Still no headway on leaving a lasting impression on the world before I turn 26.
I almost can't believe how tired I am. For real. Especially since this week has been a "spring break" of sorts for us here in the office. You see, everybody but the lowly analysts and the admins and the file clerks and the receptionists have been out all week long on a business trip in Desertstate. For most people, that means a number of wonderful things:
Two hour lunch breaks
Relaxed "street" attire (jeans and t-shirts with graphics)
Listening to iPods isn't just allowed, it's encouraged
Foot races around the office
King Cake for everyone
As long as you don't tell anybody, the work day ends sometime around 4:00
Yes, all these wonderful things happen when the bosses and everybody else is out of the office.
Unless your supervisor is Consuela Brown.
I don't believe I've properly introduced Consuela to the new generation of 42nd Floor-ers. For those of you who don't know her very well, check it. Consuela is an odd woman. She works on her own plane. That's the only way to explain how someone who's obviously an intelligent woman can function with that totally flat affect of hers. She never says good morning, she never makes small talk, she finds the strangest things knee-slapping hysterical, she gets annoyed if she has to repeat really complicated instructions more that once...
And she's pregnant.
And I'm supposed to do her job while she's out on maternity leave. Of course, I'll still be paid as the File Clerk, even though I'll be performing the job of an executive-level administrative assistant. I asked Mr. Archibald (in so many words), "What the crap?"
Mr. Archibald: Well, what WE like to do is GIVE you new responsiBILities and AFTER we see how you've DONE with them THEN we can talk about compensation.
Me: I repeat, what the crap?
So this week...this corporate Spring Break...what SHOULD have been a totally relaxed, fun time...has been absolutely hellish. I don't want to be Consuela. I don't want to do her job. It sucks.
But I've passed the rubicon. Unless something big and dramatic happens, I'm scheduled to become a personality-free black woman with a knack for making simple instructions for basic tasks head-spinningly complicated around mid-April.
Shoot me. Shoot me now!
2 comments:
You obviously should set Consuelo on fire.
I would at least get management to agree to let you put her position on your resume. And by asking for that permission, you might signal to them that you'll be leaving if not properly compensated. And try to smile smugly every time someone passes your desk. And cultivate inside jokes with those around you not in management. Show them your power!!!
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