Later on my walk to grab a beer, I ran into a group of people, all talking to each other, who may or may not have been in line, and I fucking hate those people too.  And like before, I would have dealt with that situation better if I weren't so pissed off in the first place.  I probably went around them, but it was possible I cut in front of them, if they were in line.

Looking back, I don't like how I acted.  But I lose my temper when I see unmannered people like that.  So maybe I should just get to the stadium, get food, get my beer, and then just go up to my seat.  But there are just so many people coming out to the Match that I'll still see asshole pushing his way through, and I'll just have to be a sheepdog and try and fucking hunt him down because I can't help myself.

Some Narcissism Is Healthy

So I got into work yesterday/Monday and got hit with a triple punch of stuff that cheezed me off.  First, I got in (technically) a minute late, a factor mainly because of some rare-for-post-pandemic Monday morning traffic, although I didn't have a good night's rest and was late getting out the door.  I burned my hand getting coffee; that damn vending machine nozzle is still so gunked up the coffee sprays out all askew.

But what really grinded my gears was yet another "this is how you fucked up" e-mail from my boss.  Now, I don't want to say that he's mean.  He wasn't, and I understand he was doing his job.  I guess this is my fault and thus my responsibility to do better.  Still, I don't take criticism well.  There were two things I did wrong.  Without getting into specifics, one was a case where I was too cautious when it turns out I didn't have to.  This particular situation should have raised a red flag under a condition I flat-out don't understand, and I think I need to take this up with my supervisor.  The other one was some out-of-nowhere situation that came to me via e-mail, and it might as well have been in Tagalog.  I know that when I have asked my supe about e-mails that come out of the blue, she has often told me to not worry about.  Well, my boss told me I should have done something about it.  That is new as hell to me, so new that I am liable to do it again.  So he then brought up the catch-all solution, which is basically, "If you see something you don't understand, tell one of us."  OK.  Like I said, I have had success just ignoring something because it didn't feel as though it concerned me, but fine.

My ire was raised because I have been told to worry about something I had no idea I needed to worry.  That unfairness really got to me yesterday morning.  I realized I was spiraling into some bad thoughts that I had to snap myself out of.  Then I remembered that I had a job to do (even though, for the record, I had very little work for a Monday.  I got out of there about a half-hour over shift.  I have never done that before on a Monday).  And then I looked over at my supervisor, who was filling in herself.  She was CC'd on this e-mail, and I thought that if these two matters were important enough, she would reinforce what my boss said.  But no, she was just minding her own business.  And that's when I realized that, well, I didn't have to give a fuck about this e-mail if I didn't want to.  Shit, I could just ignore it if I wanted.  And that's when I calmed down.

I think back at all the times I received e-mails from my boss or, well, lectures from my supervisor about what I did wrong in The Fourth Department.  And it would always get my dander up and bring me down.  Sometimes it would affect me all day.  But going on five years total in this job (and maybe three doing work back there), I haven't been fired yet.  I get into this dark place after receiving criticism where I have the mindset of, "Well, if they think I do a shitty job, then I might as well save me any stress and continue to be shitty at it, and if they fire me, fuck it!"  I continue to think that someone -- maybe my boss, maybe someone above him -- is keeping score of my mistakes, and then one day the accumulation of those fuck-ups will reach a point where my boss will just have to shitcan me.  But that hasn't happened yet.  So why am I sweating this?

And beyond that, just ignoring these communiques as if they never existed may be a form of survival.  I think there is some credence that if you think you won't do a good job, you won't do a good job.  Could the converse be true?  Thinking you will do a good job is a positive mindset, and I think (or at least I believe) that thinking positively will lead to better work, not to mention a better day for you at work.  It is thus tempting, then, to not even think about the negativity brought on by corrective e-mails such as the one I got -- "Nope, my boss didn't send it!  Didn't happen!  It's out of my mind ... what do I do next?"  There is an obliviousness, maybe even an arrogance, to thinking you haven't done anything wrong.  But maybe that's how I should think in order to be both productive and happy.

(By the way, later that morning I realized that my boss is off for most of the week.  Don't have to see him until Friday, and by then, assuming I keep my positive mindset, I would've forgotten about all this.)

That frame of mind might only last until the next e-mail I get from him on how I screwed up, and it might be a mistake he said I've done before.  But I don't think it's productive getting all upset and seething about those criticisms, especially if it doesn't look like I'll lose my job over it.  So why in the hell am I beating myself up?  I think it's healthier for me to act as if I'm doing nothing wrong, like a narcissist!