the word is out

I went public (as in my workplace public, as opposed to the internet public) with my plans to quit on December 6. So now I have to field the questions of what next.

I DON'T KNOW.

So stop asking me.

Also something that should be a bolster to my self-esteem, but has turned out to be a little creepy is the strong reaction I receive from some people. I have only worked here 18 months. We can't be that close. So stop crying, or telling me how sad it is. Please stop trying to talk me out of it. I now have sound medical advice that backs up what little sanity I have left that considers it for the best of the entire world that I do not remain in this job.

And I have decided, despite the fact that this is a rare opportunity, I should probably pass on the going-away party. Because if I have to plan it, not nice things will happen. As in, Mutually assured destruction not nice. Plus, it's not in the budget. And having spent most of my time here having to be an evil queen of numbers, I should probably not go out with the fanfare. Plus, I'm not fond of brass.

penta-annual faulknerian (near) non-fiction: it'll make you stab your eyeballs out

This is a post for everyone who has ever had to write a scholarly paper in the general field of the humanities, specifically in English. Do you recall the time spent crafting a sentence to say exactly what you mean, pouring through words and phrases until something would click? When there was very little difference to be found between content and style because the two were inextricably linked. Then I recommend that you never have a go at editing the report that is now sitting on my desk.

Usually a visceral reaction to a written work can be considered a good thing. But it has to be for all the best reasons. If the reason is because it is so terrible, so full of errors and inappropriate tone, than no, not awesome.

Granted, this blog is hardly a stylistic achievement of greatness. But it's informal. I don't care, and if you are fretting about my abysmal punctuation, I have to say, get a life. This is something I write on the sly, like when I'm editing papers that make me cry (I wept on the way home last night thinking about how bad this was: truly wretched).

A report that you do five times a year, prepared for your Board of Directors, should not be this bad. It really shouldn't be bad at all, but if it has to be less than stellar, make it M.O.R, or mediocre. It shouldn't be this bad: it could be spread around it leaflets and used as a torture device.

And such a report should have a formal tone. If there is money on the line and it doesn't involve a lotto ticket, you should be formal. You can be conversational without becoming a servant of an Editorial Demon.

Curse you Earnesto, and your report as well.

Discretion is passé

I think that every workplace the size of the institution that I work for has to have a complete jerk who spends copious amounts of time doing nothing but drive everyone around them nuts. The one that stands out today (and most every other day) I will call John, after John McEnroe, because this is a person that thrills to argument. He thrives on conflict, he runs around fighting battles that really have very little to do with himself because he can, and no one has figured out a way to stop him, short of a nuclear explosion. He makes administration hellish.

Today he sent a email, political positioning that would only be tenuously supported because it was sent on the personal list serve. But of course he had to go so far as to make it a personal attack against someone that we do business with, a relationship that works very much more in our advantage. True, Businessman X has been known to ruffle many feathers on the SF scene, but you don't make a billion without breaking some people. Or whatever. But still, group emails on work accounts should not be a platform to launch attacks. Especially not such ridiculously short-sighted ones.

I mean, he enjoys a salary based in part on the revenue generated by Businessman X's association with us, so where does John get off trying to crucify him as a person?

So I forwarded it onto Marie, who hates John. We were once sitting in a meeting with some VIPs and John got up to speak. She leans over to me and says "someone should light John on fire." That's some pretty potent animosity for two people who have shared a workplace for 15+ years. Or maybe it's understandable. Either way, Marie LOST IT.

Admittedly, ever since the reorg her mouth issued some statements that have boggled my mind. This is the person who constantly lectured me on discretion in my position, constantly took time to correct me if she thought I was saying too much. When I said we should take it into her office, not the oh so public hallway, she asked why. She said, "I'm past the point where I have to consider discretion." So, I guess, is John.

What will probably happen is Earnesto will gently reprimand the both of them in a non-committal way, because no one sent him the memo/map that shows the point of discretion was passed by some months back. We shot meteorically past it, or so it would seem. Earnesto probably still quotes "discretion is the better part of valor." He's got himself some learning. But what he doesn't realize is that Falstaff, who said it, doesn't make it to the end of the series, and dies of some disease instead of in battle, and is also considered comic relief. I guess it all sort of transfers. Earnesto can be pretty hilarious with his bright-eyed opportunistic nature. And I wouldn't be surprised if he too ends up in ignominy.

So, today's lesson is, Shelve discretion. Stop biting your tongue and say give that blistering diatribe you have been perfecting in your mind through years of silence. And, as a corollary, start looking for a new job.

Let's label this: flirtation

When I'm not busy scheduling, or doing my work, or writing this, I do a little something that brightens my day. It's almost inexplicable how much I enjoy this activity. It is communal flirtation.

Please allow me to explain a little further. Our Accounts Payable is kept in a room slightly larger than a broom closet, but smaller than the executive office, with four of them in there. They are nice people, three girls and a boy who I have determined is crazy (Renaldo). But it is a place of community, you can almost always find a visitor or 6 in there disputing accounts, providing receipts etc. And they have this game they started, which is a really stupid game, when you think about it.

This game is primarily consistent of typing secret words into their label maker, and leaving them for the other people playing. I love it. I love words, they are little gems to play with. The other thing I love about the game is that it allows me to flirt with a specific person, Henry, a very lovely fellow from another department, without actually being held to that flirting. It gives us foundation for some very lively banter, and our face to face interactions have prospered. However, since the basis for the flirtation is done in proxy through the label maker, and is read by more than just Henry and myself, we are not committed to it in the eyes of our peers.

So Henry and I exchange our words and play a game that other people can play too. It's thrilling. I'm sure part of the thrill is that Henry used to date one of my favorite coworkers, so is forbidden fruit. I know the other women who play the game see it as a way to flirt with Henry, but since Henry and I are the wordsmiths now (we hijacked the experience about three weeks ago), they are at most periphery.

I love this, flirtation with plausible deniability, otherwise know henceforth as communal flirtation. See below, the tool for our delicate relationship.