My boss has dropped the bomb on us workerbees. The biggest change that I'm still having difficulty coping with is the restriction of Internet. Work used to be so cool because the computers all had Internet access, but that's probably sufferable. What gets me is that everyone is feeling the brunt of the boss' wrath: 30 minute lunch breaks, no friends or family visitors, no personal laptops. So everyone who used to be on friendly terms with one another is now going at each others throats. What I mean is, a co-worker who happens to be at the same level as I am makes remarks about me not being appreciative of the working conditions.
That bullshit made me feel like I was the cause for the boss coming down on us. The boss had stipulated to her librarians that nobody is allowed to have a 15 minute break on Fridays if the employees don't take their breaks the first twenty minutes of starting work. WTF‽ This doesn't make sense, and yet, when I ask for a break, the dunce–in–charge says "I don't know about your union regulations. All I know is the MY boss said that nobody gets a break after the first 20 minutes of work."
Another remark from my co-worker who should be seeing things my way since we're both at the same pay rate, had to do about the Internet restrictions. She saw me take a peek at this video I blogged yesterday. Her snide remark was, "aren't you going to document that?" She said that because I've been bitching to the boss about how I was ordered to do something a certain way, but when my co-worker took over the project in question, the boss was okay with going back to the old way of doing things. Fuck that shit! That's 100% grade A baloney. I tell my co-worker she's mean to me, and blah blah blah. In the end I suggest that I'm going to have to stop speaking to her and her reply is "Promise?"
*bitch*
So I get home from work. I don't say goodbye to anybody. My only friend at work seems to have an image to sustain, and if she's seen listening to any suggestions I might have which others might interpret as giving her orders, she rolls her eyes at me and not in so many words tells me "fuck off!!" So, I'm all alone there now. I can't trust a soul. There's too many daggers sticking out of the lump on my back. I pour myself a small glass of Cap'n Morgan's Long Isl. ice tea with a bowl of peanuts. It isn't long before I'm pealing peanuts and fumbling them into the trash bag, as I sit and scrutinize Ana Garcia's ring finger to see if she's married or not. At least I'm still hopeful. I may not have any faith left in anybody anymore, but I still have hope that one day I will sweep Ana off her feet and live happily ever after. The following should be preceded with the word BITCH when reading
- You asked me what the fuck I had for your "volunteer" worker to do.
- Now I know what it must feel like to retire. Everything you learned thru me is thrown back at my face.
- Good, you know your a bitch then.
- I don't need to hear you pretending to be on the telephone talking to your boss's boss explaining to you that workerbees earn a 15 minute break after having worked for two hours, you crazy psycho.
- There is no god.
- I don't need a shrink. That's what bartenders are for. When have you ever mixed me an impressive concoction of hard liquor?