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After a long weekend of drinking and too many tourists flooding the DC metro area, I was dreading coming into work today. Like most, I hate my job, but recently I’ve come to terms with my great benefits package and growing salary. It helps that it’s not a difficult job, not very challenging and I can get through most days without straining myself too much. However, there is one person that drives me completely insane. it might be her inability to conjugate a verb, or the relentless emails showcasing her pole dancing skills, but this girl makes me reconsider the social norm to not hate crime stupid people.

I already called her a dumb whore last week (we wont get into that, it’s too incriminating), and I drove into work today fully prepared to just put my head down and work. Naturally, she wouldn’t let that happen. About an hour into my day, I was on the phone, dead eyed and counting the minutes until my next cigarette break, and she casually walks into my cubicle and drops off her iPhone. There is a video loaded up, ready to play. I finish up with the customer and like an idiot, hit play.

It was a video of her dog taking a shit.

I can now thank her for providing me with the perfect title for my book.

“Meditations on Rage: The 60 Hour work week”

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Snow Monster

If you’re living under a rock and have no access to any form of media you should know that the DC metro area is expecting 1-2 FEET OF SNOW THIS WEEKEND. First of all, how the fuck is this possible? Second of all, did they really have to cancel my flight 2 days in advanced when we haven’t seen a flake of snow yet?

I was scheduled to fly out to Boston for a conference for which I’m going to be a slave to for 3 days, but when word of the HOLYSHITSNOWSTORM spread I knew things were going to hell in a handbasket. I really don’t know what the means, but I’ve heard white people say enough to know it’s not good.* So I am now scheduled to leave Union Station at 9am and take a train 6.5 hours with my 5′5, bald boss,whose voice sounds like this friendly dinosaur’s :http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8ZZivl5iKCo.  If I can find some Ambien before I leave I’ll be sure to chase those with a bottle of wine.

I just think it’s a little ridiculous that they are asking me to go out of my way to get to Boston when an honest to God blizzard is about to descend upon the DMV area. I don’t mind hard work (hence working a full-time job and slinging coffee to douchey Georgetown students on my weekends), but there is  difference between dedication and pure insanity. The workforce is a weird and disillusioned place and my complaints only make me one of the many sheep that commute in the worst traffic every morning. Hopefully I’ll be lulled in complacency soon and stop coming to work disaffected and rageful.

*my parents are foreign-born so most colloquial sayings, idioms and weird metaphors are lost on me.

Lingering rage

I knew when I woke up today, and I could still feel the dull pounding over my eyes, it was going to be a long day. It’s only 10:45am, and I’ve been at my desk for a little over 3 hours. I’ve listened to a conversation about a book thats being passed around my department.

Act Like a Lady, Think Like a Man: What Men Really Think About Love, Relationships, Intimacy, and Commitment by Steve Harvey. Here’s an excerpt from the book:

I’m telling you right now: if you go to your man with a situation that’s fixable and he doesn’t try to fix it, he is not your man—he is not in love with you. Go ahead, I dare you to try it for yourself. When your man comes over, tell him, “You know, I just can’t stand this kitchen this way. The color just throws me all off, the cabinets are all wrong, they don’t go with the stove and I can’t get my mind right in here when I’m trying to cook.” If he’s all the way in it with you, he will say, without hesitation, “What color you want this kitchen to be, baby?” Tell him “pink,” and see if by next Saturday the whole kitchen isn’t painted pink, cabinets and all. He will see your distress, understand that if you don’t like the cabinets and the walls and the way the stove functions, you’re going to walk into that kitchen with your mouth poked out—phoning in the home-cooked meals because you just can’t hook up the steaks and baked potatoes like you want to in a kitchen you can’t stand. And we definitely don’t want that, so to the hardware store we will go. Even if we don’t have money for a complete remodel, we’ll go and find you some hardware for the cabinets, maybe some new handles, and some sandpaper—lots of sandpaper—to get that color you can’t stand off your cabinets, so that we can refinish them exactly the way you want them to be finished. A man who really loves you can’t wait to do this for you, because in the back of his mind, he can envision you with a smile on your face, setting his place at the head of the table, and serving up a fine meal in the new kitchen he fixed just for you. (Oh, make no mistake about it: we want to see you happy, but it’s also all about the return, ladies. Please understand and respect the return.)

 Ok. I’ve got nothing against self-improvement, evolving into a better person, and maybe trying to understand “your man” better. Whatever, thats your prerogative. However ,when I hear these two dumb bitches talk about this crappy self-help book with our supervisor 2 feet away, I’m suddenly filled with rage. Just shut up, and do the work so I don’t have to do it for you. I barely get through the day without fielding at least 50 of their asinine questions about the simplest things, so more productivity on their part might help me keep some semblance of sanity.  Also, it’s a stupid fucking book.

Stay tuned, I’ve got a string of emails from my coworker (who is singing loudly to gospel music in the cubicle next to me) with paragraph long Bible Verses.

Someone in my office bathes in this stuff. I know it’s this shitty perfume they wear because I used to drench myself in it in middle school. Hoping to attract one of the pre-pubescent fucks in my school, thinking one day I’d whiz by and they’d catch a whiff of my Eau De Toilette and magically fall in love with me. Little did I know that Davidoff doesn’t entice, it just triggers your gag reflex.

I think the universe was testing my temper today. Some questions from today:

1.What country is Kuwait in?

2. Want to see a youtube video of the move I’m learning in my pole dancing class?

3.Are you watching the Bad Girls Club today?

Tomorrow is only Wednesday, this is a problem.

It’s that time of year again. The holiday season is has come and gone and we’ve endured breaking the bank to buy gifts and throw holiday parties for people we can only tolerate a few times a year.  We’re also functioning under the delusion that New Year’s resolutions actually stick past MLK day.

After being deluged with hours of Lifetime and ABC Family holiday movies, I noticed a glaring trend. Every year around this time we are bombarded with movies all based on women who suddenly are thrown into some time warp. They always have to choose between their successful wall street-esque careers and their new lives as flustered housewives with 3 kids and PTA meetings. The movie usually begins with a montage of the young attractive female waking up at the crack of dawn, running 5 miles, with a blackberry in one hand and some sort of legal looking document in the other. We follow the ball busting woman through her day as she “makes mergers” or ‘bringing in the big bucks.” Cut to 11pm, she’s still at work behind a desk covered in papers and by now she’s wearing her glasses, and has a permanent scowl affixed on her thin face. A coworker knocks on the door and inquires as to when she’s heading home on this snowy night. Insert a sarcastic, scathing or disillusioned reply from our main character for example, “This is my home” with a stern look. Next comes the “crash scene” the young professional is driving home in inclement weather and her car suddenly spins out of control. She hits the brakes, because that’s what a woman would do, since we’re all horrible drivers. After watching flashbacks of her busy life and nights alone she awakens to a buzzing alarm clock and screaming children and 15 extra pounds on her face. 9 times out of 10 she’s wearing red flannel pajamas and the bedroom is a mess. It takes her about a week to reach the point where she has to make “the choice.” When confronted with the choice between the oh-so-awful life she had working full time and the life she’s inhabited for the past week (thanks to some ambiguous higher being or ghost from her past) the broad usually picks a house in the suburbs with 3 kids. So we fast forward through the years catching glimpses of her first date with the future husband, the engagement, her throwing the bouquet, her last day at the office, and of course when the first child is born. We end up at her waking up to the same buzzing alarm clock and wailing children, except this time the lady embraces her kids and husband. Tearfully saying “I’ve missed you, I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

Well fuck me, isn’t that sweet? I guess my life is only reduced to two options, a successful and empty life or a soul crushing, hectic (but Valium induced happy) life as a housewife. Here’s my choice: I don’t like kids enough to let one come out of my vagina and bug the shit out of me until I die.

Huddle up team

I spent two afternoons in November at a training session for customer service and call center representatives. The program was called CEO’S FOR HIRE. CEO standing for Customer Experience Owners.  Yes. It was as ridiculous and boring as it sounds. The presenter/motivational speaker wannabe was a middle aged balding man, who wore a bright red tie with penguins on it. This was the only thing redeeming quality about the guy. Some highlights from the “customer focus” workshop.

1. Steven, our motivational speaker wailed like a baby and flung his arms up as if to ask his mother for a hug. He was demonstrating how a customer must feel when dealing with our company.  He wrapped his arms around his shoulders and told us “You need to take them into your loving arms, and say, I got you… I GOT YOU.”

I looked around to see if anyone else wanted to start laughing or stabbing. I was surprised to see all of my colleagues nodding in agreement…mortified that no one else felt the urge to punch themselves asleep immediately.

2. We performed a couple “trust” exercises, which are common in any corporate training events. We were instructed to lead our blindfolded partner wherever they wanted to go. I hate these trust exercises. HATE. Under no circumstances am I going to trust the middle aged woman who only talks about losing “the baby fat” and spends 7 hours on the phone with her babysitter or forwarding Bible quotes to everyone. Nor am I going to trust the meathead who failed to have a pro football career and ended up at mid level management.

3. Role-playing. We had very strict instructions to not hang up or yell back at irate customers. He wanted us to remember that they were human beings as well, and maybe their having a bad day. It is our job to try and turn that around. I understand his approach and I’m not such a heartless bitch that I refuse to be kind and decent to our customers, but this man was operating under the notion that we deal with rational people all the time. Anyone that has ever worked in customer service, or interacted with human beings on a daily basis knows that this is EXTREMELY false.

4. We had name cards and magic markers. The best “artist” got a handful of chocolate. I drew an elephants butt.

5. As a follow-up to the workshop, we were instructed to write letters to ourselves filled with new ways to better serve our customers. Reminders to avoid cursing at the bitch that doesn’t understand how to fill out a form, or not to track down the jerk-off who refuses to write legibly, and finally to not jump off the balcony of our high rise building on our lunch break. We’ll receive the letters a couple months down the road, and we are supposed to work with our managers to come up with an action plan. I wonder how many people actually stick around long enough to receive it.

6. When the last portion of the training ended, our high strung presenter yelled at us (with the vigor of a college football coach during a bowl game) to become the BEST CEOS we could be.

Days like that make me regret stopping for red lights at major intersections.

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