we suck young blood

I was reading Tim Duncan's bio on a site, and it inspired me to, along with my overwhelming sense of cynicism on this Friday of joy and gladness (only 5 days of work left! Exciting!) write something brutally true and yet over the top exaggerated. and that would be how my institution eats its young.

Not the visiting young, but the new employees. I don't know if this is the case in the real world with real money dollar jobs, but I have seen a lot of super-swift hire-quit actions go down here. Let me explain how somehow, a renowned institution of 400+ employees has built a management system that contrives to suck the souls out of people.

Scenario 1: The impossible situation
There is one senior manager here (and by here, I mean collecting a fat paycheck) who actually lives in New York and is getting her doctorate. I'm not sure how that works. Who okayed this? I mean, what person in there right mind said, 'ah yes Barbie, we should pay her a lot and make her supervisor of 15 people on site, but pay for her to live far away and come to town whenever she wants'? I guess it could work, if she was a stellar manager/communicator, but here no one is a stellar communicator, and Barbie is worst than most.

A testament to this is the way that she can't keep people working for here for any long period of time. New hires are not hired/interviewed by her, so they are never forewarned of her *&*#*&-ness. Barbie will then roll into the scene at her leisure, and about 50% of the time, after the visit we are looking for a new hire. The swiftest hire-quit process I saw was within 24 hours of Barbie's landing at SFO. I am not sure if this is her record. I feel a little bad. The only ones who make it are just like her. It's an impossible situation for people who do not want to become conniving.

Scenario 2: Failure to drink the kool-aid
This is common, when the person hired has been a little lured in by our "mission" and "vision." Then they get in and take a good scope around and see that those were some really awesome pretty-lies we construct in order to not hate ourselves at the end of the day. Many people cut and run at this point. A few stick around, and some get so caught up in the kool-aid that they ask to franchise the stuff so they can peddle it to other unsuspecting folk.

An example of this can be seen, ironically, in our recruiter. He started in October. His last day is Wednesday. Which is too bad for Earnesto, because it means the person he was counting on to find my replacement will not be there. Which kind of means it will be a long time before there is a replacement. Oops!

Scenario 3: They saw behind the curtain
Last year for Camille's birthday, we, plus Renaldo, went to lunch. This was still when Renaldo was having a death-crush on Camille, and as part of his awkward ritual mating dance he had the Hopes & Dreams talk. Way too early in the wooing, buddy. No wonder you failed. But even at the time it was apparent that of the three of us, I was a #2, and they were going to either be lifers or have a #3 moment sometime soon. hopes and dreams don't make it very long here.

Think about it in these terms: Under the guise of 'creative engines,' the place sucks hopes and dreams up and then uses them to power the institution's Project Negative Value. I envision the movement to be similar to that of the beast in Yeats' poem "The Second Coming," slouching towards the target.

When people see past the eyewash and the kool-aid, what they basically see is the machine room of the Hopes & Dreams giant vacuum, and scales fall from eyes quickly. This is how we lose the most promising talent. They go and say, hey, if there is going to be a wizard behind the curtain, it should be something that grants wishes, or at least looks like Cary Grant, and not something that will eventually see me a dried up old bag with no additional training. And then they leave (usually not until I have told them something embarrassing about myself; they have phenomenal interrogation skills).

alack! alas!

I spoke too soon when I said yesterday that I was feeling unsmirchable, even if it involved Rusty. Last night I had this very besmirching dream about him. I will have to undergo therapy relating to it for several years, if not decades.

What can cleanse my mind? Perhaps some eyewash?

crisis at the message centre

Timmy is injured! Luckily, not a horrible season ending sort of injury, but still, injured. I hate Clumsy James Jones for his futile attempts to stop Timmy's greatness. For that, mr. stupid-leg-in-the-way should be sentenced to the circle of the Inferno where the people where lead robes and are forced to walk in never-ending circles around a roasting fire. That is the weight of guilt. If it had been a acl tear, I don't think Dante described a level severe enough.

This whole incident has been enough to expel the sparkle in my heart which was disguising my space there, and it has brought to the forefront the black spot on my soul.

UPDATE:

Ok, here is something that makes this a tiny bit better.



I love these boys!

A Very Special Episode

I grew up without a TV.

?? you may say, did you also live in a cave?

Why, no, I did not. I lived in a lovely house in the suburbs of Portland and I had no TV, so consequently, I never knew the joys of the "very special episode" until I grew older and had an early morning health class whose curriculum seemed to consist only of these. Like the 90210 when Brenda thought she was pregnant. Or the 7th Heaven where, oh wait, all 7th Heaven episodes are very special. There were also a lot of made for TV movies. Lifetime should sue for royalties.

But not to be irreverent, today feels like I have been trapped in one of these.

I admit, what has happened here is tragic. I don't feel like I can share this sort of details about the lives of others, but it is tragic. Still, I have the claustrophobic feeling of being trapped in a cliché. In a world of infinite possibilities, it is odd how often things fall into a predictable pattern. Maybe it's like I heard at one meeting, humans have no idea how to generate a truly random sequence of events.

The system is down

(What can I say? I'm a child of the times.)

If this weeks entries have seemed a bit off, it's because I've been a trifle off all week due to the intoxicating mixture of a cold, dayquil, nyquil, and my regular battery of medications. and by a trifle off, I mean, falling asleep unexpectedly, losing my voice, and dancing in the back of a truck outside of my house last night to the music only I seemed to be hearing. All in all, except for the fact I tend to get a bit grumpy when sick, it's one of the best, most entertaining times to know me. When I'm sick, I don't know anything about discretion. Which is only a bad thing because it's something I need for work. Ooops!

Still, I'm ill enough to decide to forgo a pleasant evening spent seaside for Miss Camille's birthday this weekend. Any guesses as to who will be there? That's right, Renaldo is taking a break from his busy boogaloo schedule to go and make puppy-dog eyes at his girl in several million. Which just reminds me of last year around this time was when his death-crush made it's Debut. And I'm talking about full on high society debut: it might as well have donned a gown and gloves and descended down the spiral stair to make an entrance into our workplace. (It would have done a lovely dance and looked so darling with a decorative fan)

Thinking about that night also reminds me how much I miss Sam, a fellow that came, worked for 6 months here, and changed my life. Sam, who remains the only person willing to even start up with me about the competition of the Spurs versus Mavericks. (there really isn't a competition: winning it all vs. being out in the first round thanks to the absolute genius of a single man bent on revenge). Sam, who when he sets his alarm always makes sure the digits add up to 9. I miss Sam 8 trillion times more than I miss Henry, which shows you my achilles heel. I love to have a crush; careless and spontaneous outpourings of emotion that in the end are not worth much. Examples include Henry (a great guy who I liked to like because he is funny and there was a game involved) and Rusty (not great guy I liked because I was dangerously bored).

Anyway, it makes me think of Sam because it was an occasion when he also joined us at a local libation station and imbibed. Can I say I miss him one more time? I MISS SAM!

Happy Birthday Camille!

I was concerted, I swear it

Well, sometimes work just acts like the wort sort of bully, and it is times like those I remember something I once saw on one of the Blackboards of my high school calculus class. It went something like this:

Math is what we do, but we do not do it well, that is why we DANCE!

I take no credit for this. It was a notice for some sort of dance club that I was far too geeky to participate in. But the line stuck with me, and this was my philosophy today at work (substitute work for math). So when Earnesto left the office unexpectedly for the second time today, throwing his schedule into absolute shambles, I turned on the tunes and indulged in a little chair dancing. You know, when you groove around without actually moving the chair.

I think I was inspired by the exhibition opening/ concert I went to on Wednesday. It was a dreadful combination of rich snobby people sneering at my dress, and then indie rock kids sneering at my dress, but at least it had a rocking soundtrack. Why all the sneering? Perhaps it is because my outfit was a tiny bit prom-night-revisited, not chic enough for SFMOMA, but too dressy for the Independent and the Okkervil River crowd.

My dear friend was kind enough to bring me less painful shoes, meaning I checked my 4-inch black patent leather heels. Admittedly, the skirt, knee-length, benefitted from the tall shoes, but my comfort level did not. So I went to the coat check area, and turned over my shoes (my stockings were filled-in-fishnet, but irretrievably laddered, so I took them off and binned them in the bathroom). Following is the exchange between me and the Coat Check Men:

Me: I'd like to check these shoes.
Them: You have to wear shoes.
Me: I am wearing shoes, just different shoes.
Them: But you would look better in these shoes.
Me: I've already been wearing them for 4 hours, and my feet hurt, so I'll wear these other ones, thanks.
Them: That will be 2 dollars.
Me (paying them): Thank you.

Oh the crazy coat checking fashion police!

It was a great show. I really enjoyed it. I was concerted by the whole experience.


very similar to my shoes

What is it about the Accounting Department that makes them want to drink?

Maybe it's the fact that they deal with the dirty cold facts that underlie this place, that we are poor, and will perpetually be poor. Maybe it's the way they all secretly seem to hate each other. Maybe they are all so overworked that they have no friends to go out with in real life. But our accountants here tend to be BIG fans of the happy hour, and beyond. And Monday night, we went out to celebrate 10 years of service from our resident groupie, Susie.

Susie is crazy. She is the type of obsessive energy type person I talked about earlier in the Harry Potter post, except for minus the anime. Instead, add in Buffy, anything Sci-Fi and Fantasy, and soooo much more. She gets 6 weeks of vacation for her time served, and I think that almost every second of it is spent at some convention. Unfortunately, she missed Comi-Con this year, and will also take a miss on Dragon Con as well. But she has at least three more planned for the year. But what really makes her crazy is the fact she has been here for 10 years.

Never mind the fact that we have treated her horribly as an institution, and shuffled her around like some sort of rummy cube tile. She's here for the vacation.

Monday we went to a bar that has table that they must have pillaged from a massive garage sale of round end tables. They are all about the size of a postage stamp. Not designed for group visits. It is also dark and noisy, but plays sports of three tvs, which redeems is slightly. Since I don't drink, I often get bored and watch the tvs, since they are slightly less embarrassing than watching coworkers work on drinking themselves into the ground.

Since Accounting/ Finance is one of the largest admin. departments, I thought for sure there would be more people showing up. Battleaxe's low turnout numbers from that department would have been due to the fact she was an absolute witch (although she did once buy me a scone). I mean, 10 years is something.

Something to ignore, apparently. From what I hear, a total of 8 people showed, including myself and Susie. Henry was there, and it was clear he still had a thing for my coworker, so maybe it is not so tragic that he is leaving. It was a modified open tab, where you had a settling up at the start of each round. Pre-pay tab. I left early, so I can't comment on the success of this strategy, but I don't think that we ended up $120 in the hole.

So where were the absentee accountants? One had a legit excuse: planning for a wedding. He would have never heard the end of it if he had not reported for duty. The rest? MIA. Can't they even come and fake it through a single round? Friends don't let friends celebrate in a dismally attended affair.

Harry Potter gives me hives!

Actually, it's not Harry who does it, but the unwashed masses that turn out to the book release.

I rarely comment about my life outside of work, because it is very much more personally satisfying than my work life, and I don't need the catharsis of the written rant. But now I will tell you and after hours story that may curdle you blood, or make it boil, depending on what sort of person you are.

Now, this isn't a anti-Potter crusade, it's an anti-obsession thing. UPDATE: More of an anti-obsessing-over-everything thing

My dear little nephew is all of five-years-old, and loves Harry Potter. He is not a skilled enough reader to read the books, since lifting them might kill the poor fellow. What he has done is listened to the books on cd as he and his family travel hither and yon. He has been waiting and anticipating the last book for some time.

As you may have heard, book 7 came out at 12:00am Saturday morning. I happened to go with my sister to the chain store she had ordered the book from to pick it up. she was wait-listed on the audiobook. We arrived at 11:30pm Friday as were told, and were subsequently informed we would have to wait until the last book had been sold to pick up a copy of the cds. Or we could come in the next day and pick it up. We were #102 of 1000+, and still had a wait and then some, in close proximity that 1000++ people crammed into the store.

And such people. Not everyone was frightening, in fact it wasn't the costumes that were most unnerving. It was the people that were there because it was the obsession du jour. The girls that were squealing on their cells about 'a whole book all about Smallville, can you even believe it?' and the anime section was crammed full of crazy. How can you have that much obsessive energy?

We got out alive, but I'm not kidding, the whole thing left me with hives. If Dante were alive, he would ad this as a level to Purgatory, if not the Inferno.

He's leaving

Just as I start really enjoying the forbidden flirtation between myself and Henry, I find out he's quitting. In August, on the 16th. Never mind that I am leaving soon thereafter. It is gut-wrenching to find out this (ps, you can't tell anyone, this isn't for public consumption. Tippy-top secret. That's why it's on my blog).

pps - How come the boy I like is leaving and the one I want to burst into flames is bumping into me 2-3 times a day? What kind of sick joke is that?

Who let him in the building?

Some one is going to suffer from letting Rusty in the building. When I find them, it's going to be the level of the Inferno for those who committed simony, because upside-down baptism in fire is what they richly deserve.

The dangers of being overqualified for your job

I would like to think of myself as reasonably intelligent. But as was pointed out by my dearest boss, Earnesto, nearly any sentient body, including furbies, could probably be an executive assistant. It's not a terrible job. It just isn't that great. Part of it is the institution, I know, but really, even fresh out of college, it turns out I was dangerously overqualified for the the position.

I say this because in the stagnant pool that become my mind as I thought of the exigencies of trying to schedule 50 hours worth of meetings into 37.5 hours, last summer I developed a perilous infatuation with Rusty (so named because for reasons unknown, he dyes his hair the exact color of iron oxide, and somehow captures the texture as well)

Okay, now I realize he's just not attractive, but I was sensory deprived, and he seemed so splendidly different from that to which I had become accustomed: the executive. And his hair was also not rusted then, it was my Achilles heel color of feather boa blue. Which is also probably not enticing to you, but work with me.

We met, we were friends, I was really silly, etc, and gory details will not be shared because I do have some dignity I would like to maintain. Anyway, fast-forward months and his contract runs out, and I realize I will never see him again, and I come to my senses. Thank you, blessed October. And I move merrily on with life and back to crushes of guys who are actually in some way shape or form attractive. My acceptance of Rusty's departure was facilitated by his new hair color, which just made me cringe. You can't take hair that color anywhere, unless it's to a stylist to repair the ravages.

And then, in January, back he reappears in my life, wanted to start back where we left off as friends. So not going to happen. I have developed super-skills at ignoring him, and he mopes about when we chance encounter. But in January I was so angry.

Despite my new found ability to deny his entire existence, every time I see Rusty, I wince with the reminder of my terrible mistake, and wish I could undo months of stupidity induced by job dissatisfaction. It was insanity. So when I saw him on the bus this morning, looking just awful, I reiterated my vow to trot out the resumé and start applying for a job where I would use my brain enough to forever hereafter avoid dangerous infatuations.

My Favorite Dave, and other names

I just found out that my Favorite Dave is getting married to some girl named Sarah. That's right ladies, Davey G. is officially off the market (Unless you act really fast). This is after finding out (although I've known for months) that my Second-Favorite Dave is also getting married, to a Sarah. My Third-Favorite Dave is David Robinson, who really isn't a Dave at all, and he is also married. I don't thing numbers 4, 5, and 6 on my favorites list are married yet, but it looks like my single-friend-Dave may becoming an endangered species. (Update, I just realized #6 is married! Oh, tragic!)

This is concerning because Dave is one of those names where I actually did like a lot of them an awful lot. It's rare that I find a name where I know and like enough people to require a list ranking. And It's not just because there are a lot of Daves. there are also a lot of Chris' and Mikes, but I haven't had to list yet. I could probably hammer out a Chris list in ten minutes, but it wouldn't be perfect and wouldn't compare to my list of Daves. Daves just tend to be of a higher quality than other men. And also inexplicably attracted to girls named Sarah, which is upsetting because that's not my name (but that is a song).

I am resigned. I will just have to get to know more Andys, Zachs, and Steves, because I need to find a name that I can list as my favorite, bumping Daves. Daves #1-29, watch out.