A command performance

Tonight was one of our semi-annual social events for the office staff of Construction Inc. We were invited to enjoy the company's box seats at a local hockey game. As a supervisor, I had to go.

The invite went out more than two months ago (mostly because I made my displeasure about the short notice last time very well-known). Well, my colleagues are flakers. I don't even like hockey that much, but I was going for my free beer(s) and dinner of grease, served with a side of grease (which was delicious, except for the coconut shrimp. I love shrimp, but despise coconut).

So, it was noticed, in our not-anywhere-near capacity crowd of twelve, that I was extremely uncomfortable when a fight broke out. In fact, I couldn't watch it, and had a very compelling need to get more chips and dip at that exact moment.

I was ribbed a little for that, and that's OK. They all know that I'm just Dippy the Hippie working under-cover for the man.

I really blew it, though, during the second fight. The whole crowd was chanting "Fight! Fight! Fight!" I had to shout as well, because it was a critical moment in the game.

I shouted, "Use your words, boys!"

Yeah. Not gonna live that one down, any time soon.

Carpe Diem? WTF?

I used to work from 9 AM to 7 PM without a lunch break five days a week, and go into the office for a few hours on Saturday and Sunday, just for fun. Because there was that much work to do, and I loved work that much.

That company wound down operations in 2005, and gave me the severance package that allowed me to buy Chez Peepee. I bounced around for a couple years after that, and two years ago, I found a job that I thought would give me the freedom and ownership I needed to be happy professionally, without that crazy overtime commitment.

Well.

Be careful what you ask for, because you just might get it.

Construction Inc. has been kicking my ass lately, and I'm not sure if it's because I'm off my game or if I'm not ready to play in the old boy's league.

Part of the attractiveness of this job is that I'm good at playing with the old boys. I'm smart, and I'm clever, and I've got the background (farmgirl, FTW!) that lends me the faint whiff of legitimacy I need to have my say. It helps that I tower (physically) over all of our sales people and office staff. In fact, the only people taller than me in the office are the president and the yard manager.

I'm starting to think that's not a coincidence, because I've always been wary of short people - they are feisty and sturdy in their own way.

It's been hell over the past couple months: we rolled out a new software system (thanks for letting me know, assholes) right at year end, the satellites that I need to do inventory are infuriatingly close to the horizon and there are buildings between those satellites and the piles of sand I need to measure. This is how it went:

Me: Please move this pile.

Them: Oh, are you sure you need that? How does that work? By the way, what are you doing with that stuff?... I don't know, we're busy.

Me: Well, I need this because I report to our owners, so please? Pretty please with sugar on top?

Them: Oh, I don't think we have the time.

Me: I don't want to be a bitch, but this is important, I need you do it.

Them: Well, OK, but it'll be real difficult, and we're really busy.

Me: Great. That's really helpful, guys.

Bossman: What she said, and do it now.

Them: Oh, lookee there, it's done all ready.

Me: That's grand. Look at this teamwork. Go us! (and in my inside voice, FUCK YOU assholes!).

That was May month-end. Repeat ad nausea at June month-end with the office staff, except Bossman is copying the president when he replies to my "whiny" emails (because Bossman is my biggest fan, not because he disapproves - he's just all about full disclosure)..

Ten more courses... and I will run the place. I will, and it will be awesome. Is it mean of mean to hope that a few folks retire between now and then?

I'm more than what I appear to be

I walked into the lunch room today, to wash my dishes.

While there, I couldn't help but listen to the conversation.

Three people were gossiping about someone, about said person's back injury, and how that person can't get a good job because of a criminal record.

I chose not to listen to all the garbage about how back injuries are fake, and if someone wants to work, they'll find a way (look at all the immigrants!).

Yuck. Not going there.

Anyway, I was washing my dishes, and one fellow says that the guy should get a pardon. It's not that expensive, after all. Only $500.

So, I chimed in, and said that it wasn't that difficult or expensive to get a pardon. And the expense is well worth it, because it improves chances of oh, say, getting a passport, and... hmmm... let me think... passing a criminal record check. Possibly even having a meaningful career.

Well. You could have heard a pin drop in the room. For about half a second.

I explained. My wasband had a criminal record. I knew that, when I married him. At the time of our marriage, it was not an impediment, but it was when we started talking about our goals as a couple.

I did not sucessfully avoid the question of what he did. Trust me, what he didn't isn't relevant. Nineteen, addicted and stupid explains a lot.

He got a pardon, at my insistence. That was one good thing I did for him.

Anyway, I think my street cred went up a whole lot in that room. Even though I am not any way near responsible for the events that necessitated the need for a pardon.

My marriage ended eight years ago. When will it stop being relevant to my life? I'm sick of dragging up these stories, but I can't help it. I know things, because of a ten-year relationship with a complicated person. Shit, I'm tired of this. I have, truly, moved on.

Meh.

I mentioned to Bossman today that I hoped to work on my multiple choice questions while listening the budget coverage.

He asked me how my course was going.

I told him that I was finding it difficult to be engaged in the material.

The discussion group people are nice, the material isn't that difficult. It kind of sucks that our questions are case studies, something that I always struggle with.... the problem was that I'm not angry about something! There's no issue that I violently disagree with! The lecturer hasn't pissed me off (probably because I haven't gone to a lecture, I've been streaming online instead). I don't have a study buddy to argue with.

I have no negative emotional attachment to this course, and therefore, I don't care. Get me good and steaming mad, though, and I'll read every paper, parse every post, write a position paper on the issue I believe in.

Sucks. I wish this course were more like politics. Then I'd be engaged, that's for sure.

It's not as it seems

I'm in Bossman's office, filing the December financial reports (he knows how much filing things properly makes me happy)...

Bossman: So, Misstea, what are your plans for the weekend?

Me: I've got a hot and heavy date..

Bossman: Really?

Me: with a textbook. Rock 'n roll single girl, eh?

Bossman: Oh.

What recession?

Good news:

I received my bonus today. It is much larger than expected (actually, I didn't expect one at all).

Bad news:

No raise, and I am "management" and therefore earning at a level where a cost of living raise isn't warranted. Cool. No biggie. I'd lose it all to tax and increased pension contributions anyway.

More good news:

Boss Man wants to pay all my education costs, even the university program I didn't get into and the repeat courses. Given the associated tax deductions, I'll probably come out ahead.

Sweet!

So, all this money is seriously burning a hole in my pocket. All the things I've wanted or needed over the past couple months can happen.

Such as:

• Ipod (though the existing one has recovered, with the exception of the back light)
• Work shoes
• Bras (sometimes, being a girl sucks. Underwear is expensive, and the girls are getting to the age where they need a little help)
• SAD lamp
• Lighter winter coat (for, you know, the not-quite-so-miserable days)
• Freezer

Or, I could just clear my overdraft. Which is probably what I will do. Sigh. I really would prefer yarn, books and CDs. Or go to Sock Summit 2009.

Poison

I just got off the phone. I spent 35 minutes talking to my assistant from the job from hell.

Ten (yes, 10!) people have left in the past month. More have lodged formal complaints about a certain manager that prompted me to make my own career move, more than a year ago.

Incompetent people are being promoted. Talented people have left.

Boss Lady is retiring early, sacrificing valuable pension contributions, in order to escape the toxicity.

I'm sending Jr. all my HR contacts in the morning. Everyone deserves fruitful, rewarding work, in a workplace that is healthy. My girl doesn't have that now.

If I was hiring, she'd come and work for me.

Construction Inc. is a very, very good place to be. Wouldn't trade it for anything right now, even though the walk from the bus stop in -40C weather is not pleasant.

It's story time, again

My brain is tired, my back is sore, and my mouth hurts from being at the dentist.


Plus, there is more water (just a little bit, this time) in the basement from the torrential downpour that hit the city today (as I was driving - I used to be an experienced driver, but I'm not anymore. I was tense when I got to the dentist).


So, I will tell a story.


Way back in March, Construction Inc. hosted a gathering for the office staff at our box at the Phone Booth. I marched in, all cute and sexy in my cute pink hat and black blazer, because N and I were meeting for drinks after the game. There was the usual introduction of guests, and before we were finished, I looked up.


Waaay up. And said, "Hello, how have you been?"


My invoice clerk then says, in a carrying voice (naturally), "Misstea! How do you know my brother!?!?!"

And you should have seen the interest on our office manager's face! He was very, very curious.

I said, calmly (I hope), that we'd seen each other for a bit. There was an awkward conversation. Clearly, we were all flummoxed.

I went to find a seat and enjoyed the hockey game.

I remember this now, because that invoice clerk was fighting with the microwave in the lunch room yesterday.

I managed to fix it for her, saying that the microwave was 22 years old. My Grandad and I had bought the same one for my mom when I was fourteen.

I could see her mind squirreling, trying to do the math... finally I just said that I was 36. Her jaw damn near hit the ground. Again.

So, given that my clerk is only about 22, and I know her brother is only a little bit older. Tall cute boy was indeed, very, very young. And totally unsuitable.

Though he was (and still is) very tall. A compelling trait, that.

His sister has the same eyes. I wondered why she looked oddly familiar.

Happy Anniversary to me

I was surprised, when I looked at the calendar last week. It's one year ago that I began working at Construction Inc (the application for the pension plan told me that I wasn't dreaming).

Oh my, what a glorious wonderful thing working there has been. Truly, I am lucky.

I dance to work every day. Frequently late, but I am dancing.

I mention this tonight because I had dinner with Bosslady and my former junior support person this evening. It's a freaky coincidence that we got together this week.

Junior and I have been in fairly (ir)regular contact, and as much as I love Bosslady, I knew that I needed some time to heal.

Well. I have healed. I have moved on. I am happy, happy, happy.

They are not. Bosslady is running out the clock to (early) retirement, and Junior (at only 25) hasn't figured out that work should be meaningful (but the stories she told me about being harassed. Yikes. Part of me wishes I was still there to protect her).

Am I ever glad I don't work there any more. It is nasty. It's not even the same department. The new department is as messed up as the old, I am not pleased to report, and a new reorganization is coming. Jeebus. Big Financial Corp. has not figured out that people aren't commodities.

The biggest news is that nasty woman has been promoted. I comfort myself by knowing that incompetent people are frequently promoted, so that they can do less damage.

Small comfort, I know.

The best part of this evening, other than hearing the good news about people I care about, and knowing that I am much better off, and having a fine meal with two women I have missed dearly, is that Bosslady and I might be related.

Her ancestral history is eerily similar to mine. And, her parent's names are EXACTLY THE SAME AS MY GREAT-GRANDPARENT'S NAMES (For clarity, my great-grand parents are long-deceased. Bosslady's parents are elderly, but living. But, strange coincidence, no?) That bears further investigation, given the things we discovered tonight. We come from a fairly small genetic pool, she and I. Who knew? I would be thrilled if we turned out to be cousins.

I am determined that it not be another year before we get together. That was far too long.

Open mouth, insert foot

I was sitting outside at lunch today, which is my normal habit, now that my ranting has paid off and we have a picnic table.

One of the dispatch guys was sitting there as well, and we were chit-chatting. About general stuff. Plans for the long-weekend, the weather, yard-work, the new costing software, GPS systems, etc.

Then, out of the blue, he says to me, "You don't like men very much, do you."

Without thinking, I said, "I like men well enough, I just don't respect them."

And that, I think, explains a whole lot about me.

Doin' ma bloggy thing

I've had loads stored up in my head lately. Things unrelated to studying and work.

Now that the weather is not cooperating (I had planned to do a decent job at cutting the grass tonight, but the rain has prevented me from doing so) I'm sitting inside.

AND I CAN'T THINK OF A DAMN THING TO SAY!

So, I suppose it is time for a story I've had up my sleeve since last November.

The scene: a very, very crowded country bar, close to last call. The crowd is pretty mixed, but leans to the young side.

The main character: a tall blond in a cocktail dress, looking pretty fine, sitting beside the dance floor, all by herself, because she can't find people in a crowd. She's finishing her beer and going home, if no one finds her (incidentally, the people she's with (colleagues, not friends) don't know that she easily gets lost).

A young man in a cowboy hat plunks himself down next to her: "Hey! Wanna make out?"

The tall blond: "No!"

The young man: "Why not? I'm just being honest." (whines)

The tall blond: "Because I'm old enough to be your mother!"

The young man: "Well, it's your loss." (walks off in a huff)

The tall blond is rescued by one of her colleagues. And realizes, sadly, that she is indeed old enough to be the young man's mother.

Just barely, though. For clarity.

Quick post

and then I've got to go study. Really.



I'm cramming a three-inch binder's worth of stuff into my head tonight.



Tomorrow will not be pretty.



However, some good news. I prepared and released the interim May financial statements for Construction Inc. today. Five hours ahead of schedule, a day and a half later than my goal (Yes, I am unrealistic. Wanna make something of it?) I am so pleased. My boss is pleased. The staff is pleased, now that I am not freaking out on them (Good bunch, really. Good at their jobs. They had just haven't seen me in 'full-freak' mode before).



Our owners will be very, very pleased, I am sure. Actually, I can't wait for the end of July, when the auditors arrive, and they swoon with excitement at what I have prepared (Not that auditors would swoon. Nope, not ever. It's auditors and actuaries that give accountants a bad name).



Moving on (maybe this isn't so quick, after all), I did my normal little routine when I got home tonight; wander around the property, picking up the garbage, grab the mail, inspect the flower pots and garden beds...



And we have growth!

I have eight of what I think are rosebushes in front of my house. Grew like weeds last year. No blooms. Something is budding, so perhaps there will be blooms. Trust me, I will report on this fully if something exciting happens.

Now for the garden. I planted a bunch of seeds, and it has poured rain ever since. But, something appears to be working!

I forget what I planted where (I wasn't drunk, I just didn't write it down immediately). If I get anything more than this, it will all be a grand surprise!

That's it. Only eighteen more hours until I can knit without guilt. I haven't knit a stitch since last Sunday. That's five days, and it's freaking killing me. I surely hope I can go to WWKIP after my exam. If not, there will be a solitary celebration. In a bar. With a patio.

Open mouth, insert foot

In lieu of anything interesting to post, I'm going to talk about work, because it is interesting to me. And, that's all I've been doing (hint: exam is not going to go well).

It's my first year-end, at Construction Inc, and I'm a wee bit punchy. Year-end is a big deal. It's like I've been rehearsing for the past ten months, and now it's the big show. I'm on, and the audience is waiting. It's a good thing that I like to perform.

Scenario One:

Spectacular boss-man and I are walking back to his truck after taking the accounting department of one of our owners out to lunch. A "what would you like us to do, how can we help you" kind of lunch. Boss-man sees the senior VP of our parent walking in front of his (Boss-man's) truck, and hits the alarm key on his remote. The horn blares, and the senior VP jumps out of his skin.

In the middle of an intersection, I double-over and shout with laughter. So much so that the VP turns around and glares at us. Not good.

But clearly, not my fault, right?

Scenario Two:

Two guys are going out for a smoke, and I hear this from my office. I ask to go along. They graciously let me. But insist that I walk in front, so they can "view my posture as I walk" (I am much, much taller than they are, and I'm in a hurry. Standing up straight helps one move fast). As I go, I say, not meaning to shout, but I've got the voice that carries, "Don't be looking at my ass!" And our receptionist says, "too late, they are."

The President and the brother of our former owner are in the building, and the door to the office is open. I know they heard what I said.

Oops.

Do you think it will help that I have improved the quality of the audit working papers by about a million percent? I truly hope so.

Saturn is not a planet...

it's my seventh tattoo.

When I purchased the yagon, I thought I was being clever. And efficient.

When I think I am being clever and efficient, I know something stupid and annoying is going to happen.

Back story...

About a 30 minute walk from my house is a shopping centre and several huge stores. Every once in a while (meaning, about four times a year) I walk over, stock up, and then take a taxi home. That was last weekend's plan. I was going to get stuff to build a garden box and my bedding plants.

I stopped in at Ukrainian Tire to look at "outdoor dryers" aka clotheslines to us ordinary folk, and right where all the old lady shopping carts were, and the out-of-stock clothes dryers should be, was the wagon.

I picked it up, found the resident surly, pimply-faced, sixteen-year-old to give me a price check. The price was suitable, and the lines at the checkout weren't too long, so I bought it. I tucked it under my arm, walked across the street to the liquor store (because all major stock-ups include wine) and then carried on to Lesbian Heaven, aka Home Depot. When I picked the box up after paying for the wine, I lost my balance (I'm not very steady on my feet, believe it or not) and the corner of the box scraped the inside of my arm.

Part of the office is taking up a collection to buy me a tricycle so I can pull around my yagon, and the rest are wondering what the hell I got up to on the weekend to have such a reminder.

I don't know which group makes me laugh harder.

Can we talk about how much I love my yagon? Really, it's the best $70 I've ever spent. I can't wait for the bouncer, oops I mean greeter at Supervalu tries to give me a hard time.

Drunk with power

It was the Friday afternoon before a long weekend. All of senior management had left for the day, and those of us left were hanging out in the lunch room eating birthday cake (except me. I had extra strong coffee). I was joking about going out for beers, since the bosses were away and we could play.

Then our credit clerk informed me that I was in charge, and to stop being so silly.

And she was right. I was in charge of the office (mind you, not dispatch, the plants, the shop or the lab).

I guess refraining from swearing at work has really paid off. Who knew that I would be pseudo-management?

Resistance is Futile

On January 2, 2008, a new receptionist joined Construction Inc.

Lovely woman. Sweet, kind, engaging, cheerful. Organized, methodical. All the good things a receptionist needs to be.

She was also a lapsed knitter.

Not anymore though.

Our receptionist noticed all my hand-knits, and could not fail to see me knitting in the lunch room or at my desk. She told me that what I make is beautiful, and that she used to really enjoy knitting. I smiled and thanked her for the compliments.

A while later, she came to me and said that a friend was having a baby (or a grand-baby, I can't remember) and wouldn't it be nice to knit something? I said sure! Google for patterns.

Later that day, she came to me with a pattern for booties off a website (that I hate, so I'm not linking it) that she thought was adorable. Could I help her?

Absolutely! I said. Then she suggested going to Wal-Mart to buy yarn.

Oops. I didn't handle that well. She was subjected to yarn lecture 4b, which states, briefly, that Wal-Mart yarn is crap, ack!rylic sucks and well, the product can only be the result of the materials, so use good ones, dammit!

I can only say, in my defense, that I was trying to prevent years of squeaky knitting. I've been there.

She, like any good receptionist, listened to me, and then ignored me, doing what was best for her.

The following Monday morning, she came into the office wearing a gorgeous fun-fur ack!rylic cowl that she'd knit over the weekend.

The joy on her face was something to behold, I tell you.

Then she told me that she made another cowl for her friend. And had another one on the needles... and wouldn't it be cool to knit socks?

I took my spare set of sock needles out of my bag, threw them at her and asked when we were going yarn shopping. I even offered something from my stash (I must admit, saying that hurt).

Later that evening at knit night, I was relating the part about how I couldn't give away my own damn yarn. The World's Greatest Yarn Shop Owner (TM) told me to just pick out something and give it to her, all ready (I think my story was getting tiresome).

So I did.

That was months ago.

After several knit-and-rip sessions, I am pleased to announce that, today, our receptionist completed her first sock.

It fits.

It has a few errors.

But it fits.

I'm so proud that I could burst. She's all ready talking about making a pair for her daughter.

Winnipeg has two seasons...

winter and construction.

Winter is officially over, and I am working in the yard again. I did inventory yesterday, and today, and will be doing it again tomorrow.

I am so getting a pedicure this Saturday. After all that climbing, my tootsies need some TLC. Possibly a massage as well. My back still hurts.

Also, I am the sort of woman that gets a lot of attention. I am tall, I wear lots of pink, I walk confidently, and I meet people in the eye.

I have noticed, over the past couple days, that I am treated much differently when I look like a ruffian. But, my behaviour is exactly the same.

Interesting.

The smell of sunshine

Have you ever noticed that sunshine smells? It's a good smell, naturally.

After a long winter of being stuck indoors, I have been making an effort to get outside at lunch. Every day. I even found a bench to sit on, only a short five-minute walk from the office (and not a bus stop bench. There's even a play structure nearby. And trees.).

Notice now secks-ay my new wip tubes are. I can almost bear the fact that they are red, not pink.

Since my office is in the bowels of the building, I don't see sunlight during the day - I work in concrete manufacturing. It's like I work in a bomb shelter (given my ever-increasing job satisfaction and the terrific amount of money I am being paid, this is a small, small gripe), and the whole day could go by without seeing daylight if I didn't poke my head out of my hole.

Every day, when I go back inside the building, I can smell the sunshine on my hair. Really. It smells, well, bright (can bright be a smell? I think so). I love it.

I noticed some lawn chairs outside the lab the other day. I wonder if the lab-rats would mind if I hung out with them occasionally.

And because it is so nice and sunny, I chose to bypass the watering hole tonight and have my Friday night drinks in my back yard. Lovely. So were the barbecued veggies and pork chops.


While I was sitting outside, I did some knitting, and some thinking.

Sittin' and knittin'

I swatched some yarn (I don't think I've blogged about it. Go see Black Bunny Fibers right now (spelling notwithstanding. It's an American site)). I've had it since some time last fall and it is now apparent that it has been waiting for just the right pattern. Or so I thought. It's become clear that the yarn had just been waiting for new needles.

Craptastic picture. Taken indoors, at night.

Look! Swatch!

I cast on 20 stitches, with 2.5 mm needles (yes, the new ones), worked a few rows of stockinette, moved down to 2.25 mm, worked a few more rows, moved down the 2.00 mm needles and worked a few more rows.

Then I took some measurements. As follows:

• 2.5 mm: 8 spi
• 2.25 mm: 8 spi
• 2.00 mm: 8.5 spi

I will now extrapolate these gauges into "# stitches / 4 inches" and figure out what it is I want to do. This is Carol's yarn. It will not pool. I'm pretty sure she forbids it to do so.

Don't eat if Stan is the chef

One of the very few things I dislike about spring is how the melting snow reveals six months worth of litter. I saw this during my little lunch-time walk the other day. So I had to take a picture:




I stopped counting beer bottles one I reached 24.

Adventures in Grocery Shopping

I had a freaking brilliant idea earlier today.

I thought that I would hop on a bus and go down the street about a mile and do some grocery shopping at one of those big-box complexes that are popping up all over the place.

This made sense to me for several reasons:

• the cupboard is pretty bare right now, and I need to eat.
• the big grocery store has all the stuff I want, at about 5% less than what I usually pay at the store close to my house.
• I usually do nothing at lunch except peruse Ravelry and knit.
• I have plans this evening, and having to buy food was going to seriously cramp my style.
• It was a beautiful sunny day. I wanted to get out of the office.

And, for a bit, my plan worked. I was at the grocery store about fifteen minutes after I left the office. The store is clean, brightly lit (with skylights). Not too busy, and a very large selection of things to buy. It was easy to find what I needed, the produce is nice and the queues at the till were very short.

All in all, a very good experience. I was even going to be back at the office in good time.

So, I was standing at the bus stop, grooving away to the tunes on my Ipod, enjoying the sun, and congratulating myself on planning my time very well. For a change.

You do know that once I had that thought, things were not going to turn out well, right?

I got on the wrong damn bus. One going north, not west. It took me forty minutes to get back from wherever-the-hell-I-was to the office. I'm damn lucky I didn't wind up in Beausejour.

Three buses, some walking, and a fair amount of cursing. Yup, a lovely, if somewhat extended, lunch.