108 posts tagged “work”
Here we are. The last day I can do anything meaningful before the end of the fiscal year.
What I've got is a phone ringing off the hook, a missing receptionist, a twitchy boss, two people who don't understand why they're not yet getting paid for the classes they just started teaching last week, plus four blisters, an aching hip, and a sore back.
Because I spent the whole weekend, from Friday night to Sunday night, crazily cleaning, sorting, painting, scrubbing, packing, organizing, and staging my house. The realtor is supposed to come today to take pictures for our listing, and then we have an open house on Tuesday.
Stick a fucking fork in me, huh?
That is the sound of the fiscal year end going down the toilet. And I'm standing over the toilet with a brick of uncut coke in each hand, trying to break them up enough to flush the evidence, while the DEA pounds on the front door.
This is what it feels like anyway. I've got bills to pay, payroll to finish, GTA waivers to submit, money to spend, and Guilder to frame for it.
And over in this corner, I have a worthless receptionist who called in "sick" today, because she doesn't want to unpack and she's pouting over being back in her windowless office. To which I say, "Get off your lazy, stoner ass and look for a job with a window then."
I have a boss who can't make up his mind about the furniture I'm supposed to order TODAY, because the money has to be spent NAO.
Over here, I've got a douchebag professor who is trying to treat me like his personal assistant during the last week of the fiscal year. It would be bad enough if he were just hounding me, but he's hounding me with a Cockney lisp. To which I say, "Get a fecking speech ferapist, you bloody chav."
Then over here on this hand (what am I up to? Five?) I have our photocopier contractor who was supposed to move our copier last week. He hasn't. Here I am, with no receptionist, my copier is still upstairs on the third floor, and I've got Eliza Douchelittle wanting me to make copies every ten minutes.
Oh, and Prof. Stupid Cunt just dropped by to complain about "the chaos." She can't find anything. Including her ass with both hands and a flashlight, I guess.
Guess what happens next week? The GTA offices get moved again.
My department was scheduled to move (once again!) back to our original offices, starting on Thursday.
So it comes as no surprise that the moving supervisor came by 15 minutes ago to see if any of our offices are ready to move ... TODAY!
Par for the course around here: nothing goes as scheduled.
At any rate, despite the fact that I'm getting ready to go into frantic mode, I'll be glad to get back to my real office. The one with the best view on campus and the no constantly talking receptionist. The office with a door I can close and a window I can open.
ETA: Oh, my beloved office.
The nicest development is that when they renovated, they removed the old wall radiator that used to be under the window. Here's to not stubbing my toe on it ten times a day.
Finally got a look at the renovations on second floor. We don't have an occupancy permit yet, but all the stuff from storage has been moved out. Sure, it's still Brain Tumor Hall, but it sure looks better than it used to.
Haven't been around much, because I've been trying to get Hubbicula graduated, wrap up everything at work for the fiscal year, and prepping to go on VACAY-SHON!
I'm going to California to visit some good friends I've never met. Isn't the internet funny that way?
I was supposed to take this trip last year, but a family emergency and a lack of money kept me from going. This year I'm still broke, but I'm going anyway! Woohoo! (This year, the Dean tried to keep me from going by making last-minute changes to summer teaching contracts. She wanted me to stay and sort it all out, even though the deadline for contract changes was last week. Haha! Good luck sorting that out while I'm in California, suckers!)
Anyway, I'll probably be mo-blogging a bit, but otherwise I'll be off the grid for the next week.
Have a good one, people, and I'll see you laters.
Dear Faculty Members:
Thank you all for sending me your submissions to the departmental newsletter in an almost timely fashion. Three weeks past the deadline isn't that big a deal. It's all good.
Because of recent kerfuffles concerning edits to the brilliant literary masterworks that you submitted, I am taking a bold new step as the editor of this newsletter. I'm taking my name off of it. If all you want me to do is paste in the articles you write, without making editorial improvements to your spelling, grammar, and syntax, I don't want anyone knowing that I'm the "Editor." Frankly, I wouldn't want anyone to think that I'm at fault for the steaming pile of crap you're asking me to mail out to donors and alumni. I have a reputation to uphold.
While we're on the subject of my reputation, I'd like to remind everyone that I AM THE ONLY PERSON IN THIS DEPARTMENT WITH A MASTERS DEGREE IN ENGLISH. You can stack up as many PhDs in OTHER subjects as you want and my puny little MA will still trump your PhD, because I STUDIED ENGLISH. Specifically, I studied WRITING. You know, the science of stringing words together into coherent sentences? I served as an editorial intern at an international literary magazine. I've written and edited newsletters for a dozen different organizations. I know what I'm doing, but I can only do it if you let me.
So, from now on, you'll get what you deserve. Copy & paste. I won't check to make sure you haven't spelled it "Universtiy" for the ten-thousandth time. If you won't let me fix your grammar and syntax, I'm not going to fix your spelling. And the only person's name that'll be on it is yours.
Cheerio,
~(name redacted)
I don't know yet. I have to go to the awards ceremony at 1:30. That's the gimmick. They make all the Employees of the Months for the last year trot out to the little ceremony, and then they tell us who's Employee of the Year. Ugh. I hate stuff like this, but I still hope I win.
So I go into my office cubicle this morning, and I see what I see every morning. Filing cabinet piled high with shit while we're in our interim offices and my little plant.
Except, wait...what the fuck is that next to my plant? WHAT IS IT?
Sneaky bitches, I don't know who did this, and you better hope I never find out...
This is one of those weeks where I have to WORK. I have paperwork to push, an honors ceremony to plan, my wife to murder and Guilder to frame for it. I'm swamped.
AND my receptionist called in sick again today, knowing full well that the honors ceremony is Tuesday night. This wouldn't be huge, but she also called in sick Thursday and Friday. She better be really sick is all I have to say.
Also: Not fair!!!!! Do no want to work. Want to fart around on the internet and write.
Also: Shitty weather. Enough!
(Today's post brought to you by my inner three-year-old.)
Pop Quiz
Q: How much would I hate my job if I weren't getting paid for it?
a.) a lot
b.) a whole fucking lot
c.) depends on how much I can earn selling pilfered office supplies
d.) enough to dedicate myself to destroying the Republican Party in Kansas, who are using the paychecks of state employees in a game of chicken against the governor.
e.) all of the above.
