The Jackie Blog

Tomorrow I have a fantastic opportunity for shenanigans.

Let me lay out the necessary, boring details for you quick like a Band-Aid: I have an all-day mandatory meeting with a large portion of the folks who work for the same company as me.  Though I’ve been here for over a year, I didn’t go last year because I wasn’t yet official in this role.  My boss has folks she interacts with in two places: the building I work in and a building downtown.   Most of the people I coordinate with regarding her are downtown, which means that I’ve talked to them constantly over the phone or through email for a year and they have absolutely no idea what I look like.

Until tomorrow.

I have a lot of ideas.  My favorite involves a pair of cat-eye glasses with the little string of beads that holds them around your neck when you’re not using them.  I’d also like a long, ridiculous skirt, a drab cardigan, and a turtleneck.  I’ll call it “Librarian Chic”.  

I’d also like to adapt a few strange mannerisms.  Talking about myself in the third person is not out of the question.   And since food is always such a big to-do and all office meetings, I could probably get a lot of strange hubbub by bringing a sack of my own food.   Like an entire sack of cold hot dogs.

That might bring about the wrong kind of questions.  Let’s change that to a sack of Twinkies.

I think the overall image will be pretty fabulous.  No one can really say anything to me because we’ve got this whole ‘include everybody, no matter how ridiculous they seem’ HR thing going on right now.   And since my boss has taken ill, there’s a high chance she will not attend.  The best part will be when she goes downtown next week and get a lot of puzzled buzz in the office about her strange assistant.

Of course, I’ve thought about going the complete other way and busting through the joint in a power suit and not talking to anyone.  The urge to treat this occasion as a grand social experiment is just irresistible.  Imagine how different my phone conversations and emails will be if I can create the image of someone entirely uptight/strange/powerful/better-than-thou – I have such a plethora of choices.

Feel free to chime in with one; I’ll throw together my wardrobe tonight. ♣ 

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011

I’ve been the subject of an office scandal for quite some time and I just now figured out what it was.

Office people are strange indeed and the floor I work on is no exception.  It’s almost all women, all huddled in the same little cubicle farm, supporting the same overlapping group of people.

And my office is down the hall.

I’m immediately made the Smeagol of the group just as a matter of geographical fact.  

I moved into my full-time position at work from a temporary assignment.  It was a strange and mysterious ride that wasn’t really ever talked about.  In fact, I wasn’t really every sure what my job was, what was expected of me, or if there was a desire by the higher-ups to keep me beasting about.  

I don’t think beasting is a word.  But I’m sure your brain has come up with something for it already so let’s just keep whatever you’ve got.

Anyway the point is that I was never really introduced, never shown around, and never really explained things in a very thorough manner.  The nature of my job lies in its constant uncertainty.  It’s an interesting and confidence-shaking place to be.  And unfortunately because I am in a support role, there comes a time in my life when I have to do things like place kitchen orders.

There’s an executive kitchen on our floor that’s stocked with coffee, tea, chips, pretzels, and sodas of all kinds.  Sometimes there will be leftovers in there from high-level meetings and the underlings are allowed to spread it amongst themselves.

Amongst is probably also not a word, but it should be.

Once in a long while, the kitchen supplies need restocked.  Having never been walked through the process and wary to ask for assistance because I’m the Smeagol of the floor, I went about doing so with a lone sheet of paper, completed by the person formerly in my role and filed for safekeeping.  There were handy little notes on there about how much of something we should typically have at one time and a firm reminder to inventory.  At the time we were pretty much out of everything so I just decided to order ten cases of every kind of drink to get us back on par.

A week later, the kitchen was still bare.  So I asked the most approachable of the cubicle creatures how I could follow up on the order since I only had a fax number and wasn’t about to scrawl an anonymous note with an angry face asking where my stuff is like a terrorist and fax it over.

She had a funny smirk on her face and said everything was already delivered.  I told her it was my first time ordering so I just wanted to make sure everything was okay and everyone was happy.  As if laughing at me, she assured me everyone was happy and escorted me over to a door, behind which she swore all the items were stashed.

I was confused – mostly because I’d always seen the delivery stocked immediately into the kitchen.  And also because I was fairly certain the “closet” she was referring to was the custodian’s storage room.

But she was done with the conversation so I went back to my cave down the hall, wondering what I did incorrectly.  She casually mentioned that I seemed to order a lot of Pepsi, which I thought strange because I pretty much ordered the same amount of everything.  My mind spun a web of theories, most of which revolved around a secret email everyone was copied on except me regarding someone wanting a certain kind of juice or fruit snack that I failed to get their input on.

Office creatures are menial, but deadly serious folk.

The other day I wandered over to the kitchen to carry out one of the more degrading aspects of my job by heating up my boss’s frozen dinner and I noticed the kitchen closet was stocked with a rather large quantity of soda.  I heard some sort of buzz that the person before me over-ordered Diet Coke and let it go.

But last night while I was milling about my apartment, it hit me: I ordered a massive amount of soda.

You see, the ordering form indicates that all orders are carried out in ‘cases’.   Since I have a small apartment and a rather lax vocabulary, I call 12-pack and 24-packs of soda ‘ cases’.  Since I used to stock third shift in warehouse clubs, I should have known that 12 and 24 do not warrant a case by any means.  Rather, a case is an entire case of 12-pack and 24-packs.

And I had ordered ten cases of every kind of soda.

The kitchen order is in the janitor’s closet because there simply isn’t any room for it anywhere else.  In fact, it’s a wonder they didn’t have to throw everything out of the office supply closet just to make room for the now-enormous selection of Diet Coke we now have. 

I didn’t get the memo about the girl prior ordering a bunch of Diet Coke until after I sent the fax.

I tested my theory like I test most theories – by simply stating it casually in conversation and reading how the other person reacts.  And sure enough when I made an off-the-cuff remark about realizing I ordered entire cases of soda instead of just packs of soda, my fears were confirmed as she nodded and said something like “drink up!”

I’m sure now that there is a secret email that I’m not copied on.  It’s a picture of everyone laughing and partying under a waterfall of soda while they guffaw over my ignorance. ♣

Because I know how much you love my art.

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011

Office birthdays are so awkward.

I can’t handle them.  Offices are awkward, office people are awkward, and birthdays are awkward.  Together, it’s just way too much awkward sauce for me to bear.

The worst thing about office birthdays is that there’s typically a ‘process’ in place for how a birthday is handled.  It might be noted in an Excel spreadsheet somewhere or someone in the office might be in charge of always coordinating it.   Usually it’s the same exact protocol for everyone so by the time it gets to you, you know exactly what to expect and try to work up some genuine facial expressions.

They have smiles on their faces, but inside they're dying. DYING.

One of my favorites at a place I used to work was that the entire office would just “surprise” someone at their cubicle with a cake, a chorus, and one loan kazoo player. 

I quit before my birthday so that I didn’t have to face it dead on.

I’m usually the person who gets put in charge of coordinating birthday “fun”, so when my birthday rolls around no one does anything.  It doesn’t occur to them that someone has to actually make the birthday happen.  They just all stare at each other like confused baby deer and wonder where the cake and card has come from every other time there’s been a birthday in the company.

And then it occurs to them.  

Awkward.

Then there’s the whole gift-giving thing.  Again – gift-giving is a rough process to bear without the terrible assistance of a cubicle farm and a small sea of overeager smiles for a setting.   It’s so public and there are so many politics. There are so many things to consider when giving gifts in the office:  If I get Kevin a thing for his desk, like a doodad or something is that too typical?  Does it imply his entire life revolves around the office or that I don’t know him well enough? Should I just get food?  Will other people get food?  Can I give a gift card or is that too “hey this is how much you’re worth to me?”  What if he expects me to give him a really high amount because he thinks I make more than him.  I’m almost positive I don’t make more than him.  Should I get a gift that’s more than I can really afford just so that he doesn’t think I’m being cheap because he thinks I make more than him?!

You see?  Insanity.

I can’t navigate all that business every time it’s someone’s anniversary of birth.  I feel pushed into getting someone something who I have made a point to not get to know on too personal of a level.  It’s no offense to them or anything; I just don’t want to complicate my work life by having to wonder whether we’re still friends after I tell them they seriously need to take a computers class because I’m tired of trying to explain to them the entire user guide to the Microsoft Office Suite one day at a time.

For the record, that was a long time ago and I sincerely doubt the person is still alive.  If she is, hello Carrie.  I’m sorry.  But you really need to start rating yourself more honestly in interviews on the Microsoft Suite package. 

Luckily at my current job, I feel like I’ve got a good handle on the people I work with and can make semi-appropriate gift choices when necessary. 

Unfortunately, this coming week we’re celebrating my boss’s birthday and I’m absolutely drowning in awkward sauce.  

Maybe I’ll take a leave of absence. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011

There’s nothing quite as beautiful as a 3-day weekend.

In fact, I took off Friday and made it 4.  Because I’m greedy.

I’m always just a bit afraid of letting myself have too much time off because it’s in those brief moments that I regain my sanity and sense of work/life balance in the world and I consider never going back.   I run through the entire thing – how much money do I have in the bank, how many months can I make it without a job, is anyone hiring in my field right now, and am I fully prepared to take the plunge and answer a lot of questions from family.

The answer to all of those things is rarely yes.

Maybe one day it will be again.   I can’t imagine how much money I would need to have saved in order to feel okay just not having income until I find a job that doesn’t suck my soul out of my body through a tiny crazy straw.

I could, of course, just look for a job while I’m still gainfully employed and just make the switch.  But every time I go back, I get brainwashed.  Brainwashed! I forget how delicious the sweet nectar of sanity is and I hunch up at my little computer desk in my windowless cave as the lack of sunlight depletes the color from my skin.

My children will be mutants – half human, half bug-eyed, pale-skinned, gangly office creatures.  They’ll shun sunlight and happiness.

I really need a get-rich-quick scheme to come through for me.  I’ve had a lot of ideas, but none so awesome as the Pet Rock.  That guy was a genius. 

It’s either that or win the lottery, and I don’t think those 1-dollar scratch offs ever got me anything but a free ticket and a second chance to be disappointed.  

So I need to get serious about my million dollar idea.  I need to dedicate more time to finding it.  If someone can take a terracotta pot, make it into different shapes, put an easy plant to grow in it, and attach a catchy jingle and retire early in life, I can certainly dream up something with a little million-dollar potential.   Or a rock that you personalize and call a pet.  A ROCK. 

There’s gotta be something I’m not getting here… something I can grab in my brain and shake the money out of. 

Then it’s hello to infinite days off. ♣

Let's hope these chairs stay there until my success. Dibs!

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011

On Friday, the most magical thing happened to me.  

Magical like unicorns.  Like leprechauns and Imaginationland and psychedelically-colored puppies.

It was epic and beautiful.

I was feeling strange Friday morning.   I didn’t feel like going to work, didn’t want to spend money on coffee to make it less bearable, and didn’t really want to do anything once I got there.

Let’s be clear: I never feel like going to work.  But most days I can just flick a switch in my brain that puts me on autopilot, which lets me skyrocket through my to-do list with such speed and strength that I entirely forget to take a lunch.  That usually lasts until about 4pm, when I realize I’m a human being, not a monster, and I have feelings and hopes and dreams and I shouldn’t be confined to a desk and walls and carpet and darkness.

But then I only have an hour to go before I’m liberated and an hour is quite palatable.

Friday, however, was an anomaly.   I showed up at work in the morning already completely uninterested.   By 9am I was working at a snail pace, by 10am I was annoyed by my list of to-do’s, and by 11am I went for lunch.  When I returned at 12, I mused online with a coworker over how I wished we could all just go home.  I talked of liberty – of  freedom – of glory.

By 12:15 I was back to staring at my to-do list, completely uninspired to-do any of them.  

As time dragged on, screeching to an almost-hault just before 1pm I honestly began to wonder if I would be a better use of company money by going outside and getting ice cream.  Because quite frankly, at least then I would’ve been doing something with a measurable outcome.  At almost 1:00 on the dot, a colleague popped in my office to let me know that due to the terrible storm we had earlier that day (I wouldn’t know – I’m held captive in a windowless cave), the building was flipping to the emergency generator and would have enough power for lights only.   Without a computer, I can do nothing.  Which meant I had to go home.

I singlehandedly was responsible for the shutdown of our building through the power of wishful thinking.

Well, that and thanks to Our Lord God and Savior, who obviously saw that I was on the verge of a stroke from stress and unhappiness and decided to make it overwhelmingly obvious to me that I needed to slow down and breathe.  Deeply.

And breathe deeply I did.  Because the power to the elevators was cut and I dwell on the top floor of a very tall building.  And because I was elated.  Absolutely, truly, elated.

Perhaps when I return on Monday, I shall scribble a few key words onto a post-it note to remind me of the experience and prominently display it on my monitor for times when I feel trapped in my windowless cave. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011

What is it that compels people to tell the same story twice?

I don’t mean the people who forget they’ve told you before.    I mean the people who you tell they told you before and they still keep going.  Not even a general reminder of the story – just a straight up, detailed, almost verbatim retelling.  

It’s not even the annoyance anymore.  It’s just the fact that it’s a waste of my time.

I’m finding that in my older, more crotchety days, I’m placing a strong importance on whether or not something is worth my investment of time. This is a direct result of saying yes to everything and anything and subsequently balling myself up in the fetal position and crying until I pull myself up out of the puddle of stress I leak on the floor.  If I can cut out things in my life that stress me out, annoy me, and are superfluous, then I can make more time for sleep.  And happiness.

One thing I can definitely cut for time is story retellers.

I’m thinking of disengaging them entirely.  Perhaps it’s time to have a candid conversation with these offenders.  Something along the lines of “Hey, look.  I’m at a time in my life where I’m really trying to cut the metaphorical fat.  And while you are important to me, I don’t see any sense in rehearing something you’ve already told me and I’ve made an effort to remember.  As a result, if you have no new information to pass on, perhaps we should part ways for now.”

Too cold?

Far worse than the story retellers are the joke repeaters.  I can’t stand joke repeaters.  Not the folks who tell you a joke you’ve heard before; that’s basically unavoidable, though I would argue that one shouldn’t socialize with folks who “tell jokes”.   Instead, I’m referring to people who recall what they believe to be a funny story and regardless of whether or not people laugh, proceed to run through the same exact thing all over again. Example:

They  lay out the sequence of events, drag you through them again more slowly, and then recap when it’s over.  It’s like a bad episode of Dragonball Z. 

Too nerdy?

The worst cases repeat the tagline (see above) until they squeeze a chuckle out of someone.  Let’s be clear: repeating a bad joke but making it louder and laughing more at yourself does not make it funnier.

I thought we were all clear on this.

 Anyway I’m tired of it.  It’s a senseless waste of my time, not to mention I have absolutely no plan for avoiding the incredibly awkward space where someone tells the same joke over and over that I can’t even pretend to find funny.  I have no exit plan.  All I can do is make a strangely inhuman fake smile face.  Which, on my face, doesn’t come out as a fake smile face at all.  It just kind of looks like I have to go to the bathroom.

I can think of at least five people I know who do this.  I’m sure there are more.  And if I add up how many times I will listen to things I’ve already heard and don’t care to hear again over the course of the next year, (let’s say 5 offenses in a month at 5 minutes each times 12 months in a year), that’s 5 hours.  5 hours! That’s almost an entire day of sleep.  Or learning how to knit.  Or showering more frequently.

Any of them would be nice, really.

This is just the beginning.  I’m cutting the metaphorical fat, friends.  No more wasting time with obligations.  No more enduring double storytelling and repeated taglines.

After all, I’m being held back from being an excellent knitter. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011

Yesterday at work someone complimented me on how “feminine” I looked.

What, exactly, does that mean?

I would have brushed it off, but that’s the second time in a few short weeks that someone has emphasized how “feminine” something makes me look.  Not pretty, attractive, lovely, soft, or other stereotypical qualities associated with my sex, but simply “feminine”.  Of or pertaining to female.  I would say it’s someone trying to avoid a sexual harassment suit while complimenting my looks, but they’ve both been women.  And older women, at that.   How am I supposed to take “Hey! You look like a girl today!”

Because I’m not taking it well.

By pointing out the times I specifically look like a female, I’m led to believe that I typically do not.  Else why draw attention to the achievement?    The first time it was mentioned, I was wearing a dress to work so I get it.  Not that it’s particularly world-stopping when I wear a dress, but rather the dresses I own are all inappropriate for work based on the super cleavage, the short hemline, or the tight waste.   On the particular day I mention, I was actually worried that I’d be scolded for bringing this dress to the workplace, but it was my birthday and I ventured I could get away with it. 

And since it was my boss who commented thus, I’d say I did.

The second incident was yesterday, when I decided to wear a blouse with flowers on it.  Don’t get me wrong: I’m not typically a blouse-with-flowers-on-it kinda gal.  But it was one of those days when everything else I owned was dirty and I could either resolve to do laundry or to wear a flower blouse.   And since I have a long, sordid history of buying entire packs of new underwear before I’ll do laundry, the flower blouse certainly won.

And subsequently led to a new complex.

It's probably my hands. A close look at a 5th grade photo of me with brother, who was born a smiley face, reveals startlingly mannish hands.

I’m not sure what’s typically unfeminine about me.  I’ve really lightened up on my tomboyish ways.  These days I’m wearing makeup,

jewelry, headbands and – yes, from time to time – the occasional flower shirt.  And since I’m doing all of these stereotypically feminine things, I’m led to believe that it’s simply me.

It’s me.  I look like a man.

I must.  Why else would two people take the time to point out that I look like a female on these days in question?  It’s because I was doing something that detracted from my mannish features.  And thank heavens I let a little femininity shine through; I wonder if the office was starting to question my gender.

Maybe they always wondered and never asked because I work in Diversity. 

Oh dear.  What if they think I’m a transexual?  Are they wondering? Do they have questions?

I don’t know how to combat this.  Perhaps I’ll add a tagline to my signature in work emails: “Female since 1986!” or how about “Hey! Sometimes I wear skirts!” or “Nope, not a tranny!”  I could also plaster my corkboard with pictures of me and my boyfriend.  I’m typically  a no-nonsense-office-decorations kind of gal, but if it will straighten out a few lingering questions in the office, I might give it a go.  Maybe I could just go up to one of the male Summer Interns one day and sexually harass him in front of the cube farm. 

I suppose that would give me troubles of an entirely different sort. ♣

Tags: 365 Project, Humor, life, musings, office humor, postaday2011