“But I feel…I don’t know…”
“Daisy. Allow me to disabuse you of this social-moral qualm. It is perfectly all right to not want to go out with a guy who seems to be universally disliked, who’s married and has a kid.”
“Ok!”
– Daisy and C.
Our department is a pit of intrigue and private vice. Or, rather, it would be a pit of intrigue and private vice if we weren’t so poisonously good and had such marvelous senses of humor.
Almost a shame. Almost.
“One measure of friendship consists not in the number of things friends can discuss, but in the number of things they need no longer mention.”
– Clifton Fadiman
Yesterday was one of those days where everything went wrong.
On Tuesday I started a project to audit our records of everyone who is permanently forbidden from campus. I worked on it and nothing else for two days, 16 straight working hours and paid meticulous attention to detail. The product I turned in was exactly what had been requested.
Yesterday I went to talk with the officer who assigned me the project and he told me it wasn’t what he wanted at all (even though when I gave it to him Wednesday and he looked over it, he pronounced it good). Instead of just running an audit to see whether our paper files and electronic files meet up, apparently I’m supposed to create an easy reference guide so that a committee of people can decide whether any of these people should be permitted on campus in the future. Which is not what I was originally assigned and which requires entirely different information than an audit which, not to harp on, I’d spent 16 hours compiling data for.
Then! A volunteer organization we (and when I say “we” I mean “I”) run background checks for started a minor panic with it’s volunteers by declaring that they had never received the results of checks we (meaning “I”) had run.
“Bollocks!” cried I viciously, pulling up multiple emails spanning a month demonstrating that I had, in fact, sent the results off properly.
I have pride issues. I have no problem admitting when I’ve done something incorrectly or correcting mistakes. But when I’ve done my job properly, supplied exactly what was asked, and done so in a fabulously quick manner, only to be told I’m completely in the wrong and/or failed in a basic duty when I haven’t…poor J. gets a long rant over lunch.
Snarl. The dizzying cocktail of feminine hormones currently swirling through my system didn’t make matters easier either.
However, thanks to a long and rather hilarious talk with Sav, Vodka, and Hennessy about (among other things) law, obstetrics, and drugs (legal ones!), I’m feeling in much better form.
TGIF, my fuzzy little chinchillas.
“Hi, this is [ahem] from the History department. We’ve just received a package that appears to contain a human skull. Could you send someone over, please?”
– [ahem] from History department
See above.
We sent over an officer half expecting to uncover a Halloween decoration with “Made in China” stamped merrily across it. Imagine our surprise then when he carted back a box containing two and half genuine human noggins! Look to be Native American remains, they’re trying to trace them now. Naturally the desecration of human bodies and disturbing of Indian remains is both illegal and (especially at this time of year) liable to open portals into the nether world, but sue me, I’m thrilled. I dashed back to the patrol room, slapped on a pair of plastic gloves, and got to handle them under the officer’s watchful eye. It’s the most interesting thing that’s happened in a couple of weeks! And if I drop dead in the near future, you can snuff it up to an ancient curse.
In less bizarre but equally exciting news, poodles, come back tomorrow for an exciting new giveaway!
Note: the prize will not include federally protected remains, items, artwork, etc. Apologies in advance for any disappointment.
“It’s like saying ‘Macbeth’ in the theatre!”
– Grey’s Anatomy
Surviving in the corporate world, even on the rather planktonian level of a University police office, requires certain precautions of the supernatural variety. Whether by occult design or unnatural happenstance, bad things often happen in threes. Whenever one needs a large print job, an obligatory sacrifice of small animals/Freshmen is usually necessary to get its resident poltergeist to permit the entire project to come out unscathed. When discussing hypothetical future events, it is absolutely necessary to pound, not simply knock, on wood to ensure that nothing will hex your efforts.
And you must never, under any circumstances, ever make the fatal mistake of saying that the office is “quiet.” It matters not if it’s dull as tombs, to draw attention to any dearth of activity is to invoke the wrath of the Office Gods who delight in punishing mortals. The moment you mention that you haven’t enough to do, that no one has come to the front desk in some weeks, or that the phone hasn’t even rung in approximately 400 years…le deluge.
Cars start colliding, thieves pour from the shadows and swipe everything in sight, power lines go down and tornadoes spin up.
Friday I made the classic error. Hennessy and I were comparing late afternoon notes on our days when I confessed that the office was dead.
Immediately bellows erupted from Lt. Figaro’s office and echoed down the hall as he and a patron got into it a bit over the phone. And mere moments after that a young lady appeared, asking one of the officers to do something to a report (I didn’t hear precisely what, but it seemed she wished to come off sounding better than she felt the report currently did). She was instantly and brusquely informed that no such change would be made and was bid a stern good day and exited snarling. Every phone in the office started ringing. Lt. Figaro finally hung up on his frothing foe and stormed out to raise havoc in the patrol room.
Seeing that she was next in line for a lashing, I quietly suggested to Hennessy that she and I extricate ourselves from the situation my tongue had foolishly caused. We escaped to do the laundry run.
“Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.”
~ Katharine Hepburn
Yesterday, under orders from the University, the entire department attended an anti-harassment seminar. It didn’t go as well as could have been desired.
The officers, muttering something about cooties, grudgingly trotted off and about an hour later office personnel followed. When the secretaries entered, a collective groan went up as the men were forced to put away their Vargas posters and NSFW magazines.
The presenter stood up, closing her ears when an unnamed person muttered something about “having to listen to this broad for an hour,” and put on a cheerful face.
“I’m here to talk to you all today about unacceptable behaviors at work. Luckily there are no [censored slur] here, so this should be easy.”
Things rapidly devolved from there.
“The protected categories of personal traits are sex, gender, religious affinity, color, genetic information, age, and -”
“What’s the difference between sex and gender?” yelled out someone. “I mean, besides who you’re allowed to hit on?”
“One is your actual sex, male or female. The other refers to expectations or traits of your sex. For example, ridiculing a woman for trying to tackle something obviously beyond her scope, like chemistry. Or a man for studying something that we can use to determine his sexual orientation, like musical theatre.”
“I’m a musical theatre major,” injected one student from the back of the conference room.
“Oooh, look at him,” cooed some of his compatriots flapping their wrists at him and beginning to make obscene personal remarks.
“Then why don’t you put on a skirt and wash something,” yelled a sergeant, diminutive in size anxious to fit in the Boys Club.
C., enraged at the slur on A) skirts and B) laundry duties, leaped to her feet, climbed up over the seats and delivered a long and inventoried tirade abusing the sergeant’s personal hygiene and evolutionary history. Hennessy, attempting to restrain her friend, tried to mitigate matters until a student officer told her to “shut up, quit working, and stay at home like she was supposed to.” Whereupon both Hennessy and C. launched themselves at the student and his companions and frightful blows were exchanged.
“Women can work,” Chief hurried to scream into the fray, trying to calm everyone down, “unless they become pregnant!”
“Excuse me?” bellowed Wise planting her hands on her growing stomach to brace for impact before she barreled him over. Rounding on the company she roared, “Who’s next, you bunch of communists?!”
Susie demanded, “Who’s the commie pig?” whipped off her heels and began stabbing anyone in her way with stilettos
While this was going on, both a male and female officer had taken refuge under the stage. “Good thing we’re staying out of it,” said the male officer to a female, nudging her arm conspiratorially.
“Molester!” she screamed and dragged her surprised, hapless victim out where he was quickly devoured by a herd of bloodthirsty traffic clerks.
From the podium, the presenter tried to beat off a student officer with a propensity to stalking with a chair, yelling “Fire!” to make someone pay attention to her plight.
“I thought,” shouted Chief from where he was wrestling with a young female worker who was trying to get him in a compromising position in order to sue the university, “you had to tell someone who – ow! – was annoying or offending you – let go of my leg! – to stop before you could take legal action.”
“Oh no!” responding the presenter, getting her assailant into a headlock, “A behavior doesn’t have to be acknowledged to be unwelcome.”
“Yeah!” shouted Lt. Colossus, emerging from the brawl bloody but unbowed. “Watch!”
He reached out to where Lauper was punching an officer and ridiculing him for impotence, slapped her on the bum and collapsed on the ground when she promptly kneed him in the groin. She was then set upon by a small horde of police officers who beat her senseless, calling her (alternatively) Hindu, Sheik, Protestant, and a variation of African spiritualism that the editors are not sure how to correctly spell.
The brawl was not broken up until both dogs and firehoses were turned on the rampaging attendees. At which time it was ascertained that four were dead, seven concussed, one was bleeding out, three had lost the ability to walk, and two the ability to reproduce. Other casualties include a missing eye, several knocked out teeth and, to date, one marriage. After mopping up the entrails, the mob was deposited at the university’s Equal Opportunity office where the presenter, ashamed that she let the meeting get so out of hand, apologized but was fired anyway because in the future, “keeping track of these [censored slur] would clearly be a man’s job.”
After a strict talking to, the rest of us were sent home with copies of “Men are from Neptune, Women are from Saturn’s Sixth Moon, Titan.”
“There aren’t enough days in the weekend.”
– Rod Schmidt
Today I realized that, what with the insane week I’ve had at work/home/any other plane of existence that temporarily escapes me, I could not – for the life of me – remember whether or not I’d paid our October rent! On my lunch break I scampered over to our flat’s managers. She answered the door in her pajamas with scary hair and a sick-to-her-stomach looking face. Turns out, she’s pregnant and was having a miserably week to – and apparently so were a lot of other people living in our building because she waived the $15 late fee, citing life.
Excellent.
Also! Today was the first day I’ve worn a coat to work. It’s Fall! It’s my sister-in-law’s birthday so we’re going to her house this evening for cake. Tomorrow I get to play with Fairy and GS (whom I haven’t seen in weeks) for a lovely Ladies Only Afternoon. Last night I wore my chenille house slippers and made my first real cup of tea in a long time (with a teapot, as it was intended to be). J. is playing with the guys tonight so I think I will make a steaming pot of corn chowder and watch a movie.
The week’s almost over, poodles! Chins up!
“If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.”
– Woody Allen
Ever feel like God/the Universe/Fate/Whatever is doing that thing when you make plans and They laugh at you? Well, recently it’s felt like God/the Universe/Fate/Whatever has been having a benevolent but enthusiastic chuckle at our expense. Plans that we make, good plans, solid plans, with all necessary effort behind them to accomplish them, have just…not been happening.
Not to sound vain, but this is really the first time in my life that I’ve come up against so many game-changers (not counting my university’s Football team). I don’t know if that means I’ve been extremely clever, extremely lucky, or more than extremely pig-headed about getting what I plan on…but likely some combination of the latter two.
But I digress. Yesterday, the God/the Universe/Fate/Whatever decided that It had had enough of yanking our chains and allowed our hard work and single minded effort to pay off. Wiping the last of laughter tears from Its eyes, It gave a last little sigh of amusement and waved Its finger benevolently at us.
J. has an internship!
Granted it’s not the one we’d thought he’d have, but that’s not a bad thing. If he’d gotten the one we originally wanted, he’d have been shipped off somewhere for 6-8 weeks and I’d have stayed behind holding down the home front. Perfectly doable, but not at all fun (and the amount of Netflix I’d have consumed would have been perfectly shocking by any standards). But now he’s got an internship with a Fortune 500 company, local, that pays very well, and adds additional sparkle to his resume.
Collective sigh of relief.
“Ah, Cindy Sondheim, you should have lived in an earlier age. Things were simpler, less complicated. Do you know how many women had nervous breakdowns in the fourteenth century? Two.”
– Love at First Bite
Thanks for all the lovely pick-me-up comments yesterday, darlings. It was really nice to know how many of you have felt the same way – and as every last one of you have turned out amazing and unbelievably fabulous, I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to do the same with a bit more time, a few more naps, and much less stress.
Yesterday was beastly (if you couldn’t tell!). We’ve heard negatives on some of J.’s internship applications and are still waiting to hear back on others, which is almost more nerve wracking.
I had to hire a dozen students last minute and despite telling administration multiple times that we don’t have space for any more people, they were still shocked to discover that we didn’t have enough lockers or uniforms/gear for them. Unfortunately, the ones ending up looking foolish in this situation are your friendly neighborhood C. and Hennessy, who have to explain to several students why they have to cart a pile half as tall as me of gear home with them.
I barely averted a few violations that would have added up to potentially thousands of dollars in fines had I not caught them.
I’d only got four hours of sleep the night before.
So, these and other factors combined into the perfect storm. Literally! Just as I was getting ready to go do the laundry run, a massive lightening and rain storm whipped up. You may recall how often it rains when I do the laundry run, it’s lately become the office joke. So when I ambled past Susie’s office to tell her I was heading out I glanced our her window and froze. It was pitch black outside and rain was lashing the pane.
I felt a helpless, hysterical giggle start bubbling up inside of me and a clapped a hand over my mouth to keep it in. But to no avail! Both Susie and Wise turned, saw the rain, and started chuckling. Then Chief poked his head around the corner and grumbled, “Have you done the laundry yet?”
That did it. I collapsed on Susie’s desk laughing (and nearly crying). She and Wise joined in, Chief stared at us a minute before retreating to the safety of his office. When I got home, I put on flannel pants, an oversized sweatshirt, pinned my hair up, and crawled into bed with a book.
All better now.
“The saddest aspect of life right now is that science gathers knowledge faster than society gathers wisdom.”
– Isaac Asimov
The interesting thing about working at a university is how much information, equipment, and expertise is available to you. So when a plastic bag filled with large bones is found buried on the grounds, it’s the work of a moment to ask someone from Anthropology to come over and verify that they aren’t human. Just in case. Or, less professionally, when one is hungry, one can just scamper over to any of the cafes, food halls, or centers that provide sustenance for cheap prices.
Alternatively, using campus resources can often put one in an awkward situation.
In the library there is a very nice media lab where you can covert anything in any format to any other format you please. Now I’m pretty technologically illiterate, but even I can appreciate that sort of thing. And for the first time I got to use it yesterday when Lt. Citrus gave me a sack full of VHS tapes and told me to convert them to DVDs. How neat, thought I, and off I trotted.
I got a crash course in using the towering masses of machinery and, after snatching a book to keep me company (another benefit of a university setting), I got to work. There was a lot of loading/unloading tapes, keeping an eye on the screens, finalizing data, etc., but mostly it involved waiting for the tapes to run fully (which could last from a few minutes to a couple hours). And I even watched a couple: guy holding an audience hostage because God told him he was supposed to be supreme dictator or Earth, rioting at football games, your average wierdos…you know, the usual.
However there was some pretty dark stuff too and when converting those I taped paper over the screens (because I am of the somewhat old fashion opinion that an individual’s personal tragedy is nobody else’s damn business). During these tapes, I kicked back with my book until I was rudely disturbed but a gentleman marching up to me.
“You’ve been here for a long time,” he accused.
“Yes, and I apologize, but I am working on something important on behalf of the University. I’m nearly done. Do you need the machines?”
“No,” he said snappishly . “I just think you’re being inconsiderate taking up so much time.”
Not really prepared to handle this sort of time management vigilante-ism (side note – not one person had previously needed to use the machines or asked me when I would be done), I only blinked.
“You’re probably not even doing anything remotely important,” he continued, crossing his arms and turning up his nose. “What are you working on?”
I felt an eyebrow climb at his tone but answered in a chipper voice, “Well I’m transferring a video taken from a homicide scene investigation. Then I’ll have to transfer the autopsy tapes as well, care to watch?”
His eyes bugged for a moment and then he slunk off.
Like I said, the equipment and resources amassed here are fantastic, but the ability to see some people in all there snippy, self-important silliness might be my favorite part of my job after all.
“We are each of an unsocial, taciturn disposition, unwilling to speak, unless we expect to say something that will amaze the whole room, and be handed down to posterity with all the eclat of a proverb.”
– Jane Austen
So, we are right in the middle of what could be arguably one of the most important weeks of our lives. Certainly at least one of the most stressful for J..
He is interviewing for internships with the Big Four accounting firms this week, he also has two major tests, and tomorrow we’re flying out to California to celebrate the finalization of my brother and sister-in-law’s adoption of our little nephew.
We went to Firm #1’s reception the other night and I had an interesting time. Early in the evening the spouses of the interview candidates were shunted off to a different room, meaning that about 99% of the women there were removed. We all filed into a conference room where a string of partner’s wives were sitting at the front, looking very like the parish’s women’s organization presidency. And the whole hour continued very much in that vein, which was slightly uncomfortable for everyone concerned.
Then at dinner we were seated at an awkward table, people were either trying to say something extremely clever or were absolutely silent. However J. got to meet and ask the interviewer some questions and all indications so far are that his interview went well.
Firm #2’s reception was last night and was luau themed. Points for food and entertainment as they had Polynesian dancers and pyrotechnics. There was much fewer awkward silences, and the women weren’t kicked out which was a huge plus as far as I was concerned. This time we weren’t seated and got to jostle for position to meet with the representatives, again with the requisite attempts to be memorable. J. interviewed with them this morning, also went well.
Firm #3’s reception is tonight but I will be cleaning our house and packing for California so I won’t be able to report on that, ducklings.
However, a few thoughts! Last year when they first started recruiting overtures, we were introduced to The Swag. Sweatshirts, bags, all manner of stationary. This year Firm #1 gave us a canvas tote and an aluminum water bottle, as opposed to the rather cheapish, fall-apart-as-soon-as-look-at-it ones we got from Firm #2. But! Firm #2 pulled ahead when won a raffle prize at their reception, styled as a collapsible cooler, actually more like an over sized lunch box, and we also got real orchid leis as opposed to the cheap plastic kind you normally get at parties. However due to sheer bitterness, they dropped below pre-reception rankings when the guy called after us won an iPad. Firms #3 and #4 have only given pens, a shameful showing.
Small Dog Syndrome 