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she· verb
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06.07.03 I have a feeling I'm going to lose my job in Monday. Rumors are running rampant at the House of Pain (formerly known as My Place of Employment That is No Longer the Place of Hula's Employment) and we're all running scared (at least those of us who rely on an income and who also support The Dinosaur). The Dinosaur, my affectionate name for the product written about in all those books you see on the top shelf, is the star of the rumors. It is the product that in all likelihood will be "going away" and as some may say, "going away sooner than you think so don't be applying for any car loans this weekend".
I rarely discuss my employers on these pages because I fear hurting someone's feelings if I am discovered and I've written something unpleasant about a co-worker. I mean, seriously, the work I do for a living is so goddamned boring the only alternative work-related-journal-scenarios are the annoying, amusing or exceedingly stupid antics of the people I happen I work with. For the most part, I have a lot of these stories here for you, but I try to limit them to my own retardo antics, though an entry detailing the main-o behavior of another co-worker does happen to be one of the first few entries of this journal. (The Tony entries were deleted within days of hits from my former place of employment showing up in NetTracker. I have since re-included the ones I could locate on my hard drive.) Since I have been employed at the House of Pain, however, the fodder for online journal material has grown far beyond Co-Worker Annoyances. It borders upon "Take a Lot of Notes Now and Prepare for a Cover Story in Oxford American or Perhaps Even a Lifetime Movie of the Week" territory. Working titles include:
I believe I'm poised on the brink of something that while is not as big as Enron, will at least show up on www.fuckedcompany.com. I don't have a major role in any of it, but I am positioned to get the inside scoop if I wanted to. The if I wanted to part would require me to infiltrate another "organization" and perhaps even to betray someone. I just don't think I have it in me.
My position feels precarious, so I did all I could do. I took a pictures yesterday and packed up most of my personal belongings so I don't have to stick around should a second Mini Corporate Holocaust take place like the one where I lost both my husband and two of my staff members a couple of weeks ago.
Hobo and Sweet Pickle were mercilessly unaware of the first Mini Corporate Holocaust and I would like to preserve their innocence. The event was ugly and full of tears. Immediately after I found out I'd lost my admin assistant and one of my writers, I called Hula and was notified of a transfer from his line to the director's phone via the LED display on my phone that said: HULA FWD: DIRECTOR. Of course I didn't "get it" until seconds after I heard the director answer Hula's phone with a jaunty, "Hello, this is Herr Director". Jesus God, Hula's laid off too. Even though I knew that my name showed up on the director's LED display, I hung up rather than uttering a face-saving "um, er, wrong number" first, branding me not just an idiot, but a TOTAL IDIOT WHOSE SPOUSE HAD JUST BEEN AXED PROBABLY BECAUSE I'M AN IDIOT.
What will happen come Monday? Your guess is as good as mine. I'll keep you posted.
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