Whipping Boy of the Nonce

or, There but for the Grace of God...

Be forewarned: there's a lot of bile in this post again. I'm aware of how totally unconvincing it sounds, and thus it's unlikely to be entertaining even if you do have a taste for bile. There are good things to say about Boss; but without the aggravating things, the good things have no context. I've positive remarks planned for the next post.

So.

Boss would have done very well in an era of valets and handmaidens; for ingrained in Boss' psycological infrastructure is a biological imperative to issue orders and delegate tasks at the drop of a whim.

Upon being hired, it became my role to be the footservant for Boss. The previous whipping boy had managed to escape that status by ducking into a vacant job position; and I was eventually emancipated by the hiring of a personal assistant. It is the Whipping Boy of the Nonce whom Boss calls upon in time of need.

So then.

It so happened that Whipping Boy of the Nonce was out for lunch one day last week when Boss wanted to delegate something; Nonce is now forbidden from leaving the building during work hours. The relevant conversation, synopsised, went something to the effect of:

"You can't leave for lunch whenever you please; in fact, you are not allowed leave the building at all. I needed you and you weren't there." This was rephrased and repeated several times; all statements were in the tone of remarks on a purely emotional level, as if there were deeper control issues about being personally abandoned.

Huffy, exasperated, and dismissive: "Get me a coffee."

And so then.

Whipping Boy of the Nonce came home last weekend to find the the voice of Boss on the answering machine: "Call me at home, it is urgent "

It transpired that a VP needed a ticket for a sudden business trip overseas. And somebody had to book that plane ticket. Nonce explained that for overseas one needs a real paper ticket, so it can't be done over the internet, and why don't you call our travel agent for this in the first place, you have his number, why did you even bother to call me on the weekend? Nonce was given the VP's number, and told to relay that information. The VP called back to ask,

"Who will pay for the ticket? I don't want to put it on my card. Do you have a credit card number?"

"Why in the name of everything good and holy would I take my boss' credit card information home with me for the weekend?"

And when Boss was called for the credit card information, Nonce was reprimanded and told, "you should carry my credit card number with you at all times."

This is particularly ridiculous considering that Boss has already had a credit card ripped off at least once that I know of; and if Nonce had preserved the information for future reference, then there could just as easily have been a dismissal on suspicion of credit card fraud on Friday instead of a reprimand on Saturday.

Nonce Whipping Boy has vowed to no longer answer the phone on weekends...

... and I had to point out, not answering the phone will solve nothing; you will walk in on Monday to hear: where were you? why didn't you answer the phone? why didn't you return my call? I needed you, why weren't you there? You are not to leave your house. You will be given a cell phone so I can reach you at all times.

And so then again...

This morning's phone conversation 'twixt Boss and Nonce ran something to this effect:

"I need these papers, where are they?"

"Well only look at that one."

So, Please.

Like I said at the beginning, I don't want this to turn into a bile-fest; I do have positive thoughts to share about Boss for the next post.

So, please, do stay tuned.

.

In the morning twilight, during that slow transition from sleeping dream-state to waking conscious-state, submerged bubbles of words still trapped in the Lethe of my subconcious rise and pop to the surface of my fore-mind (like nitrogen from the blood of a diver, too quickly and I get the bends). Words that I didn't know that I knew. Words like fiat. Or inchoate. Or plimsoll. Or The Peaceable Kingdom. This morning the word was pulegone. Yup. I said Pulegone. Say it again: Pulegone.

Vitzliputzli

In the 30 months I've worked here, 31 people have left the company; of those, only 14 were actual firings. People get very intimidated by Boss' behaviour, and get rattled enough to quit. There are also others that have been under the crosshairs who have refused to quit; they've managed to survive and are still with us. There have been at least 3 people that were fired and then rehired; 2 out of that 3 were rehired several times before getting the final boot! So it cheers me somewhat to think the odds are probably good that if I just hang in here and refuse to quit, then this steady paycheque just may continue.

I suspect I was fired once, and brought back, all in the space of an hour; it was hard to be sure, as I was out of the room for the pivotal part. It happened as part of a huge office kerfluffle, which derived from (as they usually do) a long, unspoken, simmering-under-the-skin argument between Boss and one of Boss's Progeny... an argument which one might say is really a life-long state of affairs.

There was a point at which Boss and Progeny were sort of time-sharing the office; Progeny would come early in the morning and then leave just before Boss would arrive at noon to begin the workday with lunch. When Boss left on a business trip, Progeny started to make a few changes in the way things were done -- changes for the good, as Progeny is quite a reasonable person, as are all of Boss' progeny.

Happy though I was to comply with the new & improved world order, I also knew that upon Boss' return the reaction to this would fall between three extremes: either Boss would not notice any changes at all (unlikely); Boss would notice, burst into a berserker's rage at being usurped, and change everything back (more likely); or, Boss would not notice the changes on a conscious level, but, reacting to some sixth sense, would scythe through the office like a Fury run amuck and wreak vengeance for faults deliberately found where none existed, making random changes to everything (which is in fact what happened).

Ultimately, I do admit fault in that I obeyed a lesser VP in the absence of the CEO, knowing full well that the CEO demands utter and abject fealty; and then I made the ethical and tactical error of trying to pretend it didn't happen. Because VP Progeny backed me up, Boss was not able to nail me on the facts; but I was raked over the coals over nonexistent mistakes.

Have you ever had someone tear strips off you, up one side and down the other, using a perfectly innocent piece of paper that they claim contains greivous errors? At the end of my flaying, I was told to "go home, get out of my sight, I don't want to see you for the rest of the day." It was a dismissal, ostensibly temporary; but I didn't fancy my chances of being able to return again, and started clearing my desk of personal items.

And just before I was about to leave, I was summoned back to Boss. I was told the new process for doing things, and I was made to do it over and over again, until it was perceived to be right. In a most farcical bit of business, Boss manually counted entries that had been automatically numbered by the computer, claiming I had mis-numbered them... counting with a finger on each entry, out loud, over and over, and, somehow -- quite beyond my ability to understand and quite seriously challenging my ability to suspend disbelief -- counting wrong, every time.

To Boss' credit, it was eventually acknowleged that I hadn't made a mistake; I was smiled at, and told "Sorry. But you know how I am. I'm tempermental." To which I honestly replied, "yes, and we wouldn't have you any other way." Though a fearsome thing to behold, the sheer force of Boss' personality is truly awe-inspiring ...though usually in a natural disaster sort of way... my fascination for understanding it must be akin to the same thrill tornado chasers seek.

Having recently re-read Robertson Davies' Fifth Business, I'd like to beleive this qualifies me for being Twice-Born. ;) Give it a read, tell me what you think.

Tell me if you think is bullshit

...that was a very angry title, but sometimes I can't believe the stuff Boss pulls.

Boss has had an entire electronic file folder removed from my network drive. Without asking me, or more importantly, without telling me.

When I asked our network administrator where my file folder had disappeared to, he confided that Boss had told him to remove it and deny all knowledge of doing so.

SysAdmin tells me it's not gone, it can be restored; but he can't do it unless Boss tells him to.

So I have to pretend that I think my file folder has evaporated.

However, I haven't been asked to stop doing the aspect of my job which pertains to that folder.

Which means I have to, naturally, try to reconstitute those files with whatever little information I can dredge up from other sources.

It's ultimately a huge waste of my time and therefore Boss' money -- money, which is dear to Boss' heart, and which is probably the motivating factor for "disappearing" the information held by that file in the first place. Because I'm sure Boss thinks this information pertains to money. It doesn't. Even if it did, this behaviour is closing the barn door after the cows are gone.

My quandry is, am I supposed to go and inform Boss that my file is missing? And will it be considered a breach of working ethics, i.e., a firing offense, from Boss' perspective, if I do not do so?

And when asked, are you sure you didn't delete it? I will have to suffer through the farce of saying, I haven't touched it; it's not in my trash can; I don't know where it is. I will have to suffer the indignity of keeping my mouth shut when Boss looks me in the eye, feigns inculpability, and implies that it's my fault.

For heaven's sakes -- the computer always doublechecks before deleting files both into, and out of, the trash can; how could I not notice? I would have had to voluntarily delete it four times for it to be actually gone.

Which is what I suppose Boss will try to claim that I have done.

I don't want to do the nonsense work of re-creating existing documents. I don't want to have a no-win argument with Boss. So I've decided my official line of dissembling is: it's there. But I can't see it. It's an invisible file.

I'll have to play the waiting game, as that is the only thing in my power to do. I am hoping the file will be re-established when the emotional wind shifts.

This kind of thing makes me angry, less because of what was done -- because, it can be argued, Boss owns everything in this business down to the brass tacks, including my electronic files, and can therefore dispose of it as Boss sees fit -- but because of what it does to me.

I want to take satisfaction in having accomplished something valuable every day; but every time Boss exerts more control, I actually end up with less work to do; and in my bitterness, I'll quite happily write it off as, "Oh well, less work for me, more time to goof off. If Boss wants to pay me to do less, then so be it."

I want to do a good job, but having the definition of that change arbitrarily from day-to-day inclines me to leave work incomplete, as I am left at a complete loss for the "right" way to do it.

I'd be happy to devote myself to putting in an honest day's work; but behaviour like this makes me feel quite justified in spending all bloody day wasting time composing this bloody post.

Boss is the subject of many hard-to-fathom-yet-it-'s-completely-true-I-can't-make-this-shit-up kind of anecdotes; my friends were inspired to get me blogging in the first place because of the stories I told about Boss. Like I mentioned in previous posts, it's amusing, in a schadenfreude kind of way, from a distance; it's unbelievable until you've worked here; and it's terribly intimidating if one ends up in the line of fire.

So please forgive me for griping about work. I'm happy to be employed. I like some aspects of Boss; or at least I'm determined to keep finding things that I like about Boss even though it gets incredible challenging some days... that's probably the martyr aspect of my Catholic indoctrination - uh, sorry, I mean, education - rearing its ugly head again.

Stalked by Death

It reminds me of those "you've-escaped-Death-and-now-Death-is-hunting-you-down" movies. I'm living life completely innocently, and all the while something insidious from another dimension is invisibly bearing down on me with malicious intent; and suddenly something quite unexpectedly horrible happens which I'm powerless to prevent; and it seems the only thing in my power to do is panic.

I should have seen it coming, but I've become so used to finding the computer that I turned off before I left turned on, and things on my desk moved. This morning I found a whack of paper files (the paper versions of the now-missing virtual file) which normally live in my cabinets, piled on my desk - the same files which Boss had sent a peon to collect from me several days ago, and which a high ranking VP had conspired to get back to me because... because...

...well, because Boss' fascinating psycology is both very complicated, and yet simple in a very animalistic way... but I suspect that's a theme to be explored in another post... assuming I still hold this post.... :)

family crest: alpha female, ululant

...used to have a ringside seat for all the yelling & screaming that went on behind the closed doors of upper management... my desk was a sort of an opera-box right outside the CEO's office... quite entertaining, actually, if one wasn't directly involved...

...former location of the company was a one-floor rented office suite, very cramped... new location is an entire two-floor building... almost every VIP has their office on the upper floor, so now "upper management" is a literal expression...

...consequently am, as a first-floor peon, completely out-of-touch with the day-to-day emotional hyperbole, having been posited in a narrow, cold, cathedral-like space, two storeys high, with very messy acoustics... soundscape resembles that of an indoor pool, but without the lapping water... can't understand anybody speaking ten feet away... voices from beyond are completely baffled into a white noisy silence...

...last night before leaving, there fell a upon my now complacent ears the almost forgotten sound of one half of a phone conversation gone horribly wrong... an unholy shrieking, from the far end of the edifice, passed through two sets of closed doors and crossed over the anteroom balcony to hang just beyond the grasp of comprehension...

... wasn't sure whether that made me feel unsettled or wistful...

Wild Roots

Got my first seed catalogue of the year last week. :)

I was mightily surprised that Richters sent me this year's (free!) catalogue, considering they also sent me (free!) catalogues for '01 & '02 yet to date I have never bought so much as a dried rhizome from them. Nevertheless, every time it has come to me in the January mail, I've been extraordinarily pleased to have received it.

There's something fundamentally uplifting about getting a seed catalogue in the dead and dark of winter. I'm on the mailing list for several seed companies, and none of them mail out their catalogues this early; so I suspect Richter's does this quite intentionally.

And quite wisely, too. I spent a very happy evening suggled up on the sofa, post-it-noting pages and tallying the costs of impossibly long lists, gardening in my mind's eye.

The lease on this apartment turns over this July first; I still haven't made up my mind as to whether I'll stay or not and consequently, I'm conflicted (or v.v.). I used to move from address to address just to enjoy a new neighborhood; but the timetable for leases and landlords doesn't mesh well with the timetable for gardening.

I want to order slew of seeds and a passel of plants -- but not if I'm going to have to move them all come summer. And the viability of seeds generally decreases the longer planting is delayed; so I'm reluctant to commit to the possibility of ordering now and planting next year...

Any ideas for wild-rooted nomadic transportable gardens?

This is a nifty little site.

This is a nifty little site I found, thanks to a link off a link provided by a nurturing someone who wants to see me blossom and thrive. (Call me crazy, but somehow I find that terribly endearing.) :)

By the way, you, I keep meaning to tell you -- because every time I look at it, it strikes me anew -- I keep meaning to tell you not just how much I like that picture you snapped of me, but also precisely why. Not in any particular order, and possibly repetitive:

1) you can't see my face. :)

2) most photos are judged "good" if they portray the sitter as an aethetically pleasing person to regard; but this is of me being engaged in actively doing something, not just of me being a passive face to be admired (or not, as the case may be)

3) I'm focused elsewhere, not mugging for the camera

4) it's of me, but I'm not the center of attention in the shot

5) it's about me, but not all about me; it's also about what's about me, and yet what's about me is somehow about me -- while you may claim that is serendipitous, I think it is instinctively clever of you

6) the "about" is eclectic -- altogether Victorian and Techno, Gothic and Provincial; flowers and metal, sunshine and dirt, pane glass and focused lenses; mechanical and natural, relaxation and aspiration, earthbound and heavenwards (do I have enough?)

7) there's just enough of a faint wisp of a delicate hint of the barest soupcon of the wee-est dram of spirituality, so that it doesn't overwhelm or offend as being overly religious yet still could possibly have metaphysicality read into it if the viewer wanted to play with the idea of such interpretations

8) it implies, subtly, almost accidentally, a search for an elevated state of grace... well, okay, I guess technically it's completely accidental, but I like that it combines the concepts of "accident" & "state of grace" (it's the arch echoed by the arching that does it for me) ...perhaps I may even dare to call it "An Accidental State of Grace?" (sorry about that link, sometimes my education comes back to haunt me...)

9) call me sentimental -- my boyfriend is behind me, though mostly unseen... I think I'd feel lonely if it was just me in there [wry smile]

10) it made me realize that nearly everyone I've seriously dated has either been a photographer, or had photography as a serious hobby

So I really like that snap, I like it well enough to mull it over as to why I say to myself, "Egad, that is an excellent photo of me!" every time I see it. You should feel proud of yourself for having been able to make a picture of me that I love; & I hope you do, because it is no small feat.

I doubt that the above qualifies as a bloggin' loverfest admiration essay, as it was mostly about me and how pleased I am with you & your photo. And it's a day late. But I must reiterate: you were talented & skilled & alert & intuitive enough to snap a pic of me that I love. That's bloody incredible.

I haven't counted to see whether that was 1500 words, but if it runneth over, you can use the extra words to make haiku.

Thanks for the pic, it remains an excellent gift.
Ed

And the cat did unspeakable things to my homework, too

Had a brilliant blog with a billion links going, and then my buggy old bugger of a computer decided to restart itself as it is wont to do; so the blog is all lost, gone, evaporated into the mists of ancient memory. Must remember to post without publishing every so often to avoid such accidents.

A birthday toast:

A birthday toast: The Professor. Happy 111st.