It is interesting as Fatty Snoop Cake Lady claims to have done amazing things. Run corporations, no less. Worked as the head of mergers. She has advised the captains of industry. I'm sure she said something about being a consultant on draft industrial relations legislation to Federal Parliament, but, I could have misheard. She claims an awful lot, and yet, here she is performing our little procedural audit.
"They" made me do induction yesterday, despite me being inundated with work. I was doing it with Fatty Cake, as she is such a company woman, naturally. She sat next to me with all the other newly minted surfs to the co. They were a quiet bunch, a handful of accountants (I so hate referring to myself that way) a couple of humanitarian workers, a couple of cute project boys, one who could sing and an American with a cute smile and the American gift of the gab. Odd, he was quiet when it all got going. It was all moderately interesting, stuff I'd never heard about before, so it held my attention, in a new-information-sponge kind of way. All eminently forgettable. However, they gave us morning tea and lunch, so that is something.
So with Fatty Cake next to me who, presumably, was still monitoring my performance, I asked questions. I figured it must count for something. I was the only one asking questions, even if Fatty Cake tried to nuzzle in on my territory a couple of times.
In the break, I heard Fatty Cake saying that she'd like to teach young people to budget and invest money and buy shares and invest in investment properties.
"They teach english and maths at school but they never teach finance."
Oh really, I thought. Is there nothing this woman can't do? But, I ask you, and this is a terribly discriminatory thing to say, I grant you, but how seriously is someone going to be taken who is setting themselves up as a life coach, when they are sitting opposite you with no neck, tuckshop lady arms that stick straight out from her sides because of the rolls of fat in her arm pits, a face contorted out of shape buy gigantic, distended cheeks, with a skirt of flesh hanging down to her knees, clearly visible under her tent dress, as she sits opposite you. She claims to have all the answers and yet we are all expected to over look that obvious failing in her life. That's terrible, I know, but that is reality. I can't help but wonder how her heart copes when I look at her. She makes me feel uneasy. You know, should I be swatting up on CPR at night just in case?
Do you get that, maybe, perhaps, I don't like her all that much. She told Kirin that my customer service was not up to scratch and that I was rude to one of my colleagues, let's call her Happy. (as she gives everyone the impression that she is about as happy to be working at (name of company) as she might enjoy having her left tit hacked off with a rusty knife) I have taken on a role - which I am kicking myself about now. Why? What was I thinking? - from which three people in the last 12 months have run from the building screaming, with which I am now really struggling and that is her assessment of me. Nothing about me being over whelmed with work. Nothing about the job being too much for one person, for which there is ample evidence, which is one of the reasons she is here in the first place. I was promised something would be done about the workload, that something would be done about people who do not stick to deadlines and the person I was supposedly rude to is a serial offender. Oh... really?... I couldn't help but be pissed off when Kirin told me. I was promised the procedures would be looked at and that the system would be fixed and yet the very first feedback I get is criticism? I'm sorry, but please excuse me if I suspect that this review isn't going to go all that well for me.
They have only just provided me with my new log on, a month late, but who the fuck is counting, which I am going to have to spend a few hours this morning getting all of my specific systems attached to, with a recalcitrant IT department, (even if I would like to slap plump Nick's ample rump when he comes over, but lets not get off topic) and I have deadlines today. I was away from my desk all day yesterday. Wednesday I struggled to cope with the tsunami of emails that rolled in Friday, Monday and Tuesday while I was finalising all of the last periods figures. This role has a crazy out of control work load and I am getting nailed for being short with someone, no baby that just isn't going to fly with me.
Oh yes, I know, shit or get off the pot, Christian.
I am really beginning to believe it is now a matter of when I resign, and run screaming from the building, hands flailing over head, like the three who have come before me, not if. When did I go permanent? Four weeks ago? That is a record for me. Maybe only topped by my uni job at Kew Safeway, when my job changed on a daily basis, and the manager told me there was no chance in hell that I could transfer to Camberwell Safeway, which was much much closer to home. I lasted a week there.
Oh Jesus fuck me Christ, is it me? As I told (boyfriend) Sam, this is rapidly beginning to feel like the unhappy feelings I had when I worked for the cuntful law firm. Is the conclusion to be drawn here that I am the common denominator?
I told Mazz. Her response was, "Get out. Get out now!"
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