soapboxdiner

Cards and Excellence and Rings, Oh, my.

This week is my 3-year anniversary with the company. They do this thing where they send all the employees cards for their birthdays and anniversaries with gift cards to a local store. So I got my anniversary card in the mail today and what did it say?

"Dear SBD, Congrats on three years! You are a major asset to the team and we thank you for your dedication and committment to the company and its success."

Ah, shucks. That's so nice.

Time for annual reviews has rolled around again. The Boss send out self-evaluation forms and it's all thrilling. How did you do in 2008? What were your challenges? What do you enjoy about your job? What skills or new experiences do you want to learn in the coming year? What skills or talents (yes, it really said "talents") do you possess that helped you be successful?

I've had to do these things for other jobs in the past, but they've always felt really hokey. I've always wanted to write down: It was all right -- I GUESS. I mean, it almost paid the bills. I'd totally love to muster up the enthusiasm to write some fucking creative shit here about how much this company rocks. But really, dude, who would we be fooling? You know and I know this is a dead-end job with no chance for advancement. Let's just agree you don't value me and I don't particularly care about you so much either. Then we can both punch the clock and go have a beer. At different bars. All righty then, ciao. See you at 9:05 or 9:10 tomorrow. Yes, I know I'm scheduled for 8:30. Deal with it, fucker.

Only this time, ya know, I kinda feel invested. Valued, you might even say. So I upped my gumption for the first time in my life and was honest about MY goals -- and holy hell, dudes, I for the first time actually have a clear vision of what I want my future to look like. I even worked up the courage to say that as the company grows, I want to be prepared and ready to move up the ladder and become the manager of the production team. Holy fucking cow, man. I've never put myself out there like that -- EVER. So we'll have to see what they say to that schiz-nizzle.

So ... what else is new? I went to the orientation to the Pursuit of Excellence seminars last night with D00d's mother. She and D00d are both graduates of the seminar and I sweartogod, every time I talk about work or my friendships, "Mom" hops on the Excellence band wagon and tells me I need to take it -- like I'm a retard with no social or professional skills. "Oh, it will be so good for you and you'll learn so much about yourself and it's just the funnest, greatest, most wonderful thing you can ever do short of saving baby fur seals in Zimbabwe!" Like Zimbabwe even has a coastline. ANYway, so I'm gonna take it. So we shall see. It's only $600 though. And the seminar guy was all up my intestine to sign up right away, but honestly? It's not in the budget at the moment.

"Can't you put it on a credit card?"

Dude, for real in all respectful honesty, get your fucking nose out of my credit card. I don't feel ANY kind of special burning need to explain to you what my balance is, NOR do I believe you have a special right to an explanation regarding whether or not I want to create more debt for myself just to satisfy YOUR need to make a sell tonight. So -- and again, I say this with much respect -- fuck off, dippy. Jesus. Really. I hate that shit.

Wanna hear a funny? So D00d was over Tuesday night -- just like he is every Tuesday night (it's date night) -- and I was working. So he went to play some game on the computer. So when I'd been working for an hour or so, I went in to see what he was up to and he looks down at my left hand. See, I had a ring on that hand. It was on my fourth finger -- not the pinky, the other one. So me, I say, "Caught you lookin'! I know the ring's on the wrong hand. My left hand is just smaller, that's all. The ring fits better. I'm not tryin' to say anything."

So D00d says, "Maybe I just need to put a different ring on that hand."

Again, and I reiterate, holy shit, man.

Dude. (D00d?)

7:02 pm - 01.22.09
previous | next

Home | Archives | Profile | Notes | DiaryLand | Random Entry