Nov 17, 2008

Office Warfare

I made a promise today to the lady that helps me (I'm sometimes loathe to call it 'therapy' since I work in home health and the word 'therapy' calls to mind physical and occupational therapists working with people who have had strokes or knee replacements) anyway, I made a promise today that I'd write it out. What happened.

I've got a lot of much better posts in my head and in my heart, sort of tangled up between the two, but right now I need to see if I can get some more of this poison out before I tell you the good news and tell you about the second grand adventure.

I hate office politics. I hate drama, and I hate the people that propagate it. I've been doing my best here of late to keep the drama to a minimum by keeping my contact with the Drama Queen (also known as Sweaty Fat Rolls when I'm feeling nice) to an absolute professional level only. I don't talk to her unless my job requires it, plain and simple. Interestingly enough in an office of some twenty employees (only five of which actually spend the whole day in the office) she is the only one I cannot abide. Whose presence turns my stomach to acid and makes me want to spit at her.

Anyway.

Just over a week ago we started a new therapist who has as her specialty something called lymphedema wraps. I was asked to order the special and very expensive materials for her so she could perform this function, and I started the ball rolling. Special requests to Corporate Supply management for approval for spending $500 in supplies on one patient, physician's orders saying it was okay, the whole long, slow works. Naturally half the stuff was back ordered, some wasn't even available due to manufacturer's shortages, etc. So, I did what I had to do within the channels I had available to me. I did what I ALWAYS do. I took responsibility for the problem and started working on it. Alone. See, I'm not USED to having people around who are willing or able to help in my office. I'm used to relying on the people in Corporate whom I KNOW are willing and able to help me.

Now. In the meantime, no one told me it was vitally important that we do this thing ASAP. No one told me that a week was too long to wait (Wah. I can't making the wheels turn any faster.) The therapist told me that none of these supplies were available anywhere in town, as there's only TWO therapists in a 100 mile radius that are certified to even DO this sort of therapy, so that option was out. We weren't trying to find a damned roll of non-sterile gauze here. Today, though, I was called to the carpet for not telling the new boss that the materials were delayed. I was chewed for not getting her involved sooner. I was barked at for not

I can't do this. I'm sorry. It's just pissing me off more. It's making me want to scream until my throat ruptures.

See, I have been over this whole rotten scenario in my head SO many times. After I was chewed out in front of my stupid fat idiotic coworker for all my faults re: the order AND my failure to be a team player, my failures to communicate properly, my on and on and on, I broke down after I left the conference room. I couldn't stop crying. I was so furious, so upset, and every time I heard that braying laugh I wanted to strike her, wanted to do physical harm to her. I felt like two someones I thought I could trust had kicked me in the balls. I felt like all the work I've been trying to do up to this point in making the work relationship FUNCTIONAL between me and this mouth-breathing fucking COW was for naught, and in fact they seemed to be taking HER side. SHE was feeling threatened. SHE was feeling like I excluded her. SHE was upset because I don't greet her in the mornings. FUCK, lady, my job does not include making YOU feel like you're fucking welcome.

Talk about a slap in the face, after I felt like my stomach had been slit and my guts left to hit the floor.

I went home for lunch and gathered my wits and went back. It was the LAST thing I wanted to do. I wanted to call in sick, tell them I had an appointment to see my headshrinker, which I do now, but not until Thursday morning. Yeah, it was that bad. Bad enough to drive me back to the counselor whom I thought had done me a world of good. I feel like a mountain climber who has just slipped off the cliff face and has fetched up, spine-crackingly, at the end of his safety rope, dangling in open air with his spine snapped.

Know what I really think I need? I think I need a factory job. I need a job where I am responsible to no one but my quota. I need a job wherein I have to make x number of left-handed dongs in a day, and if I don't it's my ass, and if I do the boss leaves me the fuck alone and I get a paycheck at the end of the week that says I did my goddamned job. I don't want to have to communicate with some backward piece of shit coworker who cannot use the English language properly, much less form complete coherent sentences about getting the shit off her shoes except when they involve her drama. I don't want to have to worry if I've said 'good morning' to everyone in the proper fucking tone of voice. I don't want to have to worry if I've made a good impression, or if I'm rowing in the same direction as "the team players" around me.

What I most want is to do what I am being paid for--show up, do my job and go the hell home. The rest is bullshit; set dressing and politics, stroking the boss and giving the proper squeeze at the end of a goddamned hand job. I just want to work to the best of my ability and when I go home I want that to be that. I don't want to lie in bed with a belly-full of acid wondering why the hell people whom I thought were on my side at work, people who were at least being equitable suddenly turned on me.

I fucking hate office politics. You wonder why people show up at work with rifles and start slaughtering their co-workers? Well, come fucking ask ME. I'll point her out to you.




You guys and gals, if you've read the whole thing, please do me a favor and don't honour this with a comment? It's not worth it. This is therapy, not anything that needs to be discussed. I know I was raised to live in a world that passed away some 50 years ago, and I am having a hard time adjusting to this new, soft, pansy-ass world, where egos and making sure everyone is happy is more important than making sure everyone works. I'll be back to myself in a few days.

6 comments:

Joan of Argghh! said...

There's a squeeze at the end of a hand job?

Huh.

All these years...

:o)

meno said...

no comment

Clowncar said...

There is no "I" in "team."

There is, however, an "I" in "shut the fuck up and get out of my office, you fat idiotic loser."

Gordo said...

Clowncar, you should go in to labour relations. You have a wonderful way with words. ;-)

Gordo said...

Oh, and there is an "I" in "pie".

That is all.

Jean said...

sorry, darlin'...factory work is no different.

Feel better soon.

You notice how we all obeyed the 'no comment' request?
Can't help it. We love ya. *s*