Category: Office

Humor, Office, University, Work

Conspiracy. Theories. (An Interlude)

“I hate committees.  I much prefer a nice clean chain of command.”
“Only if you’re at the top of it…”
…”Well, yes.”
– A Civil Campaign, Louis McMaster Bujold

After Panic and Paranoia’s inelegant exit yesterday afternoon, I managed to calm down and step back a bit from the situation.  Freak outs aside, there were several things that didn’t add up.

Now, it would seem that Chief did decide (rather grudgingly) to let me transfer as it was a good opportunity, and Dr. F had followed his supervisor (who for lack of any other name, we will call Salzburg) to the letter in making sure that the transfer was in keeping with university policy at large, and it’s narrower hiring-freeze-bound interpretations.  So both sides had agreed, the person approving it all had agreed…when suddenly the Dean swooped down from nowhere and put everything on hold and demanded to meet with me.

And the question that I keep going back to, is why on earth is a Dean descending to personally look into the buying and selling of  secretaries far beneath his normal purview?

Same principle

Theory the First – I know, both from student experience and updated frequently by Kiki, that the Dean and Dr. F do not get on well at all.  There seems to be an embarrassing amount of workplace territorial-ism that goes on betwixt them.  Dr. F dislikes the higher ups making decisions about his department, which often go against international and visa law, without even consulting him.  The higher ups don’t like an entire department (consisting of four full time advisors…which to their minds constitutes potential revolutionary numbers) answering to the Federal Government instead of the University.  This animosity has shown itself in strange ways across the years.  In this case, Dr. F has applied for exceptions to the freeze to fill his empty position and has been repeated turned down.  But suddenly he discovers a way around it that does not answer to the Dean.  Could this be a revenge ploy?

Dear, dear! How silly of you to think you could make those decisions without me.

Theory the Second – In our office, Lt. Figaro insists on appearing to be the one making final hiring decisions about the student employees under him, even though it’s Red and Lauper who open the position for hiring, interview candidates, and make the initial offer to their chosen ones.  Figaro still insists on meeting with them, normally to talk about nothing for an hour, before releasing them and congratulating himself to the entire department on discovering such a nice student employee.  One of the last girls we hired had to listen to him talk about a family member who breeds snakes for 45 minutes, before reemerging with a shell shocked expression on her face, which took all of us collectively to remove by assuring her was more or less business as usual.  Could this be a higher up version of this sort of thing?  Does the Dean wish to appear to be the person who fills the gaps in his organization?

"What are you doing?" "...Sneaking."

Theory the Third – Kiki, my ear to the ground over at ISS, has passed on an interesting tidbit.  Apparently, after Chief agreed, Salzburg called up Dr. F and told him so but that the Dean had declared, “…but I’m not going to give her to you [ISS].”  The emphasis there is interesting.  Kiki also says that the Dean has at least 5 unfilled full time secretarial positions in the various departments beneath him.  Could he be trying to move me into a department of his choosing instead of ISS?

Alright, my loves, weigh in.  Do any of these seem plausible?  Any other theories?  No matter how I try to look at it, a Dean sticking his fingers into this just doesn’t make sense for anything besides personal reasons.  The whole thing smells of politics.  The problem of course, is that I’m more a less a pawn in all of this and no one is giving me any hints about which square I should move to.  Monday needs to hurry up and get here (words no mortal will ever speak again).

Humor, Office, University, Work

Something Has Happened…(Part 2)

“Pain-”
“And Panic-”
“Reporting for duty!”
– Hercules, Disney

I told Susie of the offer, that it was a good one and that I wanted to take it, that it would come with a raise (which Dr. F said it would) and advancement to a manager position.  She was on my side, said it sounded great, and approached Chief with it, who it seemed was also on board.  Things were moving forward.

Then, suddenly, something stalled in the works.  Trouble is, no one can seem to pinpoint where.  Dr. F said that he had gotten approval to pursue a transfer of departments, but the approval never came.  He then called me up in a frenzy asking what I had told Susie originally, as I’d clearly made some mistake because HR seemed to think that I’d be completely quitting the university, and if so, they could not rehired me.  I talked to Susie, she verified that I’d said that I merely wanted a transfer of departments and they’d understood so.

But more telling, he also backed away from the question of salary telling me emphatically that he had never discussed that with me.  He had, by the way.  He then told me that this confusion was my problem and that I had to find a way of handling it because he wasn’t going to get involved.

Anger showed up right quick.  “What the hell is he saying?  We did everything he told us to, after he’d confirmed that the transfer had been OKed!”

My Panic really looks like this. No, really. It's weird.

“That’s it!  We’re in the soup!  We’re going to lose our job, either of them!” Panic wailed.

“There might just be a misunderstanding,” Hope said with false cheeriness.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Practicality snapped.  “It’s clear Dr. F has ticked off his higher ups somehow.  They wouldn’t work with him to get an exception to the hiring freeze to fill his empty position, and now that he’s found a way around it they’re miffed.”

“That doesn’t explain why he’s reneging on his offers to us,” Ambition said slowly.  “We took his offer and acted on it in good faith, after he assured us that if we could get the department to approve it, the transfer would go through.”

“This whole organization is riddled with issues like this,” Paranoia hissed, hugging the walls, eyes darting for potential escape.  “Panic’s right, we’re collectively sunk.  He turned on us rather than go to bat for us.  He turned on us!”

“I told you guys!  I told you!  No one ever listens to me, and look where it’s got you,” Guilt crowed, practically dancing a vindictive jig.

“Shut up,” Practicality growled, pacing the floor.  “You’re no help.  There’s been a mis-communication somewhere.  What has been said that has been misconstrued?  And by whom?”

“It’s not communication, it’s politics,” Panic said, shivering.  “Dr. F isn’t exactly the darling of his division, this probably isn’t about us at all.”

“Sounds to me,” put in Reason, “that he probably only got verbal approval to do what he did.  So he offered us the job, told whoever had approved that move, who told whoever was above that, and they said no.  Which screws up the whole process.”

Small Dog is confused. And scared.

“Verbal doesn’t mean anything!  If it’s not in writing it’s not worth a rattle,” Paranoia said frantically.

“Well, that’s certainly obvious now.  So, what happens to us?” Ambition asked.

The next day, Susie pulled me aside and gave me a heart-stopping piece of news.  The final answer was “No.”  It had come down from the Dean himself, and the Dean wanted to meet with me on Monday.

“AUGHHHH!” Panic and Paranoia clutched each other only long enough to scream and both ran from the room.

(Monday: Part 3, The Interview)

Drama, Humor, Office, Work

Something Has Happened… (Part 1)

“One advantage of talking to yourself is that you know at least someone is listening.”
– Franklin P. Jones

…and it seems utterly surreal.  Last week, Dr. F called me up and asked me to go to lunch with him.  Dr. F, as a refresher, was my boss for three years as a student when I worked in the International Student Services office on campus.  It was a fantastic place to work, I was sorry when I graduated and was forced to give it up (although I was otherwise perfectly done with university for the time being).  Maetanikei works there, as does Dr. S, whose favorite pastime is to pull me into his office and talk England.  I loved the people, the office vibe, and most importantly the work: helping international scholars navigate the incomprehensibly tortuous immigration and visa laws.

Power Lunch.

And suddenly, munching on Subway sandwiches, Dr. F offered me a job.

Completely out of the blue.  I choked a bit on my lettuce while my brain scrambled to catch up as he went on.  He asked me to find a way to transfer departments, as the ISS office hasn’t had a full time office manager since the University put the kibosh on all hiring, and apparently they are suffering.  The nature of the hiring freeze is such that transfers can be allowed (with sufficient groveling) though, and so he made me an official offer, as long as I could work it out with the Police Department.

As you may imagine, I spent the weekend in a fog of panic, excitement, and confusion.  I felt that accepting was the right decision, but that didn’t mean it would be easy to inform people of my decision.  The only times I’ve left jobs was when I graduated, or when Dad took us off to a foreign country!

Unfortunately it took less than an hour after lunch for the specter of Corporate Loyalty and his hired goons to find me and work me over and by the time I got home that night I was in psychological knots.
“Hennessy will have to take over lots, and so will Wise,” I thought to myself, wringing my metaphoric hands.  “I’ll be leaving them completely in the lurch.  I’m an awful person for even considering this!  Angst angst angst!”

Like you've never done it.

At the same time, Ambition hovered slyly on my peripherals.  “Who knows where J. and you will be in a year?  An office manager and supervisor is a lot higher up on the hierarchy than an entry level secretary, after all.  Your resume and skill set would be upped tenfold.  Any future job searches would be vastly enhanced with such credentials.  You are an idiot for even thinking twice.”

“Well, yes, but…,” murmured Niceness, ” although we’ve had our managerial issues with some department decisions and projects, I have no desire to put them in a bind.  Especially the ladies who would have to take on my responsibilities in addition to their own, as my absence could not be filled until the freeze is lifted by unfeeling, un-hearing HR gods.”

“Um, hello!” snapped Practicality.  “We’ve had multiple responsibilities taken away from you this year, and not had a lot to replace them with.  We’ve also streamlined lots of the stuff you do to cut down on unnecessary time being wasted doing simple things.  We’re a good employee, and our current department is not in the position to offer us a raise, promotion, or manager’s job in the near future.  This is a genuine opportunity, kid.”

“Yes, but…”

“Not to mention,” put in my Sense of Nobility, “it’s work you know you enjoy and feel strongly about, yes?  You feel as if you’re doing something important there.”

“Whose side are you on?” demanded my Guilt.

“Truth, honor, justice, and right,” answered Nobility smugly.

“You’re no help,” Guilt mutter and turned back to face Ambition and her lot.   “You don’t understand how badly I feel about some of this.  Not that I have the offer, but what its effect is going to be on my friends and co-workers.”

Sympathy finally perked up.  “We get it, Guilt.  We do.  But honestly, we feel that the benefits outweight you.  Maybe when you’ve had a lie down, this won’t seem quite the drama you think.”

“To put it nicely,” said Practicality, “you’re outvoted.”

“I’m heavier!” Guilt yelled in desperation.

“You could stand a diet,” Ambition muttered under her breath, after which a chilly silence descended as Guilt turned up an injured nose and stalked off to a corner to sulk.

Can I get a word in edgewise, please?

I, me, C., paced a while longer thinking hard.  To everyone’s credit, they managed to stay quiet.  Even when I tried to reexamined each emotion or get a second opinion from my Conscience, which was oddly quiet on all of this.  In fact the only input it had was, “Is this a matter of life and death?  Morality?  Ethics?  No.  You’re on your own here, C.  If you needed to consult me you would have done so.  This is a purely mortal, terrestrial, uninteresting topic, not my department.  I’m going back to pondering the Universe.”

Finally I threw my shoulders back and announced I’d come to a decision.  Guilt huffed in the corner but refused to turn around.  Ambition smiled benevolently, while Sympathy patted Guilt on the shoulder but gave me her attention.  Even my Sense of Nobility was twiddling her thumbs, the picture of innocence, hypocritical thing!

“We’re doing it.”

Cheers and acclaim, even from those who hadn’t been consulted.  Guilt sniffed and muttered something about how we’re listening to her less and less.  I let her wander off.  No doubt when the day of transfer actually comes I’ll give her a holiday to nag me about what I could have forgotten to train Hennessy on, but Practicality is right.  She’s outvoted.

Tiny twinges of guilt aside, I was going to do it.

(Tomorrow: Part 2, Pain and Panic)

Humor, Office, Work

Gender. Bending.

“Where’s C.?”
“In the restroom.”
“…which one?”
– Hennessy and officer

Confused?

As I have ranted before, one of my most hated jobs is picking up and dropping of the laundry for the officers.  The issues of managing laundry for forty grown men will not be further discussed here, but what will now be revealed is that, between hauling up to 20 bags in and out of the office three days a week, hanging up individual orders on lockers, wrangling excess hangers, and hunting for whatever goes missing, I probably spend more time in the men’s room than the ladies’.

And the funny thing is, all of the student officers have become completely immune to the sight of me in pencil skirt and heels, trotting in and out of their locker room.  I knock first, naturally!

The first time I was doing the laundry by myself, a bunch of new student officers lumbered in, saw me hanging up uniforms, and jumped about a mile (squealing a little).  Like I was a mouse.  Bless them.  These days we have nice conversations as they lace up their boots.

But every once in a while, I’ll skip on out of the men’s room and a reserve officer (who doesn’t normally work here) on his way in, will do a double take and give me a funny look.  I usually just say hi and decline to explain.  I think it’s good for them to be shaken up a bit every once and a while.

Humor, Office, Work

Apres, le Deluge

 “There will be a rain dance friday night, weather permitting.”
– George Carlin 

I have an extraordinary pair of shoes.  Not in the Christian Louboutain sense, or even the “By Jupiter, what on earth is she wearing on her feet?!” sense.  I mean truly out of this world, inexplicable, baffling-to-science bizarre. 

See? Charming. Or so I thought...

They were discovered at Target, sitting prettily on a shelf and on sale.  “Purple flats with a J. Crew like ruffle?” thought Small Dog to herself, “Sold!”  I happily tossed them into my basket and continued shopping, little knowing the fate that lay ahead of me. 

The first time I wore them, it started raining on the way to work and I had to make a mad dash for the office, carefully holding my trousers at my calves to minimize water damage.  They are suede-like and therefore absorbed at least a couple of deep puddles as I crossed the parking lot, and didn’t let a single drop of moisture escape.  I had the squishy, uncomfortable sensation of walking around in sopping moss all day long. 

Undeterred I wore them again a few days later and it started raining while I was at work and didn’t let up until late in the night.  Which meant that, due to running errands for the department and fetching the officers’ laundry, my feet were soaked for several hours before I got to go home. 

Mere coincidence, surely!  All the same, they were regulated to the back of my closet for a couple of weeks to be on the safe side.  But the next time I wore them I still came home looking like a drowned duck (and that time it managed to both rain and snow), so they were unceremoniously flung back into the closet to learn how to behave better towards their patient, shoe-loving mistress.

No prizes for guessing.
We all know what's coming next, right?

However, this morning in the scramble to get ready, the inevitable happened.  It was the day that I’d be assigning dozens of students their security gear for the 4th of July festivities and I knew better than to wear heels.  I could only find one half of the pair of flats I intended to wear and so, at a loss, I pulled them out again, gave them a quick talking to, and popped them on. The day passed without incident and scorching desert summer temperatures until late afternoon when the clouds rolled in (seemingly from nowhere!) and unleashed a torrent.  Lacking windows I hurried to Susie and Wise’s office to see for myself, just in time to see a river of rain come rushing down a walkway from the quad and a broken branch whiz by.  A boy was walking against the wind, which was so fierce that his umbrella  had wrapped around his head and shoulders, and nearly blew him off the sidewalk. 

Really. Don't.

It was also time to go to the laundry to pick up the officers’ laundry.  The three of us watched in dismay as it got worse and worse while it got closer and closer to closing time.  Susie was a dear and said she’d help me as soon as we saw a break in the clouds and finally one came and we sprinted down the hall (much to the shock of a couple of officers who managed to dodge out of our way).  We threw bags of laundry over our shoulders, pushed past two sets of doors at a dead run, and were halfway across the parking lot when the skies reopened.  I managed to hit the unlock button on the key chain and yank open the van’s door and we both catapulted into its relative safety.  And then, because she was wearing a white skirt that had been soaked and didn’t want to make the situation worse by walking through an office entirely of men, we both climbed over the seats (without a lot of dignity) and headed off to the cleaner together.  By the time we got back the storm was over, though the city was littered with leaves and shattered branches. And I still had to go to dinner and do a presentation in dripping shoes, and shudder when Susie mentioned some sort of infection or other that she knew of that came from wet feet and was nastier than Athletes Foot. 

Anyone suffering from a particularly bad drought?  Because I have the perfect footwear for your next Rain Dance.

Fail, Friends, Humor, Office, Silly

The Last (Bloody, Dangerous) Straw

“Who can hope to be safe?  Who sufficiently cautious?
Guard himself as he may, every moment is an ambush.”
-Horace

Small Dog struggles.

For the past almost-two years that I’ve worked here, there has been a large plastic mat residing beneath my chair and the corners of various desks and cabinets.  This mat is clear, studded on the bottom, a quarter of and inch thick, sharp edged, and slippery.  As you may imagine, this mat has been a sore trial for many office staff, but myself in particular as I am A) a sad klutz, and B) the person who practically lives on top of this thing.

We, meaning mostly I, have slipped, tripped, slid, glided, skidded, twisted ankles, and face planted because of this contraption without complaint or word until today.

Hennessy and I were walking back from the Administration Building when a perfect storm of un-coordination happened.  First her heel caught the edge of the mat.  Then she started to fall forward which both lifted the mat and tore her shoe off.  Then behind her I stuttered my step trying not to collide with my flailing friend.  And THEN the sharp corner of the plastic peril bit into my foot.  When we managed to right ourselves and glance down to survey damages, I was bleeding.

That was it!  We grabbed Susie, one of the officers to move heavy furniture, and dragged the whole thing back to the custodians closet (it weighed about as much as Brazil, was filthy underneath, and smelled horrid to boot).  Good riddance.

My foot hurts.

Health, Humor, Office

24 is the New 40

“Take rest; a field that has rested gives a bountiful crop.”
– Ovid

I must be looking my age. Yesterday Susie came up to my desk and asked what I was doing for my birthday (today).

“I’m not sure. Dinner with J.’s family I think, and my godmother is doing a friends and family dinner on Sunday.”
“That sounds nice,” Susie said. “But what are you doing the day of?”
“Er, not much.”
“Are you taking the day off?”
“Hadn’t really thought of it.”
“You can, you know.”
“Well, thanks, but I’m not sure. I mean, it would be lovely but it’s not like I’m sick or anything. I’m weird and feel guilty about not coming into work when nothing’s actually wrong.”
“Don’t. It’s good to have a day off. You should take one.”
“Uh, ok…”
“Good!”

So I am!

Either I’m looking haggard and everyone has commented to her about it, or she’s planning some kind of office coup and wants me out of the way for the day. No matter. Have a nice day, kittens, Small Dog is in the spa. And not taking phone calls, although you are welcome to join me.

*photo from doncesar.com

Humor, Office, Snark, University

Thwack!

“I’d have you  lot up in front of the University authorities first thing in the morning, if it wasn’t for the fact that you are the University authorities…”
– Terry Prachett

We are moving into one of the worst months of year at work: June is the month building up to the annual July 4th celebration.  This usually involves celebrity VIPs, nearly 100,000 additional people on campus, parades, hiring up to 100 more students for less than a week, and other assorted headaches.  Last year I got lucky and got married instead so I was out of town for the final crisis.

This year I may not get as lucky unless J. and I can come up with a cheap vacation idea.  And then there’s the guilt.  I’d be leaving some of the other girls in an awful lurch skiving off like that.  Plus Hennessy is getting married mere days before and it would rather shabby for both of us to disappear.

However, this nobility of purpose doesn’t make the impending event any less irksome.  It’s my job to get those darling student employees outfitted and, more importantly, in fear of the personal Hell that will await them if they don’t return every last piece of gear to me.  At the end of football season this past year, I was somehow seconded to be responsible for collecting and minding this stuff permanently even though I hadn’t been in charge of distributing it, recording who got what, or when it should be returned at the beginning of the year.  You may imagine the resulting confusion.  And my attitude about it.

Die.

This year will run much smoother since Hennessy and I have teamed up to tackle it, but problems are already creeping up.  Such as the fact that the Special Events department hasn’t given us a time to distribute stuff, and has decided that these students need only three hours of training (to take place three days before this nearly 100,000 people plus pyrotechnics rolls into town).

It’s fortified my bewilderment.  Ever since my personal equivalent of the burning of the Library of Alexandria, I’ve been thinking (again) about some of the glitches of working where I do.

The real problem with this university is, as I see it, is that it’s a combination of a business, a school district with too many children and not enough teachers, and (due to the religious background and funding) a monastery.  Which doesn’t combine too well, professionally speaking.  As a bureaucracy, resources are not always well-managed.  Administration errors are overlooked in the spirit of Brotherly Kindness, but minor problems lower down on the chain of command are punished with all the fervor of an inquisition.  And, completely at odds with religious teaching, good work is not rewarded while bad work is not scrutinized or punished.  It’s baffling.

Angst, Friends, History, Humor, Office, University, Work

Making a Cake of Myself

“If you wait a few minutes you can have a piece of cake.  Baked it chock-full of love, actually chock-full of unrelenting, all-consuming rage and hostility.  But still tasty.”
-Grey’s Anatomy

I made light of it but yesterday’s brush off (you know, when I delivered fifty years of an otherwise undocumented perspective on the growth of the university, state, and country through some of the most turbulent social decades of the previous century…nothing big) was a crushing blow.  I’ve been coasting along blissfully at work ever since my rage stroke without caring too much about the administrative snafus that I seem to see everywhere.

But then this happened and my entire academic life flashed before my eyes.  I wondered if all my education even mattered, if I’d ever be able to use it again, what would become of me, blah blah blah.  It was rough.  To make it worse it was compounded with hormones and J. wanting to talk about our future (grad school, loans, working now, internships).  The overwhelming sense of uncertainty blended nicely into the tempest already brewing in my teapot.

Cue minor meltdown.  I started baking immediately.  I hate cooking of all forms so for me it’s the ultimate cathartic experience: I can take out my emotions by beating eggs, shredding carrots, and pummeling dough into submission, and come out with something sugary at the end.  Perfect.  Luckily Venice and I met somewhere in the middle – she needed butter, I needed Midol – and I got a nice heaping dose of perspective, as she’d had a pretty wretched day too.

She’s been suffering at work for years now.  And unlike me, she doesn’t have lots of really great co-workers and supervisors to make the stupidity and drudgery less irksome.  (Don’t go, Venice!  Er…ahem…)  Twenty minutes complaining about work, mutual resolve to learn to cope better, and I was ready to talk grad school with J.

Summary: Friends and muffins make everything, even the occasional crisis of faith, better.