Now, while some people come into our office and say things that are just plain silly, other people say things that are, literally, unbelievable. From this week (and it’s only Wednesday morning):
“I have a doctor’s note. Uh…from…um…a doctor!” *
“I’ve, uh, locked myself out of my car. Don’t have my keys. Could you guys open it for me?”
“Can you prove ownership of the car?”
“Um, no. Can’t you just shoot the trunk lock open for me?” **
“You don’t understand, you are going to do what I tell you. Don’t you know who I am?” ***
* I am a rhinoceros. One of us is lying.
** I’ll bet lunch someone finds a body. Any takers?
*** No. I don’t. And since it’s my job to be painstakingly aware of all requisite movers and shakers, that ought to tell you something.
We are rather busy and terribly grumpy. We are hiring nearly 30 people, firing about 20, and processing paperwork for all of them, along with giving all our 200 employees an individual raise. Your complaints about not being able to buy more targets to vaporize in shooting practice, bafflement on how to use the fax machine, repeats of questions we’ve answered dozens of times, or excuses of why your work is late will not be acknowledged, much less tolerated.
“If idiots could fly, this place would be an airport.”
– Sign on Lauper’s desk
I am constantly amazed at some of the conversations that we, as a police department, get to be a part of. Read on for a sampling of THIS week’s pearls of wisdom:
“My child’s backpack went missing at your university over the weekend. I’ve checked the Lost and Found, all the custodial departments, and with his camp counselors. What do you think happened to it?”
“Honestly, ma’am, I think it very likely it was stolen.”
“(Gasp!) Would someone do that?!” *
“I just thought that if I didn’t pay these tickets they would just go away.”
“Sorry, sir, that’s not correct. If you don’t pay tickets they go to collections after a certain number of months. That information is found both on our website and printed on the ticket you recieved.”
“Well, I still wasn’t going to pay them. It was the principle of the thing.” **
“I’ve been driving around for an hour looking for your pink parking lots.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“The pink parking lots! They’re pink on your map, but I haven’t found any parking lots painted pink.”
“Ma’am, we only depict them in pink on the maps to distinguish visitor parking lots from all the other lots on campus, they are really just normal parking lots.”
“What do you mean? This is false information!” ***
“So, on Craigslist we found a listing for a scooter that we’re interested in, but I wanted a police opinion first.”
“Go ahead.”
“Well, it’s listed for $50, the guy says he doesn’t have paperwork for it, and doesn’t even have a key for it. Does that sound normal to you?”
“…?” ****
* Yes, ma’am, they would. Which is why we have police departments.
** Congratulations. Your principles, which apparently do not include being a law abiding citizen, have just ruined your credit score.
*** I don’t think we’re going to be able to help you.
**** Let me guess, the owner is Mr. Jean Boogaloo from Nigeria.
“…where there are bosses there are crazy bosses. It’s nothing new.”
Judd Rose
I’ve already mentioned Lt. Figaro’s ability to talk the brains out of new employees. I failed to explain a couple of his other quirks that makes him beyond compare the most odd person we work with.
First of all, he is never around. Seriously. We go whole days without seeing him. Weeks sometimes.
Second, he has the amazing ability to bend the space-time continuum. If, on the off chance he is located in his office, you must never take your eyes off of him. Because the moment he wanders out, he’s lost. If he but turns a corner, goes into someone’s office, or shuts a door behind him…he is GONE. You can run after him, you can search everyone’s cubicle, you can call after him, but it will all be in vain. He has stepped into another dimension and will not reappear for several hours.
Third, he will (either on accident or on purpose, we aren’t sure which) invariably forget his schedule. Even if he’s the one who arranged it. It doesn’t matter if he called a meeting himself, there is a very good chance he will manage to forget it or fail to show up to it for at least a half hour.
All of this occasionally congeals into a wonderfully absurd/frightening cocktail, as it did this morning.
At nine o’clock on the dot, a smart young man showed up at my front desk and said politely that he needed to speak with Lt. Figaro and had an appointment with him. I trotted off to his office only to discover that he was, predictably, absent. So I tried Susie who said she’d seen him heading towards the back office mere second earlier, but a brisk walk around the whole department proved he wasn’t to be found.
At this point I head back to the front desk to apologize and ask if there is anything I can help this dapper young man with. He explained that he’s been hired by one of the Sergeants but was instructed to pick up something from Figaro (which makes no sense, as this new hire will be working in a facility a couple miles off campus and will never come into our office again, but Figaro insists on giving out their identity cards). I try but can’t locate this card. Hennessy and Wise asked what I was doing and when I explained they rolled their eyes.
“I told him about this twice yesterday and sent him an email,” she sighed. “Better just wait and see if he shows up.”
At 9:15, I go back to Hennessy’s desk and ask her to just get Figaro on the phone and she obliges while Wise hovers to catch the denouement. After a couple of rings he picks up and though we can’t hear the other half of the conversation, we watch Hennessy’s face go through a series of convulsions.
“Your nine o’clock has been waiting for you.”
[Eyes widen]
“Oh.”
[Grimace]
“Alright, we’ll let him know.”
[Hurriedly hangs up phone and snatches hand away from the receiver]
“Oh my gosh…he’s in the bathroom!”
My brain needs bleach!
What he was doing in there for nearly 20 minutes is a mystery we’d rather not ponder, but that he answered his phone there…gah! We all had to dance around making faces and saying “Yuck!” for a while to clear the image.
Responsibility without power, the fate of the secretary through the ages.
– Ariel Dorfman
Tomorrow I’ll finally (hopefully) have that long-awaited talk with Chief about this big to-do that went nowhere. The whole experience has been more than a little ridiculous, a lot of drama and politicking for next to nothing to show for it, and I feel that I may be on the chopping block for it. Now, Common Sense is arguing pretty solidly that Chief isn’t going to fire me for trying to accept an offer that would have bettered my long-term work circumstances…but Paranoia is hinting darkly that he may for no other reason than he feels I tried to betray him and the department. Which isn’t true in the slightest, but I know by now that if someone wants to think the worst nothing will dissuade them.
Little known 11th plague, whch wiped out all the scribes and secretaries.
The truth is, Dr. F’s offer meant the one thing that the Police Department cannot give me: a promotion. By moving to the IS office I would have become the office manager and supervisor (what Susie is to me now). Promotions in the PD are hard to come by. Something truly biblical would have to happen, at least three other people would have to die suddenly in order for me to receive a new position, and as those people are my close friends the whole situation would probably prove traumatic. Even Wise, when she left my position for her current one, didn’t move UP the proverbial ladder at all, her new responsibilities didn’t come with a higher grade or more money or more recognition, if anything it was a big step sideways. Now although Dr. F implied more money for me (certainly with the upcoming University annual raise), the reason I wanted to accept this position is not so mercenary as that.
J. and I have no idea where we will be next year for his graduate program. California, Pennsylvania, Illinois, Indiana, Texas, Massachusetts, Utah, or Gibraltar, for all I know. And we won’t know for several months yet. But there is a good chance that we will be moving and now is the time to start brushing up my resume. I’ve been encouraged to take IT training classes to fill my free hours during the Spring/Summer, but I’m also taking them to add to my list of hireable skills. I’ve been reviewing past projects I’ve worked on to see what else I could do to make me appealing to potential future employers. And when Dr. F offered me the chance to move up to a manager’s position, I wanted to accept it because the additional experience and responsibilities would have made me more desireable in the workplace (because, if you haven’t noticed, it’s a cold, cold, dark hiring situation out there and a girl needs all the help she can get).
I hope I’m not going to be punished for trying to improve my situation, but I’m forced to entertain the possibility that I might. My dark humor cannot help but picture me at job interviews, “So, why did you leave your job at the PD?” “Well, I wasn’t trying to…” but I don’t totally expect it. Que sera sera. However, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this whole event from a new perspective and I’ve come to some conclusions.
First, there is no way that being a secretary is going to make me perfectly happy, fulfilled, or satisfy the immortal longings of my soul. It is, in many ways, an utterly thankless job and acts of recognition are few and far between. This irks me because I am a pretty ambitious woman, I like to move forward (and hopefully up) and dislike doing good work and receiving no credit for trying to be a good employee. However, that is the nature of the beast. I’m extremely well-educated but not at all qualified to do anything. Margot and Venice are trained teachers, Janssen is a trained librarian, Brando is a trained stockbroker, Dad is a trained lawyer, Mum is a trained scholar…most of the people I know are a trained something. What I’ve got (besides an encyclopedic knowledge of useless facts) is a good brain, common sense, and organizational skills, and these are apparently in pretty high demand because not everyone in my office has those.
Second, I get frustrated, annoyed, and downright furious sometimes at how ridiculous my office can be and what I really need to learn is to let that go. I can’t fix it, I can’t make the powers that be see sense, and things are not going to change. I often feel that I’m smarter than my job, and I don’t think I’m entirely wrong. In fact I think I’m positively right, but dwelling on that fact doesn’t change my circumstances and usually only serves to make me angry at my situation. And hey! I’ve got a job! That’s a lot to be thankful for.
Third, my job does not challenge me. And I need to be challenged, as anyone who knows me at all will attest. But it doesn’t and won’t and I need to stop fighting that fact. What I need to do is adopt an Edwardian attitude towards it and make my life, as a secretary, my art. Being an office monkey isn’t difficult, but being a class act and making it appear easy…now that’s a challenge!
While I'm confessing, though, I think what I really want is the sense of value she gets. It's subtle but it's real. I'd love to be called into a meeting and have someone's reaction be, "C.. What a good idea."
In fact, while working out with Margot, it came to me in a flash of brilliance. What I need to be, is Joan Halloway. Er, minus the having salacious affairs with the men of my office (shudder). Joan doesn’t necessarily want to be a secretary, but she enjoys being good at what she does and likes working. She’s impeccably put together. You don’t mess with her because she will take you apart (classily, but viciously). And if you’re making an office coup, or some guy’s foot gets chopped off by a lawn mower, or someone is out because they’re having a baby and didn’t know they’re pregnant to begin with – Joan will locate your files, make a tourniquet out of a scarf, and step in to take over your correspondence.
I don’t have to adore being a secretary…but that doesn’t mean I can’t be a damn good one anyway.
“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.
“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.
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.
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.”
“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!).
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.
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.
“Happy is the man with a wife to tell him what to do, and a secretary to do it.”
-Lord Mancroft
Shades of this flash through my mind!
8:45 – Susie comes to my desk and says, “Chief would like to meet with you and Hennessy at 10, is that ok?” C. blanches in panic and promptly dives deep into a pit of the horrors (I’m getting sacked, Hennessy’s getting sacked, We’re both getting sacked, NO!!!!, They can’t do this, Don’t they know what I’ve done for them, I’m too important, right…No, I’m expendable…AH!, Angst Angst Angst, etc.) Susie assures her that nothing is wrong, but as you may imagine, this does little to help matters.
9:00 – Hennessy comes into work and receives the same message. Panic escalates. Circumstances are dissected during morning walk to turn in checks and cash to the accounting office.
9:30 – C. alternately tries cajoling and blackmailing anyone in the office for information.
9:45 – Bleak. All is bleak.
10:00 – Chief is nowhere to be found. C. is “defibbed” as her heart succumbs to the stress and anxiety of worrying.
10:15 – Chief, Lt. Figaro, and Susie convene with Hennessy and C. in conference room. Hennessy and C. sit at the far end of the table to give them more reaction time to the blow that is coming. They are sternly asked to move closer. They grudgingly comply.
10:20 – Chief reveals that the department has new needs, and needs to go in a new direction, so they need to shake up the ranks a little.
10:21 – C. and Hennessy clutch their chairs as the vortex of doom swirls around them.
10:22 – “So,” continues Chief, “we’re going to take you out from Figaro’s supervision and make you both subordinate to Susie instead. Fun, huh?”
10:23 – “Vortex of doom” evaporates instantly leaving C. stuck with the amassed fear and anxiety that has plagued her for hours. She feel oddly cheated.
Not exactly my boss. I'd like to think I could be this secretary (minus the dirty mistress part) but alas...
Anyway, this so-called shake up just means that Hennessy and I are now reporting…to the person I, at least, have been reporting to for months now. Susie is pretty much queen of the secretaries: Joan without being social-climbing, manipulative, or sexually adventurous, just an all around decent person. She’s also the administrative brains of the office and actually managed to pound it through our supervisors’ heads that we’d be much more effective as a secretarial pool rather than as scattered puddles. Within ten minutes of us being under her command, I’d been given a list of both long and short term projects and assignments.
Unfortunately, since I’m a fast worker (or just possibly have nothing else to do) I’ve already crossed about half of them off. No change there, I suppose.
“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!
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.
Small Dog Syndrome 