Once again I am at that weird mental place where there are circuses and carnivals and parades and everyone’s enjoying the festivities…but me. Oh sure, there’s some cotton-candy memory and a vividly terrifying roller coaster somewhere in the recesses of my imagination, but I would much rather say, “Stop the world…I wanna get off!”
What the hell am I writing about? Well, there has been a lot of waiting on my part for the big, pretty elephant. You know, the same one stuck in some tight room that everyone alludes to knowing about but never mention? Right, that one. To me, the elephant represents the reward for all of my hard work at my current job. I keep jumping up and down, tugging on my parent’s sleeves screaming, “When will I get to see the elephants? When are the elephants coming?! Do you see them? Do you see them?” And still nothing. The anticipation is such that I have imagined a strange scenario akin to getting a spotlight rained on me with a Big Top Ring Announcer saying my name and calling me down from the stands. Yes, my mind is playing tricks on me that are that brutal. I’m in a weird mood lately, I told you!
So there I am standing in the middle of this wonderful carnival / circus performance and then…nothing. Absolutely no resolution. Only a crowd of onlookers and that “I-feel-sorry-for-you” look on their faces. That’s it. Big Top let down. I can even see the way I’m dressed: a sundress, those little black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes, rolled down frilly ankle socks. But, that’s all that there is. Now, I’ve gotta either a) bide my time until the elephant tamer gives me the bad news that overnight all of the elephants have died and aren’t coming or b) leave the circus and spend the rest of the evening miserable on the spinning-cup ride until I puke. At least, that’s how I feel.
I worked up a nice bit of anxiety over the course of the week picturing the office and all of those clowns judging me and asking to be more, do more and basically act the fool while feeling badly. So I took a mental-health day off. I felt underappreciated and needed to compose myself once again. Sing my own praises in front of my monitor. Watch some bad early morning tv like, Judge Judy and Jerry Springer. I love to hate those shows. I have to admit that the experience freshened me back up and I was pretty much back to normal on Friday.
The trouble is…
Okay, so why does it seem as though women just love to knock down other female counterparts in the workplace? Why, if they’re your boss are they extremely bitchy and nitpicky? If they’re your co-worker, they look for every oppotunity to stab you in the back all while smiling in a way that makes you aware of how fake they’re being?
Work is Like Jail: Time Served Is Time Served:
The longer that a woman is in Corporate America and manages to make it up that death-defying ladder of success, the less she wants to answer phones. It’s that simple. It’s not that she feels that it is beneath her, but let’s face it: she didn’t go to college to pickup a phone and transfer calls. Theoretically, her position has progressed since she’s done her time in the jail that is work. Those dues, no matter what company I worked for prior, have been paid in full. If convicts get time off for good behavior, so should a woman from answering phones! So why oh why does Little Miss “I-just-want-to-innocently-transfer-calls-to-you” always show up and ruin an already terror-ridden week? Why is so much trust and effort placed on a lowly temp as myself? Odd are, I’m winning in the trust department, but losing in the getting balls department. So, my face contorts in my typical trained seal face (or, in keeping with my theme: the trained horses) and I give Little Miss a non-answer…I think I said, “Um”, dragging out the ‘m’ sound so it appeared like I was thinking. Which, I probably was. Because as I’ve said before, it often takes me a heck of a long time to formulate a single thought. Ugh! Anyway, Little Miss kinda looks at me dumbfounded, like a dingo took her baby. Or, something. If it weren’t for my Boss, The Lion Tamer, who happened to show up in the nick of time to tell Little Miss that I couldn’t take calls, I don’t know what I would’ve done. I probably, like all those stupidly retarded incidents of the past, would have balked like a fool. A damned fool. Who’s the clown now? I hear you saying. So stop that! I can’t help it! I’m just not that good with quick thinking sometimes. Okay, all the time. But I think you get the point.
So now it’s back to the waiting which is the hardest part. At least Tom Petty says so. So do The Heartbreakers. And oh, I don’t want to get caught in the middle of the three rings without at least, a bag of popcorn, do I?!