The Desk

Nothing like starting a Monday with absolutely no access to your computer.  Especially when you need to call The Desk.  I decided to drop the prefix "Help" some time in 2005 because they're helpful about 0% of the time.

I'm not sure what type of fancy PR consultant chose their hold music, but it actually gives the impression they'll solve your problem.  It's a very energetic piano ballad - a cross between the theme songs from Family Ties and a Lifetime Original Movie about a child who overcomes blindness, dyslexia and homelessness.  It almost makes you  feel like skipping through a field of sunflowers.....until it becomes apparent that same tune played about 19 times while you were waiting on hold.

At first I was enthusiastic because my situation was "escalated" to Level 2 support.  That means they really care.  Much to my chagrin, they sound exactly the same as Level 1 and there is no clear distinction between their skill levels.  Jesus Christ himself is probably somewhere around Level 53 - maybe one day I'll have a problem bad enough to achieve that level of support.   But for today it was the guy who put me on hold and forgot to put the music back on.  I was no longer inspired to skip through a field.

For those of you who never experienced the joy of having someone "remote" into your computer, you might want to try it one day.  Especially if you enjoy staring at a screen while people click around and do the same things you tried 482 times before calling.  It's similar to when my husband has too many drinks, sneaks up behind me and operates my arms like I'm a puppet to amuse party guests.  You just stand there lifeless and pray it's over quickly.

And by they way, they get very angry when you try regaining control of your computer while they're troubleshooting.  Today I saw this -

One time I clicked on a similar message and pornographic images installed all over my desktop...at work.  But this time I was willing to take the chance.

So I clicked and followed directions.  Level 2 was very pissed.  Apparently I was supposed to sit quietly and stop touching things.  And good thing I did, because he was a technical expert. After asking for my password (which I do believe is the equivalent of pulling up in a van outside an elementary school and asking me to jump in to help find your lost puppy), I unwillingly handed it over.  He then actually had the nerve to simply type my password into the log in screen about 30 times.  I guess he didn't think I was smart enough to understand how the keyboard on my laptop works.  Nor did he think I tried that before.  This coming from a man who actually asked if I wanted "access to my entire computer".

Yes sir, yes I do.  And telling me that you'll email me when my access is reinstated is not helpful because my f*cking email doesn't work. 

After 4 hours of intermittent access, the issue was resolved.  This evening I received 4 surveys from The Desk. And they all contained this nifty image -

Well guess what, Desk?  I'll fill out all your surveys, no squandering here.  But the fact that I got 4 surveys to match the 4 times I had to call in one day will probably bring your customer service stats down.

Bloggerazzi

Yes, I realize it's completely obnoxious to take pictures of unsuspecting people.  It's the worst when I make friends and family pretend to pose while I secretly photograph things going on behind them.

But on my recent vacation to the Hard Rock in Punta Cana, I felt I was entitled.  Vacation should be all about me, and it was.   Plus, let's be honest - America is bad enough, but some things you experience outside our borders require a permanent record.  Here's a few of my favorites -

 

No, you are not seeing double. Two women (neither of which should be wearing horizontal stripes), in matching dresses at the airport.  My husband's "OMG, I got the BEST dress at Burlington Coat Factory.  OMG, I ALSO got the BEST dress at Burlington Coat Factory" comment was very amusing.

The archery instructor was absolutely the same person who served me a steak and performed in the center of a bad ass dance circle the prior night .  It's entirely possible he's skilled at all things vacation, but drunk people should not be shooting arrows unless they've been trained  by a professional.  One of the pools was not far away from that target.  (If someone was hit in the face with an arrow, I'd be all over it with my Canon Powershot.)

She's 60 - I know for sure because my husband befriended someone in her vacation brigade who mentioned it.  I felt stupid when he told me the same story moments after my capturing her Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition cover shoot.  She looked great for her age but what exactly was the plan for these pictures?  Oh, my blog?  Awesome, thanks for that.

There are two things wrong with this picture -

1- That guy actually videotaped the entire Hibachi-style meal preparation, all 982 courses they cook on that grill.  Where has it been all his life?  We all love the onion volcano but I do not love it enough to watch the footage ever again.

2- His video camera was probably the reason airlines require you to pay for luggage now.  I think it was bigger than my suitcase. 

It's bad enough when adults get their hair braided by beach drifters, (if you're one of those people, please stop doing that) but there's no need for island themed jewelry to show co-workers you went on a trip.  Just get tan like the other normal members of society.  But if you insist, it's probably not wise to wear your giant starfish necklace in the sun.  Having that image reverse burned into your skin might be worse than discovering you became pregnant with the breakfast buffet omelette chef's baby after 8 margaritas.

It was a lovely trip, I swear.  Although I did miss some great photo opportunities seeing as there wasn't massive world destruction on the 21st of May.  Imagine if a tsunami ripped the bathing suits off some of those pool dwellers?  They were holding on for dear life already - strings and spandex can only take so much before they give up.

Suck It Up

I misplace everything.  My wedding vows should have included him accepting that, at any given moment, his possessions might go missing.  Forever.

I don't like admitting it, but there is zero logic behind my frequent relocation of items.  Not long ago, I found a handset to our home telephone, face down in the kitchen sink. After laughing at myself and taking this picture, I accidentally left it there for another hour.  Why promptly remove electronic devices from sources of water?

Do not judge me - I clean that sink regularly.  A few noodles never killed anyone.

Two weeks ago,  the vacuum went missing.  Since the lovely women who clean our house on a bi-weekly basis purchased my same vacuum as a backup, I figured they took it home in error. After checking all the usual places (not the sink, that would just be ridiculous - or would it?), I gave up.  So on cleaning day, I left them a note.  And here was their response -

Easter would've been nicer with freshly cleaned carpets.  Just saying.

So I call them, assuming they misunderstood my VERY clear note.  Not the stick vacuum, but the full-sized one. Keep up, people...we are losing time.  I have (zero) vacuuming to do.

Before their next visit,  I sent an email to my husband with detailed instructions on how to address this issue in person.  He was working from home that day.  I said -

(Good luck having that conversation - remember, they bought the same one as a backup which is why I thought they might have taken it accidentally)

So for the second time, they are approached about taking my vacuum. And for the second time they confirm this did not happen. Now I'm just perplexed and fairly annoyed. 

Fast forward about 3 hours.  I am driving home from work, 90 minutes of terrible traffic. I'm tired and starving.  Husband is in a rush and calls asking if I've seen his car keys.  At first, I said no. Then knowing me, I looked around and realized I took them to work with me.  Along with my own keys.  No clue why.

(Insert fighting and texting.  He was mad that I was "inconsiderate".  I was mad that he called me inconsiderate - maybe irresponsibly scattered and a kidnapper of his stuff, but not inconsiderate!)

After running into the house and avoiding him, I basically walk directly into the missing vacuum.  Someone apparently put it in the middle of our dining room. I pretended like I didn't see it.  (It's red, and it's a vacuum.  Impossible to miss.)


Fast forward again, this time 1 hour.  Text appears on my phone - "Was that the missing vacuum in the dining room?"  Such a smart ass, I was so tempted to say "No, I've never seen that one in my life".  He found it in the garage (or so he says).

I should probably apologize to the people I accused (twice) of stealing my vacuum.  But honestly, I just don't feel like it.   I tried to apologize to my husband this week - a general one targeted at years of stolen/misplaced items.  Then I found out I borrowed something of his and left it in a completely stupid place again.  I tried.

Bad Hare Day

Earlier this week I had a dream that a hot pink Easter Bunny strangled me on my front lawn while my mom photographed it.  This is not surprising since the concept is totally weird.

I stole this picture from a Facebook friend and cropped out her kids. (I did ask her first although she had no choice regardless.)

Not bad.   That costume is good enough to ignore the likelihood of him being a pedophile

Here's the only picture I have of my childhood with me and the Easter Bunny -

I'm surprised I didn't try canceling the entire holiday after this.

WTF is that?  I understand things modernize but I'm sure people knew what a rabbit looked like 25 years ago.  The sad thing is that my parents probably paid for me to attend this event.  I'm actually wearing a party dress. Sorry Mom and Dad but you dropped the ball on this one.  I think you missed the invitation's fine print where it clearly stated they would not guarantee a legitimate bunny.  (I'm 99% certain this guy made an appearance on "To Catch a Predator" since then.)

Maybe I just don't remember, but does the Easter Bunny even have a story?  The Santa logistics are solid (if you are good parent, capable of answering any question a child has) but what is this guy's deal?  At least Santa asks what you want for Christmas.  I highly doubt the Easter Bunny asks what you want in your basket. Does he even speak?  Truthfully, I'm not sure what would be more traumatic - a conversation with a giant talking rabbit or an uncomfortably silent 3 minutes in the clutches of a filthy theme park character?

Parents, give your kids a break if they run screaming through the mall to avoid spending time with him.  And if they question his authenticity, just hand them some jelly beans and pretend you didn't hear the question.

Courage...Confidence...Character?

Enough with the bullshit, Girl Scouts of America.  Do I really need your inspirational words on my cookie boxes?  Just say what you really mean....cash...cash....cash.  Or maybe just cardio, calories and cellulite in my case.

The cookie selling badge.  That image should be replaced with a giant dollar sign.  Or a pig on a treadmill.

I never felt confident or courageous in my horrible scout outfit, especially since it was the 80's and my mom cut my hair super short.  (It's shocking how much a 6 year old can look like David Bowie given the right amount of hairspray.)

Boy, things have changed in the world of developing America's youth.  Being a girl scout back in my day was like training for an Ironman Competition.  We didn't just sit in front of the grocery store selling cookies to people who just bought other cookies five minutes prior. I remember hustling around the neighborhood for weeks selling to neighbors.  My family didn't buy 400 boxes while I sat at home on my ass.  I actually SOLD cookies.  Apparently I sold enough to still remember not one but 2 former names of Samoas (Caramel Delites and Jubilee).  And nobody was afraid of  kidnapping or child molesters.   As long as I made money for their organization, they were totally comfortable having me ring doorbells in a skirt and thigh high socks.  

Yes, that's me.  A trend setter at the tender age of 6.  Only girl with brown socks.

Why was I walking over a wooden bridge while 5 other people watched?   Probably part of a giant obstacle course.  I bet that leader was using a stopwatch to time us all.  Slowest ones kicked out of the troop - can't risk losing out on cookie sales during peak season by sending out a fat kid or one with asthma.  

According to their website -

Q: Who can sell Girl Scout Cookies?
A: All girl members, including Girl Scout Daisies, may participate in the Girl Scout Cookie Activity. Although parents and Girl Scout adults may assist girls, it is the girl who closes the sale, sets learning and sales goals, and learns the entrepreneurial skills that are part of the program.

Really? I bought mine off a colleague's desk.  Her kids didn't even show up to hand them out and thank me for my contribution. 

Apparently each "Girl Scout troop will earn $.55 for every box of cookies the troop sells."   Troops decide together how to best use their proceeds from completing a community service project to taking a trip.

If I am ever a troop leader, it's not a group decision.  Top seller decides. Everyone else either comes along for the ride or stays home.  Bad enough every kid who plays tee ball these days gets a trophy, even if they suck and their team comes in last.


I will continue to support their cause simply because toasted coconut + chocolate + caramel = heaven
But they might be forced to hear stories about my days at Girl Scout camp before it had Wi-Fi.

To All the Girls I've Loved Before....

(No, I was never a lesbian.  Sorry to disappoint readers who assumed this would be a confession about my secret former life.)

I just realized Administrative Professionals Week is nearing.  Great time to reflect on the fact that my track record with coordinators/administrative assistants has been worse than Murphy Brown's.  And yes, I'm dating myself by mentioning a TV show from the 90s but it was one of my favorites.  And for those of you who are too young or lame (sorry to my UK friends who have no clue what the hell I'm talking about) to get the reference - Pee Wee Herman was her 76th secretary and turned out to be the best one.  Get my point?

If Pee Wee ever rode into my office on his big red bike and reported for duty, I'd probably be thrilled. Chances are it would have been a serious improvement from what I was dealing with. 

Frankly, I might even settle for this version of him.  Everybody makes mistakes.

I am not a snob nor do I currently have someone in that capacity.  But there have been times that my job required some coordination behind the scenes.  And when it has, I've typically shared that resource with a number of people equally as unfortunate as I was.

My last coordinator supported a fairly large group of people.  After she had a near mental breakdown in the office, I confiscated her badge and computer and sent her home (with instructions not to come back).  I had absolutely no authority to do this but figured I was doing the company a service.  Nobody ever thanked me but they probably just forgot to. She has not answered any of my texts since that week.  I hope she's okay.

The one before her was, shall I say seasoned?  Is that the politically correct term for someone too old to understand how voicemail works?  She told me it was too complicated to record an outgoing greeting "through the computer".  I'm not even sure what type of logic led her down that path but I guess it was no surprise.  Technology was not her best friend.  She had a folder in her email inbox titled "email".  Aren't they all emails?

This is the actual phone.  Not very confusing in my opinion.

During a conversation about my codeine cough medicine, she actually asked if I had ever been under the influence of a controlled substance.  At least she was thoughtful enough to suggest that I buy prunes because it might cause constipation.  Real bonding moment.

One thing about the two I just described - very nice people.  And I can usually tolerate nice and crazy.  It's the bitchy/crazy ones that I have no time for.  A while back someone told me she was not doing anything that didn't directly affect her life.  If that doesn't scream team player, I don't know what does.  I was bullied into nominating her for awards just for doing her normal day-to-day job.  It's not much different than giving my dog treats when she shits outside.

Another refused to pay any bills.  And her job was to pay bills, by the way.  Anything she was disinterested in dealing with was my responsibility because I made more money than her.  And that is not an assumption I am making.  She used those exact words once when I asked for her help.  I know my boss is reading this so it's a good time to point out that I agree with her logic.  (Hey, worth a shot.)

So to all you people with more than "adequate" level support staff - buy them a present or bake cookies between April 24-30 at the absolute minimum. And if they, like a special person I remember fondly, say they're above receiving a gift on that day,  just offer to buy lunch.  Then spit in it.

The Devil Wears Shoulder Pads

About three weeks ago, I got an email asking for a story submission about a time "you knew you had to quit your job".   Well, I could not type fast enough.   But after uncovering the fine print (requiring I provide a photo, my name and the company name), I was out.  If my story was published with that level of detail, the person I am about to describe would somehow find out.  And she'd surely kill me.  And probably all of you for (kind of) knowing me.
 
But since I hate wasting a good story.....

"People are crying" is how I described our office environment to my boss.  Poor guy went on unexpected medical leave only a few weeks after my arrival and I tried to be sympathetic. After all, he did bring me there with a level of positivity that few people ever have about a job.  And I actually do like him (oddly enough I work for him again now).  But I was at the end of a very short ledge and, unless I left, I'd surely make the news for doing something drastic.  If I recall correctly, one of my dearest friends gave him a friendly "FUCK YOU" when they met at my wedding. It was hard on everyone.

My torture at this mid-sized Insurance Company lasted 6 long months.  In his absence, I was left in the death grip of a woman who had the chemical makeup of a serial killer. Allow me to paint a quick picture for you - she was a terrorist disguised as an early 90s daytime soap opera star.  Even if someone is brilliant, it's hard to take them seriously with shoulder pads sewn into every one of their outfits. She wore bright red lipstick and was that scary pale only a woman with poison flowing through her veins could be.

So yeah, kind of like this - but she was 10x as horrible of a person. 

And I mean horrible like razor blades in Halloween candy horrible.  In my time spent there, one position turned over 3 times.  3 TIMES.  I don't remember most names/faces after blocking out the memories but at least 10 people quit our department while I was there.  One of which was my friend who left in about 6 weeks.  It was not for the faint of heart.

Sometimes grown women would break down crying in my office.   I'd probably laugh a little at them if didn't also cry myself.   Once after crashing into another driver on my way to work.  The woman I hit screamed at me for taking a second to look at the damage on my own car (probably a friend or relative of the soulless Nazi in my office).    Then once when I had to return to the building at 10pm in my pajamas on Halloween to make sure I locked the door after being the last one out.   With my luck a stapler would have gotten stolen and she'd revoke my bathroom privileges to teach me a lesson.  Not worth the risk.

A few other highlights included being asked to verify my coordinator was pregnant (this was an HR department), being whispered to in meetings with the appropriate things to say out loud, direction on the best font to use on my spreadsheets.  This was not my first job nor did I ever agree with the crap she was feeding me.  But it wasn't worth the energy of fighting back, especially since she typically loved to make you look dumb in a room full of colleagues. One of her victims sent anonymous hate mail to the office highlighting the irony in her ability to judge people while her son's name appeared in the local police blotter.

Always imagined it looking  like one of these scary ransom notes.  Wishful thinking.

The breaking point came when she verbally assaulted me because I was unable to dislodge one of her documents from my printer. I will never know why I was personally responsible for her printing needs but clearly I was the worst possible choice.  I resigned a few weeks later and nobody really asked why.  And it was especially comfortable when she suggested an exit interview in her office.  I sat there sweating for about 45 minutes, confirming her suggestions as to why I was leaving while she wrote down every word.  Being on trial for murder would probably be less stressful.  I swear it probably said I loved it there and was just relocating to another country.

The best part of the entire story is that, years later, someone reported the department as a "hostile work environment" through the Whistleblower Hotline. This led to investigation and ultimately a forced resignation by our fearless leader.  

Last I heard she was employed by an alcoholic beverages distributor.  Since she is not at all fun (drunk or otherwise) I will make the assumption that decision makers were tipping the bottle during her interview process.