I work with a bunch of passive-aggressive jerks. Specifically, they love their 18 hour day so much, they whine about anyone who actually has responsibilities outside the office. Like raising children and feeding them before 9pm.
Logging in from home to get a little extra work done won't get you anywhere, because these lunatics can't actually observe you working. It's like working with overly caffeinated, psychopathic kindergarteners.
The superstitious part of my brain says it's karma. I've been so cranky and stressed about office politics, that I may have inadvertently grown a crusty, bitter layer over all this awesomeness.
After months of holding it all in, some squirted out the side and splattered everything with bad karma.
I spent lovely evening in our veep's office due to a crisis, only to find it was a non-issue. The person who created the crisis, lied about it - in order to get his problem looked at sooner. A complete waste of time, which meant I couldn't pick up my daughter from her friend's house, or make dinner for my family.
So last weekend, in order to try and relax a bit, Hubby and I had a daylong “date”, only to find numerous angry messages from work when I got home. During this time, daughter was tasked with reading a 300 page book for a report due at the end of the week. Since I was going to be out most of the day, this was her one and only job for the day. She opted to sleep for the entire time instead.
Between getting yelled at by work for not having my cell phone on me, then trying to pry out of a 16year old why sleeping suddenly became a moral imperative with a major assignment due shortly, I think I snapped.
Broke down in tears, had temper tantrum, threw a few things, then stepped in pee.
Apparently during the maelstrom of stress, Meatball needed to go out, and no one noticed him bouncing up and down in front of the door. Bouncing as well as a Giant Papillion Moose can do.
So I cleaned up the pee, grounded the daughter, logged into work and fixed the problem, then had a nice, fat vodka martini to compliment the swelling on my mascara-stained face.
And yeah, other than having a puffy face the next day, the sun rose and life was fine again. Well, except for the work thing. I ended up working all day Sunday.
I think I need to consider a new career path. Something that provides a bit more satisfaction, and involves less screaming.
I wonder how long it takes to get through Beauty School?