Prairie Dog Days

Life keeps truckin along, nothing too exciting, THANKFULLY. It always seems when you're at your lowest financially and emotionally that shit seems to snowball. I've had a few bad events, but nothing that will wipe me out. It's just forcing me to be even more of a hermit than usual.

The new job is kind of interesting. It's exam time and my main duty is to type them up to Very. Specific. Specifications. Overall, the professors are nice, except for one ol' curmudgeon who I seriously considered strangling and dumping his body in the ocean, but quickly realized that I might lose my temp job, so decided against it.

The best part are my co-workers, who are the most amazingly motley crew in age, ethnicity, and attitude. There's the sour but witty ginger gal; the strangely apathetic yet hard-working young Maori woman; the tiny, silly Filipina; the barely-audible, ethereal-voiced older white Kiwi woman; and the highly-detailed yet easily confused and gullible Vietnamese woman. And me, the smart-ass, goofy American with the ever-changing hair (I just re-dyed it back to brown because I'm so damn broke I couldn't keep up with the blonde highlights -- *sniff*).

In my usual way, I immediately befriended the Filipina and Vietnamese women by speaking their own languages to them, even going so far as to sing the folk song Katakataka in its entirety to the the former. My smart-assiness fit in well with the ginger gal and anyone could get along with Miss Ethereal. The Maori woman, though, is a tough nut to crack.

When I started the job, I had already been carrying a stupid cold for over a week, so figured I wasn't contagious anymore. Still, it was pretty damn embarrassing to be new at a job and find yourself bellowing phlegmy coughing fits every 15 minutes and snorting buckets of snot into dozens and dozens of tissues. Also, I sounded like a 75 year-old Lucky Strikes smoker with lung cancer -- and this is me after feeling much better!

When 2 days later, Miss Ethereal came down with a wicked cold, I felt like a complete fucking jerk. But when you're a temp, sick days aren't an option. I had gone to great pains not to touch anyone and washed my hands with OCD-faithfulness. Still, what an ass.

Another week went by and though I was feeling even better than before, I would still find it hard to breathe when I exerted myself and would get chest pains. The worst part? About 1/2 deaf! My ears were hopelessly clogged. I waited it out for a couple days, then gave in and bought ear drops. God, ear drops SUCK! Squeezing a slimey liquid into your ear and then encouraging it down the canal is one disgusting feeling. Another 3 days went by. Still deaf. I could tell it was becoming annoying to my co-workers, who working in one large room, were used to just shouting to each other. I lived like a prairie dog, occasionally catching something that sounded like my name on the wind and then promptly popping up from chair, head above my cubicle, head swiveling around for the origin. Then I would usually have to walk over to the person so I could actually comprehend what they were saying.

I realized I would have to see a doctor, but was concerned since having no residency, health care costs were a major issue, and I was, as usual, low on cash. My co-workers surprised me in their sweetness -- all of them simultaneously started either calling their own GPs (general practitioner) or searched on their computers for a cheap, local one. Withing minutes, various printouts and notes were being pushed my way, until we found one not too far from my house that charged just $40 for a "casual patient." A few hours later, I was off, squirming about missing the several hours of work from my paycheck, but knowing it was necessary.

The medical centre was like walking into a Cambodian rural clinic. It wasn't exactly...dirty...but had a run-down, dirtiness about it. It was packed with some scary looking people and several screaming babies. Many people did not speak English, which made me think this is where immigrants (like me) came for cheap health care. I was told the doctor was running "a little behind" which made me wince. I was right too -- I would sit in my chair, my clothes soggy from the downpour outside, for well over an hour waiting for my turn.

When I got in, I was greeted by a Filipina who must have been pushing 100 years old. I explained to her about my 2 week+ cold and she immediately launched into a scolding rant while I listened, as best I could, with jaw agape. Who goes to the doctor for a cold unless it gets to this point anyway? After a short exam, she started scolding me again, telling me I was on the verge of developing pneumonia. PNEUMONIA. Great. JUST great. Look, give me the prescription and let me be on my way. Lecturing just pushes my homicidal button.

I finally got out of there and made it to the tiny pharmacy where 2 people I recognized from the waiting room were already there. One girl, talking to the pharmacist, was holding up a heavily-bandaged finger, where I caught part of her conversation: "...and every time I tell someone it happened because I got bit by a pig, they start laughing at me."

I burst out laughing.

The girl whirled around, where next to me, the other woman was chuckling too, though a bit more furtively than I. I laughed harder.

"HOW did you get bit by a pig?" I asked. I mean, back in the bush where I lived and pigs were either raised or hunted wild, I get it. But in Auckland?

Apparently she had been at some sort of petting zoo and got chomped there. Still funny.

So, it's been several days since I started taking my antibiotics and...well, my ears are still plugged, I still occasionally cough, and I still can't exert myself too much. But there's some hope -- every once in awhile when I yawn one ear will pop deliciously open for a brief 1-2 seconds before clomping closed again.

sigh

Freedom and Suckiness

I feel as if Jera and I are 'Life is Crap' twins lately, for when I read her blog, it's like reading a page out of my own life. You begin to reconsider a lot of things about yourself when things continuously go wrong, like, "Wait a minute, maybe *I* am the lunatic here." I remember back in Bangkok, my assistant director and good friend, Bill, used to say over and over again, "Wait a minute, is it us? There's no way that EVERY Western teacher is a fuckwit. What the hell?!?!" This after dealing with yet another asinine teacher who acted in strange and/or frightening way.

And you can't help thinking that it all just kind of snowballs. Stress leads to health issues which cost a lot of money which leads to a lot more stress which makes you more sick, and then you start feeling like a hypochondriac, oh shit. I've recently been diagnosed with dangerously high blood pressure. It's a long story, but to me it seem pretty simple; one-part family history (just about everyone in my family keels over from heart disease, usually somewhat young), and one-part suffocating stress. A deadly cocktail. I'm on medication, and I think about salt a lot more now than I ever did, but so far it isn't budging much. Apparently it's my systolic that's the problem, when you're 170/101, it's the 101 that will kill you.

As I've partially-documented, life in Missoula has pretty much sucked, despite ongoing efforts on both Beau and my part to seek satisfying and decent-paying employment, improve our health, pay off bills, and fight an oncoming depression from it all. I've sort of gotten to the point now where I'm starting to hate it here. Looking at the big picture, I do see a nice, good-sized city that is fairly attractive and has some interesting things going on. But in MY world, it's a place where jobs are low-paying (Montana just passed up South Dakota to become the SECOND-to-worst (best?) state in the country in low wages. Yeehaw.), and where work situations are just so crazy that it does more than confuse me, it totally messes with my head.

Quitting Shop-n-Smile has been one of the greatest joys of my recent life. Just being home at night is wonderful bliss, despite the fact that I spend most of it cleaning and ironing since Beau and I never have the chance to clean our now gross apartment. I was hoping the new focus on my day job at the university would prove to be fruitful. Less tired, less rushed, less distracted. But it now seems that even THIS job is becoming more and more troubled. It hasn't been all that great anyway, but it's was always better than Shop-n-Smile, which made it "the better job."

We got a new boss - and he's one of the most powerful men in the university. He's a really nice guy overall and a genius diplomat. When he arrived, Office Manager Woman (OMW) latched herself to him like a baby possum. There were lots of closed doors and things changed rather quickly. She went from pretty sweet woman you could joke with (who gave me, like, no work to do), to super rigid professional woman (who still gave me no work to do). Her distance was not only alarming, it was somewhat hurtful since although I hated how she didn't give me tasks, personally I liked her very much. I kept telling myself she was just busy (and she has become super busy since the start of our new boss), and I tried to shrug it off.

And, I'm STILL a frickin temp. But the university only allows you to be a temp for a max of six months, and my six months were coming fast. The main reason I allowed myself to be poached by this department and leave the other department I liked so much, was that this department promised the job would go permanent quickly and then so would benefits (medical insurance, free tuition, sick and vacation leave, etc.). Well, it's been six months, and this "temp job" has been extended - THREE times. I've started to become a bit resentful. It feels like my life is just on pause.

So, a week before my six months were up, and I still hadn't heard much, I wrote a letter to my two bosses and the OMW basically saying, "Well, there's only a few days left. I can't work past then...I'll be UNEMPLOYED." I said it a bit more diplomatic than that, of course.

I heard nothing.

This scared the crap out of me, because you'd think if someone thought you were a great employee and wanted to hire you, they'd let you know, not keep you hanging. And I knew that once the six months came about, they could just say "Bye!" and that'd be it. Also, let's remember that I just quit Shop-n-Smile. Fuck.

I reflected on things - I know I've been doing a good job. I rarely do things wrong/mess things up, and I get a lot done. I always show up for work and I've already established great relationships with a slew of people across campus (who often joke how it can't be possible I work in this office, since I "actually have a sense of humor" and I am "too nice"). But when your boss has seemingly turned on you, you're screwed.

The irony here is that my bosses LOVED me at Shop-n-Smile and repeatedly begged me not to quit, and I couldn't stand the place. I thought my bosses here liked me too, but now, now I'm paranoid. At least I get along fantastically with the rest of the staff in the office. I've even gotten Crazy Carla to loosen up some - she actually laughed aloud today and said, "You're so funny!" It felt like a triumph.

So, when that Friday, the final official last day of my "appointment" came, OMW came up to me in the morning and said, "We need to talk in a few minutes." My stomach dropped. Just what you never want to hear either from your boss or from a lover. But, in true medieval torture fashion, "a few minutes" became an hour. Three times during that day OMW told me "We'll meet just after X happens," and then it'd happen, and we wouldn't meet. I felt like I was losing my mind, and thought of a Dilbert cartoon I had JUST seen in the paper a week before where a similar thing happened to Alice, my favorite character:Beau, knowing my sky-high level of stress at what was to happen, called frequently, "Did you meet yet?"

"No! She said after I get back from lunch now!"

"Geeez, postponed again!? She's going to wait until I have to leave for work at 4pm and then I won't be able to talk to you!"

"God, I hope not!"

Consequently, we met finally -- at 5:00pm. I was taken into a room and the door was closed. Great, this is it. I thought about another job I could go for - kind of like a teacher's assistant at the local elementary school. It wasn't glamorous, and it paid less, but it'd get me back into teaching in some form. I kept telling myself this to soothe my soul - for I'd never been let go from a job before, and knowing myself, I knew I'd probably bawl. I just hoped I could control the flow of salt water until I got to my car. No one likes an office crier.

OMW slowly began, telling me that the position had finally been finished (they'd been working on the "job description" for about three months), and that it had been submitted to Human Resources. Now, with everything that had to happen, all the chains of command, the posting of the job to the public, the slew of interviews they'd have to do, and finally hiring someone, it could take about six weeks. (And of course, since they had to open the job up to the universe, there was no guarantee it was mine).

Six weeks! Six weeks of unemployment if I chose to go for this job, instant unemployment no matter what. I inwardly panicked. But no, this was not the case. I was told that although I was about to pass up the 6-month mark, I could continue to work, they would just be forced to pay me for benefits for the six weeks. How odd to have full benefits for 45 days only. Well, okay, so I wasn't being "fired," that was good.

Then, OMW, wearing her all-cool, all-professional demeanor, began to tell me the two things that were "wrong" with me, which in all honesty, weren't really flaws, but just things I had to pay attention to (like that the phones were ALWAYS covered - apparently a pet peeve of our boss - even if I went on break or something). Okay, no problem, I could do that.

OMW then started to go on and on about "communication" and how it had paid special attention to that in the job description, making sure to add it in certain parts. "Communication" has been the hot, new word in this office lately. It's all about us all communicating, which is a joke, it's really more about control, but whatever, I can communicate. So, with this emphasis on talking to each other, I waited for her to address our recent distance, her stony silences, her sudden lack of friendship. She never said anything. So, I brought it up. It had been driving me crazy anyway, and I knew I just couldn't continue at this job with this stupid tension.

Immediately she admitted she had felt it too, and that it had bothered her. To her, it had started after she had returned from a vacation, (her thinking it was me), and that she had even gone to my boss about it (gee, thanks). As we talked, though I didn't feel all warm and fuzzy, I felt a sense of relief that we had gotten this out. Maybe we could become friends again. We both love to laugh, and I had missed that. Then she suddenly told me something I had done that had really upset her. Believe it or not, it was when I was actually thanking her for something she did for me, but she took it as me thanking her for NOT doing something immortal (oh lord), and so, had seen it has some sort of backhanded compliment. It wasn't. It sucks that she interpreted it that way, and I'll have to think about how I presented myself, but it's not an accusation I've ever heard before. "Hey! Thanks for not being a dick!"

I felt like things were better, and yet, still strained. When I had asked her what my chances were of actually getting this job permanently (since I had stuck it out so long with that in mind), she refused to give me any clue, saying it wouldn't be right to say. Then she went on to say that when I first joined the staff, and we had frequently chatted, and she told me a buttload of juicy gossip and information on a regular basis, that it had been "totally inappropriate." Well, maybe in an "official" way stuff like that is inappropriate, but co-workers in most offices bond on their mutual gossip, and OMW had never shared anything with me that was malicious or cruel, mostly just the history of the place, which was already steeped in chaos. Her statement made me feel bad again, because all those chats had been so friendly and fun. I guess that means we wouldn't be buddies anymore. I told her I was relieved, because I thought I was going to get let go. "No, no, no," she said, "I would never do that. I would only fire someone if something was really dreadfully wrong" (well, gee, I guess I'm not dreadful then). So, when I finally left the meeting, I felt better, but just, weird.

The next morning when I came in, I had a feeling of optimism. Things had to get better now. But when I sat down at my desk and opened my email, my heart sank. There was a long letter from OMW, basically going on and on about how my perception of being "fired," was incorrect since technically, it would just be the ending of my temp assignment, so even if I hadn't been offered another six weeks of work, I wouldn't have been fired legally, blah blah blah. Yes, she was right, legally, but really, I would have been let go only because I suck. Hiring another temp now would be silly. The email left me with a cold feeling in my stomach. So much for a warm and fuzzy reconciliation. Again, when your boss is against you, you should start sending our your resume.

God, I want to leave Missoula.

Crazy Carla

There should be no gasp of surprise from anyone who has ever read this blog that whatever my current job is, there's bound to be some crazy people about. The strange thing this time, is that someone who was somewhat normal, has had a sudden attack of the bizarros. The antics serve me well in my frequent bouts of boredom.

I've mentioned the "accountant" in the office before. She's technically not an accountant, but close enough. When I first started, she made me rather crazy, because every simple question, like, "Where do I put this folder?" was met with a 5-minute, mind-numbing, condescending speech. After a couple of weeks, just when I was ready to claw my eyes out, she let up, and though she had her occasional quirks of annoyingness and displays of painfully awkward social skills, overall she was a nice woman and harmless.

So, "Carla," has just recently ...um...changed. Normally, Carla sits in a room by herself, where, as she often reminds anyone who doesn't care to know, she "processes 5000 forms a year." (It's gotten to the point that every time I hear her say that now, I have to quickly think of scenes of torture to keep from snickering). She occasionally peeks out, but for the most part keeps to herself. She's not very chatty, and my repeated attempts to joke with her have fallen flat. Real flat.

As I also have previously mentioned, we have two big chiefs here in the office, a man and a woman, as different from each other as chalk and cheese. Carla has some sort of attachment to the male one, El Jefe. He's a tough nut to crack - sometimes jovial and full of trivia (I'm a big trivia fan myself and can rarely stump him), and sometimes unnecessarily ruthless and cruel. It all started a couple weeks ago when an announcement was made through email regarding El Jefe. Carla started emerging from her office. She was cranky and mean. The first instance, Carla came out to my desk, stared straight at me, and held up a form I had just given her.

Carla: *intense glare* Why did you stamp this HERE?
Me: Wha? Oh, it was a mistake.
Carla: But I don't understand, *incoherent mutterings* why did you stamp it HERE?
Me: *pause in confusion* Look. *looking her straight in the eye* It. Was. A. Mistake.
Carla: *mutters incoherently and waddles off*

Explanation: Basically, the "5000 forms" she processes a year go through me first. There are hundreds of other forms that also go through me, but are then directed to other people in the office. I date-stamp each and every one with my happy little stamp, and pass them on. It's really just for our own reference IN CASE we need to know later when a form came in. Some people have specifically requested I do not stamp directly on the form, but date-stamp a tiny little post-it instead. Sure, no problem. But Carla wants ALL her forms directly stamped upon. On that day, I just happened to accidentally stamp a sticky note instead. Well, that's when I got the visit and the look of death.

Since then, Carla's behavior has intensified. She started coming out to my office (which is in a separate room) and saying, "Where's El Jefe?" "Where's La Jefa?" When are they coming back? Did they leave for the day?" It's not something she needs to know, but not being that big of a deal, I'd look at their calendars and tell her. "No, he's just at a meeting. He should be back at 10." She also started asking about the other employees in the office. "Where did she go? Is she at a meeting? Did she go to get coffee? We're the only ones here!" This has gotten to the point where she's asking me 6-7 times a day on her bosses' whereabouts.

Typically, several times a day, El Jefe will have his door closed. Sometimes he's got someone in there, sometimes he wants his privacy. She has started coming up to another employee who's desk is in front of his door. "Who's in there with him?" Carla demands. The employee will shrug. She then comes out to my office. "Who's in there with him?" If I know, I'll tell her. If I don't, she retreats to her office. But the other employee has told me that every 10 minutes, particularly every time she hears a sound, her head will poke out from around the corner looking to see if anyone is emerging from El Jefe's office. This has recently increased to a near-constant level, and is frankly looking like some sort of mental problem, but what, I have no idea. Obsessive-compulsive disorder?

The third thing, is that Carla has started to leave the office for brief periods of time. Typically, this is no big deal, and I don't usually care what people do with their own lives, but it's gotten to the point where it's every 10-30 minutes she's out the door. I have no idea where she goes or what she does. As an experiment, I ticked on a post-it each time she left. In one day, she left 13 times! (This is not counting leaving for lunch, or whatever).

Other people in the office have noticed and have gone from annoyance to rage since Carla's non-stop inquiries are disruptive. What makes it kind of funny, is that Devout Christian Office Manager Woman is just seething and fantasizing about catapulting Carla's carcass to a faraway land. Office Woman keeps coming out to my office, her face frozen in an intense angry expression, where she'll just explode over Carla's non-stop inquiries. Ah yes, everything's a soap opera around here. Steve may think I attract it, I think I just step into it like dog doo.

As for Carla's manic behavior, I've been told this has happened in the past, usually during high-stress times. I really don't know what to make of it. I just stay calm and answer her questions, but it's getting to the point where I want to say, "WHAT THE FUCK, CRAZY CARLA?" But again, with my status as "expendable temp," I'm just trying to keep my mouth shut. For now, I'll just enjoy Crazy Carla's antics, and hope it's nothing serious.