| 2003-01-03 - 4:55 p.m.
Do I LOOK like the magic 8 ball?
Subtitled: The dose of Prozac needs to be upped. Work rant ahead. I guess I am the amazing swami with All The Answers here at work. I was in the office for about 15 minutes before I wanted to WALK OUT. Fuck them all and the horses they rode in on. My ass was not even IN MY SEAT when the Diva was waving a card in front of my face from some listener who heard an announcer do A Stupid Thing. "OK", says I, "what do you want me to do?" "Well, I'm telling you because it's YOUR RESPONSIBILITY". Ah yes, the dog is mine when it's bad. THEN I get email from the assistant big boss about A Terrible Mistake that happened when the jazz host didn't show up. Oh nooooo! We have to do make goods on the spots. Something. Must. Be. Done. We can't let this happen again! She always does this. It's a relatively small mistake in the great scheme of things, but since the traffic and billing person (also matron of honor at my wedding) is her bestest girlfriend, anything that inconveniences J Must Be Stopped. Did I mention fuck them? So now we have a lovely email dialogue going, in which she says I'm sounding like I'm feeling attacked. yeah. I'm saving asses all over, including my own, and I can't count on SQUAT from anyone, except crap when something messes up. Why do I have to do this every damn day? What horrid karmic debt am I paying back? I should be valued and respected here, and I'm not. I'm the only one who knows how to make these trains run on time, and all I get is crap for not making them run faster. I CAN'T EVEN TAKE A VACATION. waaaah.
0 comments so far
|