I work at this small library in the Boston area. It’s flex time, so I can come and go as I please as long as I put in the hours. Well, today, I come in a little earlier than usual, and take my seat right around the corner from my boss, who’s talking with a coworker. And lo and behold, my name gets mentioned. And then some other stuff. Stuff that I really don’t like hearing. Not job related stuff (I put in 2x the number of hours that I have to, and I volunteer for as many dirty jobs as I can, and in my wildest dreams, I sometimes like to fantasize that I’m one of their better workers.) No, this was more about my appearance. Like how maybe I’m not going to come up for the Mr. Universe title anytime soon. Or how maybe I don’t have enough money to make sure that all my clothes are neat and proper–although they’re always clean, they’re showing their age. My boss seemed to think it was quite funny.
I don’t think they knew I arrived early.
When my boss came around the corner, she was a bit taken aback. Usually, she’s nice enough, but well, you know, today, she just didn’t have a lot to say to me for some strange reason. You could sort of tell she wanted to ask how long I’d been back there, but she refrained. I gave her my best impression of icily polite (It wasn’t that good. I think I lack the icily polite gene, or maybe it’s recessive to the Aw Shucks gene that sometimes I think should be named after me (although looking back on it today, I’m not sure it would be a compliment.). Nevertheless, she knew enough so that she sent me an email later on in the day asking me if everything was OK. Yeah, everything’s just peachy. Thanks for ruining my impression of you as my friggin’ friend. It was a long and quiet shift.
To make matters worse, I have a friend I work with, and–God alone knows why–I told her what happened. At the time, I thought that I was being discreet, but you know . . . anything could happen. The boss could have listened in from behind a corner. Or my friend, being a sweet, trusting soul, could have just gone to my boss and tried to sort everything out. I said a few things I shouldn’t have in anger, and now I’m wondering if the bill for my karma debt just came due complete with late charges.
You see, my boss isn’t a bitch. At all. Otherwise, I would have put this in the pit. She’s a really good person (and, btw, the first boss who’s younger than me since my army days.). When she wrote me that email, I’m sure she meant it. She just had a major tragedy in her life. She’s been crying all week. So maybe she wasn’t thinking clearly. Or maybe she just decided to act like a young girl at the worst possible time. Or maybe she just needed to vent and couldn’t quite express herself.
Yeah, and maybe I’m just a little tired of it all. Maybe everyone’s struggling with life a little bit. Maybe everyone has had friends and family members and assorted housepets who were inconsiderate enough to die on them unexpectedly. Maybe, in between working 40 firkin’ hours at your place, and 20 firkin’ hours at another podunk job just to make ends meet in these hard times is starting to wear on me a little.
I’m sorry I’m fat. Maybe I would lose weight if I weren’t so bone-tired coming home these days, and if I hadn’t screwed up my knee in the army. And if I had a few extra bucks, maybe I’d stop sewing patches on my old jacket and just buy a new one. Give me a full time job, and I’ll do it, happily . . . in addition to my job duties.
Don’t I work hard for you? Aren’t I nice to you? Didn’t I offer whatever I could when you came in to work crying? Are you trying to make me miserable?? You succeeded. I’m sitting here typing this knowing that I’m never going to say this to your face, because I’m too afraid of losing my job, regardless of how good you are. See, you wouldn’t even have to fire me. If the vibes get much more evil, I’d have to quit and find some sort of position in the custodial arts, not the least of reasons because I would hate myself for hurting you. Plus, I’d like to make my living in a professional environment someday, so I’ll never say anything. So now I’m a coward as well as a backbiter.
Matter of fact, now that I’m looking at my schedule, I’ve already worked my required hours at this place. Maybe I’ll just beg for extra time at my other job and let this stuff lie until whenever. And get some sleep. And some food. And watch a lot of stupid TV, instead of trying to be Mr. Books all the friggin’ time. I’m thinking Nachos. My abs aren’t coming back anytime soon, so screw it. And Mrs. Fresh made Macaroni Shells. And Angel is on tonight. So what if it’s a repeat, and I hate network TV. I’m an American. It’s time to act American, dammit!!
If you’ve read this far, thank you oh so very much. I wasn’t out to prove anything with this thread. This was pure rant.
