Hold onto that Snickers!

I am a white woman. I note that I am white because I cannot speak to the experience of minorities in the workplace. I note that I am a woman because I CAN speak to the stupidity and outright misogyny of many men in the workplace. (That makes me sound really pissed off, but I'm more just incredulous that in this day and age, etc.)

To wit: one day I was on a teleconference with 2 men and about 4 other women. The 2 men were big VP types, including our friend, the Lieutenant. (What frequently happens on these teleconferences is that 1 or 2 bigwigs monopolize the conversation while the rest of the group sits in silent agony, wishing for an instrument of death with which to end the torture.) Here is a snippet of the conversation between the Lt. and the other dude.

Other dude: Yeah, my wife is due to give birth any day now.

Lt: Well, if she's anything like my wife (mother to 5 of his issue), who always has quick labors, she'll drop it like candy. (Cue laughs)

???

Several things wrong with this statement:

1. Use of completely unconnected simile
2. Insulting to wife, who is made to sound like breed cow
3. Who do you know, male OR female, who purposely drops candy?

The worst part about it is how NOT funny it was. If I do say so myself, I'm fairly witty and can take a joke as well as anybody. But only if it's funny. This guy can't even insult women in a CLEVER way, which would make his insults more tolerable to me, interestingly.

Now I'm off in search of Reese's peanut butter cups. Thanks for nothing, Lieutenant.

Things I do at work now

I've kind of stopped working at work. I mean, I never really worked, but I used to try to make it look like I was working. Morale around here is so low, mine especially, that I just couldn't care less. Here's how I spend my days:

8:45 -- Show up for my 8:00 job.
8:45 - 9:30 -- Read email; forward email (to which I'm supposed to respond) to someone else.
9:30 - 9:45 -- Give the receptionist a smoke break. Chat with people who walk by.
9:45 - 10:30 -- Read personal email. Reply to some; think about replying to others; beat myself up over the rest that I really need to reply to but have been putting off.
10:30 - 12:30 -- Read favorite blogs, such as the WOW Report; work on own blogs.
12:30 - 12:45 -- Look at pictures of Dave Grohl on the Internet.
12:45 - 1:30 -- Feel guilty about only reading celebrity news, and catch up on world (i.e. the United States) news.
1:30 - 2:30 -- Take "half hour" lunch break at my desk; usually read a book.
2:30 - 3:00 -- Play with label machine.
3:00 - 3:45 -- Rate movies on Netflix.
3:45 - 4:00 -- Check boss's mail cubby; open mail; deliver mail.
4:00 - 4:30 -- Look for jobs on Monster.
4:30 -- Quitting time.

The Summer Party

It's like this, see? I'm an associate in a small D.C. law firm. In case you don't know, the difference between large firms and small firms is that at large firms, everyone gets rich. Be that as it is, we are a very small family, trying to keep from openly hating one another, biding our time before we each find something useful to do with our time.

Among the peculiarities of our firm, our social events largely consist of two parties. The winter event is a typical holiday party, the summer event is when we go to the managing partner's house for a catered dinner.

The problem is that even in this modern day and age, when we call our coworkers by their first names and are allowed to enter in through the front door of the office regardless of rank, visiting Casa de Partner is sort of like the Cratchits visiting Scrooge, if Scrooge lived in a multi-million dollar house in the close-in suburbs.

Maybe the incongruity of employees (including attorneys, not that it makes a whole hell of a lot of difference) struggling to pay rent in shared apartments visiting an ostentatiously decorated mini-mansion once a year shouldn't rankle. It does. As much as I believe in capitalism and the profit motive, seeing first-hand how the firm's profits translate into opulence for the firm's leadership is jarring.

I guess the way I can wrap my head around the disparity is to be proud of the managing partner the way whores are proud of their pimps. Our efforts make it possible for Daddy to drive the stretched out Lincoln, with a gold and gem-encrusted goblet and a feather in his ermine hat. We make the Johns happy, we give Daddy the cash, and we hope that Daddy doesn't have to put the smackdown on us.

The funny thing is the point of the outing is to improve morale and firm solidarity.

But at least I'll be properly dressed

Last year I was on the planning committee for a conference for my company. The head of the committee was telling us some of the logistics we'd need to know for the conference, which was held in another city. She discussed things like: name of hotel, conference schedule, confirmation numbers for travel, time and place for us to meet once we all arrived, likely weather, etc.

The head of the committee had asked an admin assistant to sit in on the meeting and take notes on these logistics so she could circulate them to us for our reference later. I happened to be sitting next to the admin and happened to glance down at her notes. After this long litany of details it was vital for us to know, the only thing she had written on the page was "light coat."

This was in response to the committee head's admonishment that it might be chilly in the evenings.

What the President of the Company Did for Me

I would like to take a moment to thank the president of my last company -- the job I had before I quit to become a freelancer.

One day he came into my office after I'd been working there for three years producing a radio show. The internet was this whole big new idea, and they were just deciding it was time to put out a website. He announced -- he didn't ask, suggest, or begin a dialogue on the subject. mind you -- he just announced they were going to change my job description and I would no longer be a science writer or a radio producer but that I would be the person who pulled together all the information for the company's website and be in charge of internet PR, and maybe occasionally writing a piece for the site.

I was probably 26 at the time. He finished his speech -- I had no warning ahead of time that this was in the works -- and I smiled sweetly and said, "No." He said, "what?" And I said: "I'm happy to do the job for you until you hire someone else to replace me, but I am a writer, and I want to be a writer and I'm far enough along in my career that I don't need to take a job in which I don't get to write." He said he was surprised, and that he would have to think about it. . .

. . . and then he didn't mention the subject to me again for a month.

A month in which I had zero job loyalty whatsoever, didn't know if I was even still supposed to be putting out a radio show, and during which the National Association of Science Writers happened to give me a free website.

I spent the month ignoring my job completely and putting together one of those really early Here's A Page With All My Friends On It! kind of websites. This is about the sixth incarnation of that original website. . . but over the years this website has netted me:

--A job as a dating columnist on AOL (and therefore subsequently Oxygen and Dating911)
--Two book contracts
--several dates
--two really good friends
--more articles than I can name

After a month, my boss finally gave him a nudge saying that I was still waiting for his final decision. The president had basically forgotten the whole thing, and came to my office to tell me off-handedly that oh, yeah, my job wasn't going to change. By the time I left the job two years later I had the columnist gig and had published my first book.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

3rd Interview

I just had my 3rd interview for that job. That job that I used to want. The one I'm not sure if I want anymore. Check this out . . . they had me come in to the office and gave me this scenario

You need to create a website for a lemonade stand with multiple locations and that also sells to corporate clients. Graphics are provided and you may not go online. The site must have at least one link. You have one hour.

Are you kiddin' me?

Some admin lady led me into an office and explained everything to me then left. She said she'd be back at the end to see how I did. I only used two programs they gave me -- Photoshop and GoLive -- both of which were older versions that the ones I use, but it was OK. The woman who proctored me didn't know anything about web design or programming. She kept saying, "Wow, this is fascinating." The graphics they gave me were saved to a clip file. There were no decision makers there to talk to about my finished site or how asinine I thought the exercise was.

The pièce de résistance of the entire affair was this: when the admin lady came back to check over my work she looked at the links down the side of the page:

Our Locations
Corporate Accounts
Recipes
About Us
Contact Us

I had to make up some links to use as graphical elements to balance out the page, you know? She asked, "Why on earth would you give away your recipes?"

[fuming inside. thinking that this is just a one hour b.s. exercise. there is no content on this stupid site. it's not even a real site for pete's sake. keeping composure.]

"Oh, it's not for the lemonade recipe. It's for a cake recipe. If you use my lemonade instead of water when you use a white cake mix, it makes a lemon cake. Then there's going to be a contest for consumers to submit their own recipes."

She seemed satisfied by that.

And in the I'm an Idiot Category...

I finally figured out how to transfer a call on my phone without losing the person on the line. It only took four months.

High Achievements

There’s one secretary here who I really like. She does her work, keeps things professional, tells the truth about things, covers you when you screw up, and doesn’t have an evil agenda—she’s a good co-worker. (Unlike the 23 year-old.)

Today she asked me to cover her afternoon duty at the reception desk. No problem, I said. Cool… I’m GRADUATING, she said. Really? That’s awesome! From what? From high school, she said.

[double take]

Well, I’ve already graduated but today I get to walk with the cap and gown and everything. I’m so excited! I have a lot of people coming. I hope I don’t trip.

OK, so the one secretary who actually seems to do work is ceremonially receiving her GED today. What is wrong with these other people?

Number Two

Please allow me to preface this by saying that the Deputy Director of my organization is a very nice man and cares very much about his staff. Now let me get to the I-can’t-believe-this-crap part.

I’ve finally gotten over the fact that he calls me “sweetie.” Fine. Whatever. It could be worse. So is it too much to ask that he doesn’t bring his spitting cup to my desk while he’s chewing tobacco? Oh yes. You heard me right. Yesterday he came to my desk for a 20-minute discussion, the whole while spitting gross tobacco crap into a paper cup. At least it wasn’t a tin can.

Today he forwarded me an email that he wants me to forward to two of his contacts. I think he needs to go back to Outlook training. No, wait . . . he forwarded the email to me, which means he knows how to forward. I’m confused.

And is it my duty as his secretary to tell him to stop using the words “simular” and “irregardless”? Is it?

More Interveiw Crap

Last week I was called in to interview with the director of the agency. I met with her on Wednesday for an hour and had a pretty good conversation. She said I'd know something by Friday.

No call Friday. No call Monday. No call Tuesday.

Today I got a call saying they want me to come in and program a website for them. Will this interview ever end? Ever?

This is what I think I’ve spent so far trying to get this job (considering that my time is currently worth $12.00/hr):

Job Application Package: $36.00
Written Competency: $48.00
First Interview: $60.00
Second Interview: $12.00

How can anyone afford to apply for a job anymore?