What's French for Feng Shui?

The most common path I take at work leads me past the cubicle of the Feng Shui Lady. I don't think I've seen a cube lovelier than hers. It's very odd, but in the midst of other cubes overflowing with paper, paper, paper, this cubicle is an oasis of calm and order.

The outside walls at TRU provide a continuous row of broad, tall windows. I'm lucky enough to have a cube at the end of the row, as does FS Lady. The metal sills are about five inches wide and on the sills closest to her, she has two plants growing at each window section. In her cubicle, there are three thriving green plants.

She was out yesterday, so I took a second to stand at her cube entryway. She has her PC facing toward the windows, which face west. Her monitor was on what looked like four reams of paper, wrapped in green paper. There was a mirror behind her desk, on the cube wall. I wanted to camp out there. It was so...serene.

My first two months at TRU were a nightmare. There was paper everywhere. Despite the mess I live in at home, I like my workplace to be neat and it bothered me that paper was flung in indiscriminate mounds. As I've developed a process for dealing with the more tedious aspects of my job, the mounds have disappeared. In their place are neat stacks with reminder notes on them. The most important one is labeled and DO NOT TOUCH is writ large over the cover sheet. It's not just for the cleaning people (who actually do dust desks), it's for me.

It's such a relief to have things in order. But I think what has helped most of all is a map from an old Frommer's guide to Paris. I have it just to the left of the monitor, where from moment to moment, I can rest my eyes on the Tuileries or the Obelisque, which is in a circle in front of the American Embassy and the Hotel Crillon. It's funny how just seeing the names on paper brings back welcome little memories of Paris.

My own little cubby doesn't enjoy the same serenity as the Feng Shui Lady's but it's getting better.

Tontines 'R' Us - Just Like Third Grade!

Yesterday, Geraldine came over to check my work. Just like third grade!

She told me I needed to take better notes. Just like third grade!

She told me to clean my desk.

She told me I needed to do better work.

She told me in so many words that I would not be hired (duh) and that my contract will not be renewed in February. In short, I am flunking Tontines 'R' Us.

It was weird. I watched all of this in the moment and then a higher, more distant part of myself saw what was going on.

Yes, it's true, she is a strong-willed manager and knows no other way but running rough-shod over people. I know that her manager is trying to school her on this, to no avail. She still gets results and no matter her desk-side manner, she will not suffer for it.

I'm also fairly sure that she doesn't care how she humiliates me or has any consideration for whatever human being is lurking inside of me.

She asked me what I majored in. When I said, "English", she snorted.

She told me that I didn't understand the masculine and feminine in Romance languages.

There are too many other little snorts and guffaws to inventory.

I have finally banked up all the hours I need to get paid for the day after Thanksgiving, plus one. Nine hours of essentially unpaid over time. It was pointed out to me that this is illegal. I know it is. I don't know if Geraldine does or if she cares. She probably believes she is pouring out the milk of human kindness on me.

I know now, unequivocally, that TRU is a toxic environment for me. It's true, I did dick around a lot initially, but now I'm not and it looks like I'll pay the price for my previous misdeeds for the rest of the time I'm at TRU.

This job has effectively derailed twenty years of psychotherapy. My daily silent litany to myself is that I'm stupid, I'm fat, I'm ugly, I'm bad, and I'm stupid. Most especially, I'm stupid. That I deserve nothing good in my life.

And with that, I see the urgency of what I already knew. I have to get my large, intelligent, good smart self out of TRU right quick.

A New Approach

This week at TRU, I tried a new approach.

I stopped thinking of myself as all hoity-toity and too good for the work I'm doing. Or rather, the work that I had been trying not to do for two months.

Things changed. I changed things.

I assumed a non-adversarial, if not deliberately subordinate position to Janelle. That's right, Janelle.

This has been so hard, but I've done it and it just may save my life. I have given up the internet at work. Last Saturday, I went to B&N and looked at books on addiction. I believe there is truly such a thing as internet addiction and I've got a jones for the internet. More than 20 years ago, I quit drinking. I went from just-about-over-the-edge-into-alcoholism to a non-drinker in the space of about 15 seconds. I hope that I've done this with the internet. I went on once this week while at work to check email for an interview and that was it, baby.

Because Geraldine and Janelle have both backed way, way off, I've had a chance - along with my new-found concentration - to sit and think about the crazy report. I do not respond well to people screaming or being hysterical around me. There's no point in pressuring me to do anything, because I tend to stop right in my tracks until the noise goes away. (I do not do this on train tracks, btw.) I shut down and the more you yell, the more I shut down. I have been able to figure out that the crazy report isn't that crazy after all.

I'm willing to bet that Geraldine's boss, one of the Lords of Boredom (also known as actuaries), has used this as a teaching opportunity for her. I recognize the hand of a practiced manager in what has happened this week. And since the LofB is traveling with Geraldine, I'm sure she's gotten an earful about me.

I have been told to email Geraldine when I get into work and when I leave for the day. I have done this, as well as kept my own time sheet.

Janelle sent me an email today (yeah, right, that was Janelle) listing my duties. Janelle is now unofficially my supervisor. She also wrote that she would send me procedures as soon as she wrote them up. I'm not holding my breath.

I've set up my perimeters. I am not friendly in my emails but I'm not unfriendly, either. I am a worker performing a task. My emails have taken on a formal tone. I've stopped joking around with my cow-irkers.

This is a measured and deliberate response from me. I hope that I can maintain this, going forward. And in the meantime, pick up my interview suit from the cleaners.

Here Comes Mr. Sluggo!

I felt the Sluggo Headache creeping around my neck this morning. Especially when I got into work and found this in my email:

From: Geraldine
To: Becs
Re: Hours

I need you to send me an email when you come in in the morning and when you leave in the evening.

When I get back from California, I will come up with a time sheet for you.

---------

And I thought - why not my own personal little time clock on my cube wall? Or better yet, one of those anklet things not-too-terribly-bad prisoners have to wear.

Add to this that Geraldine has generously offered to let me work overtime for no extra pay for I can get paid for the day after Thanksgiving...well, some awfully naughty words are bubbling up to the top of my head.

----------

Then again - this is a really, really big deal - I made myself go through one entire day at work without going on the internet. This is a huge deal for me.

And maybe it's one of the reasons why I'm as exhausted as I am.

No - wait. That might be because I worked an hour and a half overtime today. Because I've got to get all this time in before the Thanksgiving holiday. Which is, ahem, next week?

Oh - and the last time I hated, viscerally, savagely hated anyplace as much as I hate Tontines 'R' Us was Evil Empire.

This cannot end well...

It's Not Me, It's Not Me, It's Not Me

Well.

Maybe a little bit.

Over the last week or so I have tried hard to come to grips with life at Tontines 'R' Us. I have stopped goofing off. I'm serious about learning what I've been trying to learn for two months.

Yesterday, Geraldine left for a trip to an out of state office and before she parted, gave me something to do. Because Tontines General says TRU owes them money, I have a Thing To Do. Find all these people on this list and get all the records I can for them and put them into a spreadsheet. (Not hard because the records are, I swear, in a txt file. Yes. A Fortune 100 company is doing its B2B billing from a TEXT file.)

So I did that. Geraldine IMed me at the end of the day. Did I do the Thing To Do? I did. And did I add up all of the payments those people had made? No. I did not. Geraldine had told me the day before that she had to get Janelle in on the math part.

Fine. Whatever.

But...Janelle....I...Janelle. Oy. For two months, people, I have been trying to get what Janelle blithely called a cheat sheet. "I'll send it to you," she said two months ago.

This is the Rosetta Stone of all things TRU. For the past two months, I would beg her for a list of contracts matched up to service codes (no, none of this is online. I swear.). She would send it. I asked her for service codes matching up to company names. Dates when contracts began and ended. The very thing I need to do my job. It was more like The Grail than the Rosetta Stone. I started to be convinced that it was inconcievable that such a thing could be put together, but still I tried.

And every day, sent at least two emails to her asking about companies and codes.

The day before yesterday, I was poking around on what Janelle calls "the shared drive". In a directory marked "Miscellaneous", I found it. The Rosetta Stone. Beautifully, perfectly laid out. It was last edited the week after I got there. And it was owned by...Janelle.

Oh, please. Oh, no. When she came to the TRU home office, we had lunch together and she said, "You'll probably automate me right out of a job." Ha ha.

No. If I ever get a frigging chance to get near creating a data base for you, I will make your life much easier. And much more painless.

I started to wonder if I was being gaslighted a little. Or, as we used to say, stabbed in the back.

It's not worth the agita. I swear it isn't.

I called a few members of my Board of Advisors and got talked down off the ledge.

Emma said, "Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean they're not after you."

Another shifted me to a different perspective.

Didn't I know to begin with that TRU is a highly dysfunctional organization? Has Geraldine done anything logical since I've been there? No.

Will detente ever be reached with TRU? No.

I am very grateful for my BOA's advice. That's why I pay them the big bucks.

Now. I take a deep breath. Put on my yoga pants. And go watch "Heroes" on Netflix until it's time for bed.

Facing the Facts or In Which I am a Grown Up

Of course, I do not yet know about the fate that awaits me this morning at Tontines 'R' Us.

I checked my email and found no notes that said don't bother coming in today or we have to talk or anything at all from the temp agency.

I also accept that it's a possibility my ID key card may not work when I try to get into the building. Or that when I get to my cubicle, I could find my personal belongings (very few - some hand lotion, Kleenex, and a shawl) in a cardboard box. Or my system access could be revoked. There may or may not be another "Come to Jesus" meeting. (Girl, I'm already there. Where are you?)

The pharma job may or may not come through. If it does, I realize that it's only through the end of the year - on paper, anyway. Biggest Fish Pharma has already announced it's laying off thousands upon thousands of people with the merger.

I acknowledge that this is a roll of the dice. But I'm taking it and I'll deal with whatever turns up.

Scenes from Tontines 'R' Us

When I walked into the building yesterday morning, the usual guard wasn't there. They're almost always Indian and the guy I usually see smiles when I say "Good morning" to him. The one yesterday morning looked like a big yellow toad. And he was eating something in his huge maw. I mean, I know he was human, I wasn't hallucinating but he was most distinctly toad-like.

#

TRU is in a huge, illogical building. It is shaped like a "C". Now, does that make sense for an office building? Where people still have not embraced instant messaging or, for that matter, regularly check their email? No. I was told that the building was designed and built for Mighty Citadel, but they had never moved into it. It sat, empty, for fifteen years. I suspect that it's haunted. Since TRU moved in, it's been renovated at least three times. They can renovate it forever but until they tear it down and build a big square or rectangular thing on top of it, it is still going to suck. And I don't know what the renovators were thinking - maybe once upon a time, Mighty Citadel was going to use this as a massive data center - but all the floors are raised. I remember the days of raised floors and IBM computers the size of my bedroom standing in ranks upon ranks, cooled down to at the most 60F.

TRU continues to consolidate its folks into this building.

#

I unpacked all my stuff, dug my laptop out of the hiding place where I must hide it at night, and settled it in its inconvenient little niche.

There is nothing convenient about TRU. I've realized this at last. Of course, at the moment, I'm disposed to dislike it.

I took off my coat. Today, it required the long t-shirt and sweater but by the end of the day, they turned off whatever moves the air and I peeled off my sweater.

I prepared for the long march over to where Geraldine and her crew sit. There's a kitchenette over there with tasty cold filtered water, so I took a water bottle, a mug with a tea bag in it and Wesley's tastes of the day.

I left him ube pie, with a slice for him and Mrs. Wesley, and a Japanese mango drink I like.

#

Back at my desk, I set to work on the unbelievably confusing reports I have to assemble by the end of the day. I got frustrated and confused in about five minutes. Then Geraldine showed up to get my butt out of the fire.

#

Geraldine showed up and stayed all day. After about five minutes, she said, "Let's switch." She got into my chair and began to randomly and rapidly click everything she saw.

She opened my email. Hey, I know it's TRU's email. But I've never had any manager openly go through my mail before.

She chanced upon an email Wes had sent me, thanking me for the previous day's Taste of the Day. "What is this," she said. "Why is Wesley sending you email?"

Because we're in the same group? Because I have, however briefly, made a friend at TRU?

She opened it, read it and said, "Hunh!" And proceeded to do the rest with my other email.

I vacillated somewhere between a shoulder shrug and THE HELL? But uppermost in my mind way, I have got to get out of here.

The pleasure of her company remained for the rest of the day, until she had a meeting at two and left at three pm.

#

I would like to add that TRU was cleared out yesterday by 3:30 pm.

#

While waiting for Geraldine at her stomping grounds, I hung over Wesley's cube. "What're you doing this weekend," he asked.

I smiled. "I'll be spending most of it with my honey."

"Your what?"

"My honey. My fella."

Wes paused. "I - uh - I didn't know you had a fella."

"I do." And I thought, what's up here? Did Wes think I didn't like men That Way? Or did he think I am Becs the Nun? Oh, to be able to understand English in all its nuances.

#

While I was making copies upon copies of the Very Important Reports, I admitted the truth to myself that I do indeed think that I'm too good for this job. Yes, in that kind of snooty way but also in the 'my knowledge and experience are being completely wasted here' way.

And I sent up the familiar cry to Heaven: Get me out of here!

And lo! My phone buzzed. And lo! It was Samantha from Placement Central. And she did say unto me, "Wouldst thou be pleased at an appointment at OmniPharma?"

And I did reply, "Yea, I say unto you, it would please me greatly. Gettest me out of here."

And she did say unto me, "A woman of great import at OmniPharma would speak to you at three of the after noon Monday next."

And there was rejoicing and the voice of the turtle was heard upon the land.

Amen.

The Yeti Report

I blew past all kinds of speed limits to get to Dr. Yeti's office on time today. And when I got there, I found that my appointment, scheduled for 12:15, was going to have to wait. Because the person who had an appointment at 10:30 was still waiting.

At 1:15, I called the temp agency and spoke to Miss Thang, who placed me at Tontines 'R' Us.

Me: I'm at a dr's appt and it looks like I won't be seen for another hour.
Miss Thang: Oh? Do you realize if you stay longer than you scheduled, that will be your third incident?
Me: My third incident in two months?
Miss Thang, with a decidedly snooty air about her: That's right. And on the third one, the employer really begins to doubt your...interest.
Me: Well. I'll head on back to the office, then.

If anyone ever sounded smug about hanging up the phone, she did.

So I actually saw Dr. Yeti as he walked patients out to the overcrowded and overheated lobby. But no diagnosis. ("Your sinuses are messed up. Next!")

As I high-tailed it back to the office, I thought about the last couple of days and I realized that I have been living in La-La Land. I haven't been working nearly as hard as I should have been.

Geraldine was right to check on me.

We had a come-to-Jesus meeting. I was already there.

My head may be congested, but it is still on my shoulders.

Tontines 'R' Us - The Lowdown

My two-month hiatus from job panic is now over.

Indications are strong - and honestly, I expected this from the git-go - that TRU is not going to hire me. And if they did, I've been told, it would be essentially as a file clerk and I would make a whopping $40K / year. I would take it if offered, and continue the job hunt.

In the meantime, I'm beginning to automate the more tedious part of my job. The manual work takes up the great majority of my time and yes, in fact, I am a file clerk.

Other indications, um, indicate that I shouldn't get too comfortable.

I've always heard that temps don't get invited to team meetings. I've heard it, but that's never been the case for me until now.

My desk in Peru makes it easy to forget that I exist.

Geraldine, my boss, comes over to check on me once a day. That's a new one for me. I don't recall ever being checked on. I understand Geraldine's position. She's not a brand new manager, but she has been handed a considerable chunk of business and is expected to make it not just work, but work better than it ever has before.

It's a little thing, but it matters. My feelings aren't hurt, but it does serve as an indication that Geraldine and the other women in the group go to the caf for coffee every morning. I am not invited.

One of the women in the group has started to avoid me entirely.

I feel like I've been through all this before. Oh - wait. I have. Big companies like TRU just take you in their maw and chew you up. Rewards are few but again, yes, it is a job.

I have no energy. I don't know if it's the little bit of cold that I have or what, but I went to bed at 7 last night.

Some thinking to do. Most of it is pretty obvious.

Oh - and today's the day for the yeti doctor! I'm so excited. Do you think he'll be like the one Yukon Cornelius caught?

Man, if I'm excited at the prospect of going to the doctor, I have some serious changes to make in my life.

Don't Die Like This

There is no such thing as a dignified death. I've learned that in my month at Tontines 'R' Us. Death is a practical joker, a clown out of "IT", a boxer on steroids. Death is quiet and cunning and unkind.

There may be a peaceful death, but I'm beginning to seriously doubt it.

Don't die these ways:

- Choking on a piece of liver.
- Going on vacation to Jamaica and getting beaten and shot.
- Becoming senile and living alone in a house where you die of dehydration after falling.
- Hanging yourself in the garage.
- Drinking yourself to death.
- Getting shot in the chest. Apparently dying that way can take a while and in one case, the unlucky fellow died of something politely termed that essentially meant he bled to death.

Do visions of kind guardian angels and heavenly bowers come to you when you read any of this? No? I didn't think so.

The guy who hanged himself shocked me so much that I gasped. There I was, reading along, fa la la, oh, he was a forest ranger and lived in Montana. Wow, I bet it's beautiful - oh, crap! He hanged himself? But why? It's autumn in Montana! What's so bad that you have to kill yourself in autumn in Montana?

Even in hospices, it comes down to things like:

- Metatastic breast cancer.
- Small-cell lung cancer.
- Cancer cancer cancer.
And can I buy a cerebrovascular accident?

Don't die these ways.

If you insist on dying, I suggest finding family and friends and having them close by, lying in a bed close to a sunny window, and just going to sleep.

Passive Aggression at Tontines 'R' Us

It takes me a while to find my footing at a new gig. I've been at TRU for a month now and the light is beginning to shine.

I'm getting an inkling that Janelle may be a Problem. There are a number of factors going on here and I am open (honestly) to being wrong about having misread any of them.

Factor 1: The race card. Janelle is African-American. Tawanda, the woman I replaced, was also African-American. Janelle was Tawanda's supervisor. They were also Sistahs. I am not a Sistah. I am also not supervised by Janelle but by Geraldine.

Factor 2: Distance. Janelle works in Florida. I work in New Jersey. The literal distance creates an emotional distance I'm not accustomed to.

Factor 3: Fear / Paranoia. Janelle is fearful of losing her job. She creates the massive and massively boring reports that I will be creating. Thus she offers me no advice, no assistance, no hard facts.

Factor 4: This Is The Way We've Always Done It. The Massive Report might have been fun for a month, but now it's driving me crazy with its illogic. In fact, Janelle is not even on a nodding acquaintance with logic. She knows that for years she has produced this report in this way and there is no other way to do it.

I email Janelle because I like having the facts on file to back me up, should an issue arise. TRU is big on instant messaging but Janelle never opens up her corporate instant messaging. This annoys me. More importantly, this annoys Geraldine.

Janelle was moved into Geraldine's group about six months ago, along with The Massive Report.

What we're finding is that there have been horrible gross inaccuracies in The Massive Report for years. This means TRU is losing money and has incorrectly billed its partners for just as long. The inaccuracies, I hasten to add, are not Janelle's deliberate doing. Still, her resistance to change has been noted.

An email exchange with Janelle goes something like this:

From me:
Hi Janelle - I'm working on the bill to Tiny Tontines of Toronto and see that the code for their treaty is 7F. Does that mean they should only be billed 50%?

Janelle's response:
Yes.

Ah. Okay. I see I should ask - because it's relevant to The Massive Report - when the treaty begins, when it ends, if transactions before the begin date are included in the bill to TToT, along with half a dozen other questions that I'm sure will only annoy Janelle further.

Janelle answers like she's in court. And maybe she is, but I'm not the one judging her. Geraldine is.

I've tried calling her on the phone. She's too busy to talk to me. It either goes to voice mail or she lets me know in as many words that she doesn't have time for me.

Oddly, for once, I don't take any of this personally. I've been in Janelle's position but I like to think I've been more gracious about it.

Still, Geraldine has been charged with making The Massive Report pay and I've been charged with automating as much of it as I can.

Janelle is playing a risky game and the sooner she stops, the better.