26 July 2006

I know how Sousa feels-I got left off a list today, too, and since it is a professional list, I feel deepest empathy for the ball player, I really do!

Our department head, after promoting our supervisor and subsequently being inundated with our resumes-we all wanted her job it seemed-sent out a team wide email calling the team to a meeting with him tomorrow at 10 Eastern. Everyone on the team received the email just before the end of the business day.

Except me.


A big one, actually, because I work hard, do my job well, and put forth extra effort on behalf on the team. Routinely.

Which drives a 'co-worker' crazy. She hates me. Things have deteriorated so far that she will only speak to me if there is someone around that she is trying to impress-honest.

I understand what motivates her-I work hard, do my job well, and go the extra mile for the team effort.

She, on the other hand, bullies the rest of the team unmercilessly; she is not at all above making threats, and frankly, I strongly suspect her of sabotaging my work-the only time I make mistakes is A-when I've 'shown her up' and thus incurred her wrath; and B-when she has access to my work. Only then. The only time she puts out any effort is if I have done it first, or if someone she wants to impress is around.

She is also not at all above using the race card, the gender card, and the attitude card.

I can't stand her. However, I try very hard to get along.

Truth is, the only reason I put in my application to be supervisor is because I am a bit alarmed at the thought of this bitch having any authority over me-I overheard her saying that WHEN she gets the job, the first thing she is going to do is run off me and the other white woman on the team. She called us "old white hags."

I want to keep her from having access to my: locker, my desk, and my computer-I DO NOT TRUST HER.

Did I mention that she is a Devry graduate of the computer science program-but I know more about computers than she does?

What makes it so damn sad is that she is actually quite talented, and has potential. Too bad she wastes it on hate.

She reminds me of Harriet Tubman-Ms Tubman was the most pissed off woman I have ever met in any lifetime! She scared me, and I was a grown, adult woman working with my husband to aid those traveling the Underground railroad. She came through our place one time, and I think I made her even more angry at whites-I asked her what she wanted more-equality or revenge.

I was tending the wounds of a child she'd dragged through briars, but Ms Tubman snatched the cloth out of my hand and told the little one to get over it. I paraphrase, of course; she made it clear to the child (Do you know, I can't recall now if the child was boy or girl, all I saw was a snuffling child trying to pick the burrs out, and I got to work.) that white people could not be trusted, not even those of us who were appeared to be sympathetic and her emphasis on the word "appeared" made me to know she thought we all had hidden agendas.

It was a shame then, and it is now, this perpetuation of hatred, it makes me sick!

She looked at me in such a way that I can still feel the chill from the glare she sent me; I knew she wanted to see me in chains, and would not be disappointed to see the worst of humiliations heaped on my lily white head.

I probably would have gone on to try to talk some sense into her-that she was not the first to want to see me suffer, that her race was not the first to be enslaved; I more than likely was winding up to tell her about being the wrong kind of Greek, Egyptian, Roman, British woman, and I would have ended it by telling her with no uncertain fury that Africans had no bloody damn monopoly on slavery or suffering...

But my dear Edward, a wondrous man, restrained me.

(Ah, Edward. He brought me a wharf rat from London when he went to fetch back our wedding gifts-his byblow from a tavern wench. That was our joke, that the little one was a wharf rat that he'd been unable to resist making a pet of; as the boy grew older, I knew him for his father's son. But I was glad, really, and the boy was a son to me-the son I could not have.)

My friend, my dear friend, with whom I had shared a few lives, my dear friend, who didn't need to worry I'd be burned out as a witch (for having past life memories) on top of his worry I'd be caught teaching the Africans to read.

Anyway, it made my 'co-worker' rather pleased that I am so invisible to our department head that he left me off of the email. My other co-workers were embarassed, and not a lttle uneasy as they half-heartedly (and quietly-making sure the gloat was out of earshot) reassured me...

It hurts. Terribly. That I am invisible to the boss, and that my co-worker got a lot of pleasure out of the message being sent, if a message was being sent at all.

Oh, I was careful to make it a joke, and I know I pulled it off, but it really hurts.

Most of all that I have no-one to tell who will be at special pains to make me feel less hurt. That hurts most of all.

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