Tag: Office Work

Humor, Life, Office, Work

Chivalry is Dead

 “Always be nice to secretaries.  They are the real gatekeepers in the world.”
– Anthony J. D’Angelo 

Not an hour into work and with stacks of paperwork already piled high on our desks, both the copier and shredder broke causing a swell of panic on the secretaries’ part.  Wise, Susie, and I dove into action.  After the right combination of kicking, bashing, praying, and human sacrifice was accomplished the copier shuddered, whirred, and started working again and we moved our attention to the shredder.  Then my phone rang and there was a grouchy state attorney on the line, and Amanda was dragged off to do a record expungement leaving Susie to wrestle with the machinery. 

In sauntered Lt. Figaro (late as usual) and he meandered up to Susie and started talking. 

I imagine that if the officers ever did take the initiative to fix their own problems, the secretaries' reaction to the resulting chaos would look something like this.

While I looked up records for the attorney I watched her stick her arm and fingers into the mechanisms to fix a blockage while he told the story of an African student he knew (which is really inspirational, don’t get me wrong).  As she dragged the whole thing away from the wall to poke around the electrical hookups he led into the differences of education in multiple countries, which turned naturally to American politics.  When she dragged the bag of shredded paper out of its compartment (which was nearly as big as she is and threatened to spill out everywhere) he reached his crescendo:
“And that is just what the terrorists want!  They want to make us feel inferior and inadequate!  We can’t let the terrorists win!” 

At which point the attorney let me go and I was able to scurry back in time to keep the mess from tipping over and shove the whole contraption back into place. 

“Good job, girls,” Figaro said and went back to his office to take a nap or something.

Humor, Life, School, Snark, University, Work

Thwarted

“I don’t need to compromise my principles because they don’t have the slightest bearing on what happens to me anyway.”
– Bill Watterson, Calvin and Hobbes

Chief has squashed my plan of taking a class this coming semester to prep for grad school.  The reason given is that Wise (who is enrolled in the very program I’m after) has a lot more leeway to take classes since she doesn’t have a front desk position and work with the public as I do.  A decision that makes sense on paper, and which I can grudgingly understand…if it were not for the fact that several police officers and other supervisors for the department take classes very frequently, often for multiple semesters in a row (and shouldn’t police officers deal with the public just as much, if not more than me?).  AND if it were also not for the department history and manifesto I retyped and edited four days ago, containing an entire paragraph about how the department strongly encourages and accommodates the further education of its employees through university classes. 

Although I find the logic painfully baffling, I also understand that it’s an executive decision on the Chief’s part which, in all fairness, he did mull over for several days (before crushing it into tiny, tiny pieces).  And though I admit I wish I could throw my level-headed acceptance of this ruling out the window and throw a (mild) tantrum, that’s not really my style.

I prefer weaseling around the problem.  I’ve enrolled in some independent study courses and am looking into evening classes as well, which fall outside supervisor oversight.  It’s annoying to try to get into them at this late date, but I have at least three terms between now and when my application would be turned in so I have plenty of time to formulate a new plan of attack!

Small Dog is feeling, er...bulldogish.

I could switch departments (unlikely with the hiring freeze, but I won’t rule it out).  My French course, offered through independent study, could potentially count as my final language requirement and remove all obstacles.  I could say, “To Hades with it all!” and become a full-time student again (plunging us back into poverty, but only for a year or couple of semesters towards the end of J.s degree – very unlikely, but still possible depending on my level of desperation).  I could stage a coup and overthrow the school, take the president hostage, and demand he let me take my one single class (extremely unlikely). 

There are options, my darlings.

Drama, Humor, Silly, Work

Another Tale From The Front Desk

 “You can do a lot if you’re properly trained.”
– Queen Elizabeth II

All police officers and dispatchers are required to complete a certain amount of training hours per year to keep their certification, and it is one of my jobs to keep track of those hours and turn the total into the state every year.  So, as a good little secretary does, every few months or so I pull out all the training information I have on everyone and reconcile the spreadsheet and database we keep them in.  Then I give that info to Lt. Citrus who in turn sends it out to all the officers…

…five minutes after that email goes out, my inbox is flooded with angry missives and my phone lights up with the rabid snarls from officers accusing that I have “forgotten to log their hours,” “obviously didn’t get their many emails,” or passive aggressive suggestions that perhaps I “just misplaced them, dear.” 

After three days of checking, double checking, data entry, and getting yelled at, Small Dog is not inclined to be friendly towards officers who try to blame email for their problems.

I take a certain amount of dark pleasure in showing them my stack of training reports that I collect and my email archives (which I started saving for months for this very purpose) to show that I have logged all the hours they’ve given me, obviously have gotten all of their emails (their emails just don’t mention training hours as much as missing laundry), and have certainly not misplaced anything.  Dear.

It’s all for naught!  Three months from now I’ll go through the whole reconciling process again and then have to reconcile myself to the wrath of the officers!

Fabulous, Fashion, Fun, Humor, Shopping, Work

A Day In The Life (or, Retreat! Retreat!)

“To live content with small means; to seek elegance rather than luxury and refinement rather than fashion; to be worthy not respectable, and wealthy not rich…this is my symphony.”
-William Ellery Channing

A worthy, worthy goal, my loves, but how is a girl supposed to resist the allure of the fabulousness we endured during our secretaries retreat today?

How can a secretaries retreat be fabulous you ask?  I shall tell you.

image_room_double_luxury_1
Well, if we MUST...

First of all we went to the local ski town/get-a-way for many of the rich and famous.  We were treated to an incredible suite in an amazing five-diamond winning lodge-style hotel, because the guy who is head of security there used to work for our police department and likes us.  We were given the works!  Valet parking, personally escorted to our rooms, a charming young man sent up to light a fire for us, lunch at the five-star restaurant on the house, and the grand tour of the premises.  He pointed out the various celebrities homes on the neighboring mountain (many of which he’s run security on), walked us through where a certain un-named actress was recently married, took us through the rooms where a past president stayed, gave us several un-repeatable bits of gossip into the lives of some celebrities and dignitaries as he led us through the rooms they occupied, and also told us stories about the incredible lengths they go to in this place to preserve privacy

Sidenote – why oh WHY am I a secretary?!  Why didn’t I go into protocol, start in the government and military circles that revolve around themselves in England and work my way up through the fabulous hotels of London, doing the obligatory stint in the Queen’s service of course, and finishing up in a place where interesting people whirl in and out and ask you for nothing but to keep their secrets?  Whilst leaving five hundred dollar tips!  My only recourse at the point is to somehow break into the world of writing and become one of those interesting people with secrets, I suppose.

Back to our tale!  After being wined and dined, we spent two glorious hours attacking the local outlet stores that include everything from GAP to Coach!  I justified buying myself a few things by buying even more things for other people, knocking a solid three family members off my Christmas-shopping list in an hour.  Completely disregarding the fact that we are still paying off the four new tires currently cushioning my car.  Christmas is coming, and there will be no goose to get fat because C. will have pawned it in desperation.

funny-dog-pictures-jeeves-bone
Small Dog lives it up.

And believe it or not, we managed to have a lovely meeting in which frustrations were discussed, problems were solved, training was accomplished, and much needed venting got done.  It was glorious.

“Why don’t the guys ever go on retreats like this?” asked Wise as we pulled out our folders, took notes, and stretched our feet luxuriously towards the fire.
“Because they don’t know how to do things properly,” I retorted.  “Peasants.”

Humor, Snark, Work

The Lowly Secretary In Her Natual Habitat

“The reward for a job well done, is usually a harder job.”
-Lois McMaster Bujold

For all of my supervisors’ shifting and sorting in order to keep me steadily busy (which, by the way, is absolutely impossible with police work: you’re either swamped or drooling on your keyboard while the minutes laugh at you as they snail on by) I still managed to finish my jobs months ahead of schedule and can now apparently recommence drooling undisturbed. 

Obviously, I’m having another bout of feeling frustrated by my job.  They come and go.  Each attack gets less vitriolic and more resigned, but the feeling still boomerangs, and probably will continue doing so until J.’s done with school and we move, I finally toss off all restraints and throw myself into writing professionally (bankrupting and starving us both in the process), or until I succumb to the idea that resistance to my fate is futile (never!).

busy_person
I make this go away. You're welcome.

If ever I’m not outrageously busy, somebody wanders by and makes snarky comments about how they’re paying me and Hennessy to sit on our bums and do nothing.  Regardless of the fact that I do all of the department’s customer service, or whatever it’s referred to in police work, maintain all department records, do all the mindless projects they dump on my desk simply because they don’t want to do them, keep the office clean, maintain all of their schedules, have attended all the trainings and obtained all the certifications, skills, and accesses they’ve required of me, manage all our 150 student employees, work with courts, lawyers, and insurance companies constantly, and still do their bloody laundry three days a week!  I’ve also identified and fixed procedural problems of my own volition and been commended for it!

Click here to recieve your reward.
Click here to recieve your reward.

Obviously this deserves punishment, scorn, and snark from my co-workers/supervisors.

If I’m capable of keeping up my normal duties and still managed to clean, resort, restock, and reorganize our huge office supplies/police gear/self-defense class items/parking equipment storage closet in three days, rewrite the entire procedure manual in four, and set up Chief’s email contact sheets in ten minutes…shouldn’t that mean that I can go to the vending machines for a snack without someone getting in a snit?

I deeply apologize for being a fast and thorough worker.  I’m even considering stopping it.  Because apparently all it gets me is frustrated in the long-term, and lectured and punished in the short.

Fun, Humor, Satisfaction, Work

Can You Hear Me Now?

“Technology makes it possible for people to gain control over everything, except technology.”
– John Tudor

Our resident IT guy (a species who, as you may remember, is the ancient enemy of secretaries) coming up to me one day and saying, “I’m going to take your phone so that the dispatch center in the stadium can have it.”
C. asking quickly as he started walking away, “Um, can I get a new one?”  
“Yeah, the old stadium one.  It doesn’t work very well, so good luck with that.”

Irritation.

“New phone” being broken to the point that it isn’t recognizing picking up or hanging up, and the surface scratched so badly the screen is unreadable.  Dozens of incoming messages being lost into the netherworld of dropped/missed calls.  Calling up the IT gods where they wither in their dark, lonely cave and demand a solution.  An actual New Phone getting installed and C. learning from the IT minions how to personally program the phone’s appearance.  

Satisfaction.

Small Dog's means are few, but she takes what she can get!
Small Dog's means are few, but she takes what she can get!

The office IT guy strolling  by and looking down at the screen, where he sees, “WHY ARE YOU READING THIS?!” blazoned across it, and jumps about a mile.  C. seeing the whole thing.

Priceless.

Drama, Humor, School, Stupid People, University, Work

Typical Thursday, Part I

 “Angry people are not always wise.”
-Jane Austen

A law student came into the office today, demanding more parking for graduate students.  With the new parking system, still not completely patched and just limping along, lots of students have been taking advantage of the absence of usual oversight by parking wherever they want: handicapped stalls, dean and administrator lots, etc.  Which means that when (and if) this new system starts functioning properly, a whole lot of people are in for a nasty surprise.  I forsee the university setting up a new scholarship fund out of the proceeds, but I digress.

We apologized for the inconvenience and said it should be corrected in a month, but that did no good.  As Lt. Figaro explained the policy regarding each of her complaints, she kept changing her argument and problem until she was eventually asking for us to build new parking, or take parking away from other people to give to graduate students.
“We already have about one parking space per three grad students and special lots for you,” Figaro said, wearily, “as opposed to one in five for the rest of our students.”
“But we need more!”

“Ma’am,” I said, “we have thousands of students currently attending, plus several thousand more faculty, staff, administrative, service personnel, and contractors who come to this school everyday.  Plus there is another university in the next city over.  This area was never meant to accomodate nearly XXX thousand extra people, city planning hasn’t kept up with it in the past two generations.  You’re asking us for space that we cannot give you, because it literally does not exist.”
“But I spent forty-five minutes circling that parking lot to find a space yesterday!”
“Well,” offered Figaro, “did you try parking at the basketball arena or football stadium and walking?”
She gasped in outrage, “All that way?!”