I love my job; I hate my job. Sigh. But antidote awaits-it's Thursday night and The Office is on!
Come on, be honest; after Earl, you stay tuned for The Office, too, don't you? 'Coz you know it hits the mark, huh? Ahhh, life and guilty pleasures! White trash in the act of transcendence followed by permission to laugh out loud at wonderfully accurate caricactures of one's boss and or co-workers. (Blogger's note-SpellChek is being a goober again, so I'm giving up and hoping that you, gentle reader, will play nice. IE, yeah, I am pretty sure I spelled the word wrong, OK? Happy?)
Sweet:) Way, Dude.
I had a 'Jim' moment today after trying (why in the name of all that is sane do I try?) again to explain to a co-worker that the person she should be talking to (about a situation she really has no business concerning herself with) is our supervisor. Not the facilities manager, not the HR guy. Our immediate supervisor, whose job it is to handle the situation she is concerning herself with.
But she probably doesn't want to see our supervisor just now. She is pretty stupid, but not stupid enough to have missed how VERY pissed he was with her, her daughter, and her friends. today. All day. ALL DAY.
My fellow hag and I spent much of the afternoon hoping the supervisoral tornado would strike today. Nope. But the ax will fall soon; the oxen have begun their inexorable march. The wheel is turning. And cranking up speed.
Maybe the best part is the dawning knowledge that they are clueless as to just how very thin their ice is becoming. After his third grim-faced/tight-lipped trip through the room, they still didn't get it, and kept right on pulling the rope...
Driving home every night makes up for it all. By the time I cross the county line I am smiling; the facial muscles telling me in no uncertain terms how unused the wee things had got over the past few years. The roads are perfectly banked, I miss the Stutz more than ever!
Life in a tin cabin clinging to the side of a North Georgia mountain is truly growing on me. I'd forgot how very much I like living in the mountains. Silly me!
I'm sitting here at a makeshift computer table keying away and pausing only to light a cigarette. I'd forgot how very civilized it is to be able to choose if I want to smoke inside the house, or out. I'd forgot how wonderfully clear my thinking can be when I am not having to get up mid thought and go outside for a smoke.
I think I also forgot how nice it is to be able to go to the fridge and know the food I put in it the day before (oh Hell, the HOUR before!) is still right where I put it. I'm seriously considering trying the oven out this weekend in that time honoured test of all tests-the chocolate-chip cookie bake.
The first few days in the tin cabin were, um, somewhat stressful, if only because I moved in on Sunday afternoon and was without running water until Weds morning.
But on payday I bought a microwave instead of a shotgun.
Don't get me wrong, I am armed. I just didn't buy the shotgun.
More than likely, I will. Tin cabins on the side of North Georgia mountains somehow just call out for a good .12 gauge or .30 'ought' tucked quietly behind the door.