| Things I hope you never hear a coworker say: "How's your mom? Is she dead yet?" |
[Apr. 25th, 2012|09:31 am] |
There is no accounting for the tact and taste of some people. Unfortunately I have to work with a "professional" who is 15 years younger than me (not that I'm an ageist) and not very cultured in the social conversational skills. HOW do you respond to that question except by tearing up, swallowing hard and politely changing the subject?
All of sudden I have a volitile need for a book someone once suggested to me called "Office Warfare". I need to brush up on my not-so-polite back-stabbing and posturing skills. In workplace with fewer than 15 employees this is not as easy as it seems. It's the "we're all a family!" here work environment that belies any sort of professionalism. Everyone knows what everyone else is doing and gossips furiously about it. As an introvert, this is especially difficult. Some days I just want to growl menacingly and tell them "Do yer fucking job!" and leave your stupid ignorant white trash opinions out of it. |
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| tax day. ("and there was much rejoicing...") |
[Apr. 16th, 2012|08:54 pm] |
Okay so taxes are not much of a concern to me. Let's face, I'm working poor. I live in Montana because it is an area on unparallelled quality and I work at job with fair-to-midling survival pay. My taxes are roughly equally to one toilet flush of water useage in the White House. I am so proud to be contributing! What savings I accumulate usually is redistributed to health care expenses. Yes, like millions of other Americans I have neither the means to afford "good" health insurance or the absolute desitute lifestyle which would ensure me of state welfare. This is indeed a crock of shit.
I am particulary irritated when the Medicaid folks have smart phones, ipods, and all other types of high-tech gadedtry that is assumed for daily living. My cell phone was given to me by a friend. It is not a super-shiny phone is quite possibly 5 years outofdate. Hell I know it's a fossil because I cannot order ringtones for it. Imagine that. Okay, okay. I do have a Blackberry. It's in a drawer somewhere. I can not use the scroll screen in traffic. It's too complicated to touch and scroll to answer a phone call. (OMG! Try not swerve and hit kid on the bike.) Yeah, so in the drawer my Blackberry stays.
Taxes are a necessary evil, I did my duty. I resent that some folks don't get eviscerated at much as I do (namely folks on the welfare playing the "I'z sooo poor" card and personalizing all their ringtones for their family members.) I also think the rich should be taxed more aggressively. (I know, I know, congress would never bite the hand that feeds it...so the taxes for the rich theory is a pipe dream.) Whatcha gonna do? This is America, a chaotic melting pot of peoples, religions, and degenerating idealogies. Please vote accordingly. |
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| I have not posted in years! |
[Feb. 10th, 2012|08:13 am] |
I don't where to begin or how to fill in the gaps. But, wow, journey has been twisted and unbelievable! How could you ever doubt that the journey you start on will be changed and misstepped from time to time. I am encouraged by the international people who choose to comment on my blog, two or more years old that it is, that I have something more interesting to say than the average monkey. Wow, what more compliment could you have?!
I work with complete morons, wait on complete imbecile customers, but yet there is occasionaly a person or spark of intelligence that makes everything worthwhile. For example, yesterday I waited on a small boy (of grammar school age) with the most amazing visible aura. I had to gasp in recognition of this human being's enormous energy field. I wanted to ask all my coworkers: tell me you see how that child is lit up like a light bulb? Don't you see it?! I suspect it would only be another item of ridicule for me.
I have to shake my head and ponder the vastness of creation/evolution. There are those among us that truly do make us gasp in recognition of the mystical. When you meet one, you will feel the same. It's like the hearing the words that a person in front of you is NOT saying, the psychic connection to their thoughts. I understand. I am listening so hard to your conversation that I do understand the unspoken bits and pieces of your thoughts and the jist of your flowing consciousness stream. It must be the special talent of translators. The ability to hear the thoughts of those around you. (No, not in that spooky aren't you demented and hallucinating with dreams of grandeur, but to actually KNOW what another is trying to communicate.)
What a strange and wonderful time we live in. |
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| I'm hugging the space heater. It's really cold here! |
[Jan. 30th, 2008|11:47 am] |
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The last few days at work have been subzero cold. We are all huddled around the space heaters and dreading have to put on the chukas to go to lunch. It hardly seems worth the effort to put on snow boots hike out to the car, warm it up, scrape the windshield, just to drive home for a few minutes. Looking outside the window it's a dreary snowy day. Sloppy roads, slick at the intersections, we cannot seem to catch a break. When you check the weather forecast online we have the severe weather asterick. Yay, this means high winds, drifting snow over the driveway and miserable temperatures. When I was a child Winter was a great season. What happened? |
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| The encumbrance of attending a funeral |
[Nov. 9th, 2007|09:21 am] |
So one of the sweetest old men of the credit union, died of a heart attack Sunday Evening. I find this remarkable as I saw him, spoke to him, touched him on the shoulder, moments before he went hunting. My last vision of him is he and his son sitting on the park bench in front of Jalisco, when Eric and I walked by heading for Chinese. I remember the old man and his son telling us that the "other chinese" place was open. Okay, let's do that.
In the meantime, I stopped said "Hello Gil, How are you?" He couldn't place me, he said you work at Town and Country. "No Gil, I work at the credit union" I touched him on the shoulder and asked "are you doing okay? It's nice to see you."
Walking back from the Luthern church, I thanked the Allmighty for the chance encounters in my life. This old man, was kind and attentive to me, and very worthy of respect. I'm glad I met him; glad I recognized a kindred spirit.
There are indeed some Human Beings left in the world. |
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| Last visited 17 weeks ago. |
[Oct. 30th, 2007|02:19 pm] |
Wow, shit howdy. A lot has happen since Dodge Dealership. Mostly I miss talking with Annie Oakley, since she's been in Iraq. No one to read and respond to. So, yeah.. missing the intellectual conversation these past few months. ~kicks at dirt~ When I do hear from her it's a small despondent little email with news about Sergio or instructions for the car. (The car is fixed! $400 under the table and two cases of Coor Lite. Who loves ya baby?)
I'm working at the Credit Union now, in the loan department; after a 6 month tour as a teller. I am the Collateral insurance and Credit Disability guru. This is a complicated and paperwork-intense position. I have a lot of go-between calling to help injured folks get their paperwork signed by the doctor, and turned in to the insurance analysts, so that the loans can get paid. Most people do not have the wherewithall to complete the paperwork correctly, forget about the constant "mothering" to do so. It gets old quick. Some days I don't have the patience to deal with peeps on Octycodone. I always get the same dumb-struck attitude, "but I've got that insurance!" ~ahem~ I am the insurance gal, and I'm telling you, there's a snag in the paperwork. So we go around the dancefloor a few times: if you don't complete the paperwork, the disability insurance doesn't pay. Also, an astute observation to make..."if you're back to work, then you're no longer disabled, I take it?" (Oh, yes, there is a possibility of overpayment. That means, you have to give the money back! ~shock, horror~)
I also do insurance tracking, and that takes a different finesse. I have to call around to local insurance agents and diplomatically tell them when they have the wrong type of collateral listed, or the lien holder is not right, and yes, they did fax it to the tracking center four times, but it's not the right VIN, so the whole issue is moot. (Qwest was a cake walk compared to dealing with these local yahoos! At least with Qwest I had the option of telling people, "I'm sorry, you're too stupid to have telephone service!")
In general, the Credit Union is not a bad gig. But as the finances could be better. I still have Owen as a drinking buddy. He's still plugging along with the car dealership. He's still pessimistic and cynical, so I don't try to get to involved. Apparently he was recently diagnosed as diabetic, but he doesn't have any of the symptoms: the sugar shakes or mood swings. It must be a female thing. He's taking meds for it, and we get together to commisserate. He stills hates his wife, and is generally unhappy. I can't help with that; so I pat his hand (pour him into the car and send him on down the highway to his wife). The last outing we had, he tried to call a "date". I was not amused with this; I have not spoken to him since.
I've gone to a local church and tried to get interested in the Bible Study, but it's all too simplistic for me, I feel like there should be an advanced study group. (I wonder if the Beth Isreal synogue would remember me from visiting with Annie Oakley.) Oh! And I want to hear about the "Wailing Wall". I take Annie Oakley's temple scarf with me to church, it comforts me to know she's going whether she wants to or not. (Hope you don't mind).
From talking with Annie Oakley's mom, the Marriage of Sergio is back on. ~Whoot!~ I guess this means, I should not expect Annie Oakley to take up the spare room when she's comes home. I told Helen she couldn't move in with me, since I didn't know what was going to happen with Annie Oakley. My ulterior motive was to give her a place of her own (away from McCanns) so she could destress and regroup from Iraq.
I was asked to house-sit in January, when the McCann's are going on a cruise. Two weeks of kitten-therapy would be nice. "Eddy! No bloody mouses in the house, seriously!" The upstairs Persian, Harry, is a poor substitute for Eddy.
On the Huckleberry front. I went to the James Taylor concert in Billings last Friday night, had a really good time. I member from the Credit Union asked me, and I was hesitant to say yes at first. I told him I would think about it. Then called him back and said, yes please. It turned out much better than I could have expected. Very comfortable with this older guy. He said he "groks" me and I laughed out loud; then got really scared. The old scary feelings from the last time we went down this pathway, are coming back. Still trying to analyze and determine how to feel about that. I thought with all the interm counseling I would be ready, but apparently not. Having emotional reservations.
Guess that's all for now. Wish you were here to email me. |
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| Halloween. |
[Oct. 30th, 2007|08:41 am] |
I was dreaming this morning of the Evil Professor. I guess that relates to my trepidation with the new huckleberry. In particular I was dreaming of his setting a small gasoline fire in the garage at the Woolsey address.
This was during the remaking of the '76 Camaro in our unfinished garage with haphazard fiberglass insulation hanging everywhere. Les was trying to start the engine and pouring 107 octane gas into a new carburetor, when he set the carburetor on fire. I had this sensation of Krishna streaking to our bedroom and Shiva cowering in the kitchen, while watching Les run back and forth to the kitchen sink for a pitcher or water. Needless to say, I kept my cool and had a calm terse conversation with him after the emergency was over. Something to the tune of: I'm not a rock scientist but perhaps NOW would be a good time to invest in a fire extinguisher, if you are going to continue to play with high octane gasoline in an unfinished garage. I can not remember ever threatening him before or after that event, but I remember him distinctly saying that I had the look of Charlie Manson when I calmly told that if he ever threatened my cats again, I would cut his fucking heart out. It took him a few moments to remember, that I did indeed have experience with an antisoical personality, and would instinctively react exactly as I intimidated. 'Nuff said.
As I was walking to work this morning, I was recalling our little domestic throw-down at the Coeur d'Alene gym where I acted so badly. I guess that should have been indictative of there being more problems in the relationship, since that was probably one of my first public displays of "anger management" issues. On this particular day, I was pushed beyond limits and threw Les' gym bag into the swimming pool. I know that sounds childish, but knowing that Les doesn't swim and I was feeling he was being unconsciably rude to me that afternoon, it felt right. When we got home, I was told I MUST go back to the gym and apologize for my behavior. I refused; and we entered a cycle increasing agression in our domestic spats.
How will I ever explain this to a new huckleberry. And should I? Damn, I guess I need to schedule another counseling session. (Where the hell is Annie Oakley when I need a sounding board?) And speaking of huckleberries. He comes into the credit union at least once a day, but never speaks to me, this upsets me somewhat. I guess I shoulldn't be so hard on him, since I'm the one who puts on the 'game face' and acts all professional again around him. Makes me feel like I'm not as interesting to him as he is to me. ~sighs~ So I try not to jump to confusions on that issue. BPD is raging, and I'm worried. Prolly my own fault, eh?
On a brighter note, my good friend from Qwest is eloping this weekend to Coeur d'Alene. I'm so thrilled for her. Telling everyone at the credit union, and crying about it. ~Capt. Jack Sparrow accent~ "I LOVE weddings! Drinks all around!" |
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| Loan Processing |
[Jun. 29th, 2007|11:09 am] |
Okay, so after the lowly teller position, loan processing is more of a challenge. My daily stressors is learning the antiquated software program of the credit union. Also, knowing full well that I do NOT play well with others, and seldom have time to cater to other people's idiosyncrasies, I am invariably impatient and bitchy to tenured coworkers. The pet names abound, I have nick-named one 'the hag' and one meshunga bitch (hypoglycemic issues). I think the most difficult aspect of working in an office building full of women, who have worked together since high school, is the trait of treating everyone else as if they were idiots. I am not three, I can handle the information.
So I spend the majority of my day, telling members on the phone 'let me research that and call you back' which of course turns into an all day event. Researching complaints and learning how to fix stuff for a member usually involves waiting for one supervisor (who can't help me) then waiting for amother supervisor (who doesn't know) and then finally losing my paitence before blowing up at a loan officer. I've decided the loan department would run much more smoothly is we were not required to answer phone calls, or interact with members, but simply handle the paperwork. ~plink, plink~
Our Bozeman branch constantly provides a source of idiotic anxiety; they are constantly calling and asking us silly questions, or frantically trying to summarize the entire problem, when we don't need to get involved. So there's always confusion on that score. Who are we talking about here? What does the account notations say? (Of course, the frantic urgency is always made worse by a member standing in front of them stomping a foot.)
My most recent irratation with Bozeman was having one of the gals call and tell me that they proved proof of insurance on the loan! And where is the paperwork? In the loan file. And where is the loan file? It's here in Bozeman. So, how then, would I know proof of insurance was supplied? Oh... I guess you wouldn't hunh? (I guess that explains how my supervisor can talk to everyone like they are idiots. Enough phone conversations like that on a daily basis would make anyone bitchy.) |
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| Playing Pearl Jam in the GT Mustang |
[Nov. 18th, 2006|04:03 pm] |
| [ | Current Mood |
| |  devious | ] |
| [ | Current Music |
| | Amuka "Appreciate Me" | ] |
Okay, so we have a 2007 GT Mustang sitting in the Ford showroom. This is a $30,000 toy. I figured I should play with the buttons. ~shrugs~ So I popped in the Pearl Jam cd to see what the stereo system was like. By the way, the shaker system was on, with compression quality... heh, heh.
I was told unequivocallly, not to play my cd's ever again. I guess no one appreciates Annie Oakley's choice of music. (I'm pretty sure they would not have appreciated my Rave selection).
Counting Coup at the Ford store on a slow-ass Saturday.
BTW, Gall bladder is attacking me. I am especially peevish. It feels like someone threw a fast pitch at my rib cage. I presume this means the gallbladder is swollen (underneath the rib cage) and keeps me from breathing without pain.
It fucking sucks to get old. |
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| Walking to work in 40pmh gusts. |
[Nov. 13th, 2006|03:29 pm] |
You have to love the weather here in Cowtown. I see the dismal depressing architecture of this cowtown which has not grown up since the 1890's. Some of the downtown building date back to that, and the ~ahem~ affordable living in this town attests to the lack of modernity.
I walk to work and think off-handedly why there is a two-step curb on every downtown block. Then it occurs to me, it's stirrup height! Okay, if anyone needs more proof that this is indeed the last cowboy town in the midwest. Wow. As if the ratio of churches to bars wasn't a dead give away. Where the local crowds, literally close down the traffic on summer nights due to drunken pedestrians weaving from watering hole to watering hole. This is the place to be if you are a true alcoholic.
This morning Manny sat in my office and asked me if I were comfortable with my position. I believe the exact phrase was "Where are you with your level of comfortability, now?" This sent off klaxons. What does that mean? Is that similar to the "are you happy here in your employment?" or is this just an antiquated way of saying, "you good with this? what can I do to help your job?" I was baffled; I was terrified. Fuck all, man. If you are going to fire me, at least have the guts to say you have a problem with my work performance.
So I did not answer the question directly, I changed the direction of the inquiry. (Thank god for the Evil Professor and his manipulation techniques). There is always more than one way to phrase and re-direct a line of questioning. I staved off the "termination speech" for the meantime. Manny then went on to postulate that he was going to discuss the problems with Charley to see if there was some way to increase the F&I revenue. Holy fuck! Great, now the Asshole Sales Manager gets to put in his two-bits on whether to keep me or not? Hmm, this does not bode well. Based on the past lack of mutual respect, my ass is a goner. I do not play well with the Sales Manager, we barely tolerate each other.
Now is the time to start praying for Wisdom from the Almighty. At least to give me strength, so I won't flip out when I'm fired. Please don't let me fall to pieces in the middle of the dealership. And start opening windows... (i.e., when God closes a door, He always opens a window somewhere.) |
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