Thursday, February 4, 2010

Cubicle Rehab

This job has messed with my head for over 2 years now (as of January 29th) and although I look forward to the day when I walk in here with a letter of resignation and tell John to suck it (or something else equally lady-like) I'm apprehensive about how I will survive in a new environment.

I guess you are wondering what the hell is wrong with me? I complain each and every day about how much I hate it here and how I can't wait to get a new job and now I'm suddenly worried about this glorious prospect?

I know.

But hear me out.

Once upon a time, before Satan saw fit to make me his b*tch, I had a good work ethic. I came to work, smiled, did my job and then some, never took vacation, never got sick so never took sick days and just all around was a pleasure and a joy to work with. Seriously. Ask anyone that knew me then.

Now. I assume that when there is a meeting, its bad news. I am constantly waiting for the other shoe to drop, I can't help myself from making snarky comments (just follow it up with "Just Kidding!" if the reaction is not what you intended), I listen to music on my ipod in an effort to drown out all co-worker sound or the threat of co-worker interaction, and worst of all- I look for any reason to take sick days. Whenever I can. I honestly plan them.

How will I survive in a regular workplace? I am told that there exist these mythical places where one doesn't spend the majority of the day fantasizing about quitting or punching people in the face. Or where the boss actually wants to know your thoughts, and listens to what you have to say. I've even heard that sometimes, when you're sick, your boss calls and makes sure that you're ok, or sends a fruit basket.

A fruit basket.

The only time Amy ever called me when I was sick was when The Boyfriend was suspected of having swine flu upon our return from Mexico and Amy called to tell me not to come into work.

Clearly I need some kind of therapy before I'm released back into the real world.

So here's what I'm thinking: Cubicle Rehab.

I know how this would work- I watch Intervention. First people would notice that I was out of control so they would get together and write me letters, telling me that they love me and that I am being given a gift, and I don't have to live like this anymore.

Then I would be enrolled in some kind of awesome rehab facility in California, Florida, New Mexico, or Arizona. And I would fly there with a nurse so that they could make sure that I wasn't going to die from all the toxic hatred in my body (before we left I would make them let me have one more hit of anger, perhaps a really violent fantasy about manager deaths). Once I got to where I was going, I would begin counseling.

We would talk about why I started working here in the first place, how the way I was treated wasn't right, but that it also wasn't my fault and that I can't let it make me a dried up bitter old woman before my time, that the anger is killing me etc.

Eventually I would start to smile more, years would be taken off my face and I would get a pet. And then I would be able to work in an office where people were allowed to talk to each other and it wouldn't sent me into the fetal position. A place of business that I enjoyed coming to almost every day (I'm still a realist), working on projects I enjoyed, where John isn't f*cking me over every chance he gets and there are no more tears on sunday nights.

Seriously- I think I will need this. Maybe we can set up some kind of funding? Make it happen? I mean, there have to be more people like me right? I know some, in my office. Although I would say that I'm easily the worst offender.

Now before we end this for today, I watched the Superbowl's Greatest Commercials last night (almost all of which I hadn't seen because I live in Canada and CTV cuts into all the feeds and airs their sh*tty commercials) and there were a few hilarious ones that I totally related to. They were for job search engines. I will try to find them and post them on here because I think we will all enjoy. I'm hoping that some dormant technology gene will suddenly wake up and this will work out, but it might end up being links. Or, just play by play descriptions for no one's reading pleasure.

I'm not really sure why I needed to add that...could have been a surprise. I guess I felt like the post was kind of short and I needed a few more words.

Mission accomplished.

1 comment:

  1. You just need to hit rock bottom, hopefully without an assault charge.

    When that happens, I have a large house with a spare bedroom that you are welcome to. It is also located in Florida. And I know lots of places to drink. And don't forget the beach. Would that be considered therapy?

    Oh, and the fact that you can't look me up on any kind of criminal website is always a plus.