Just Another Day In Crazy Land

"In individuals, insanity is rare, but in groups, parties, nations and epochs it is the rule." ~ Fredrich Nietschze (He got at least part of it right.)

It's been a busy day here in Crazy Land. Work, work, work. Don't they know I have more important things to do?

Good news: Loathsome is back on the big project and out of the office. Bad news: He's been calling about every 30 minutes with computer problems. Lying Boy (our fabulous IT "professional") has been out, so I've been the designated go-to girl. Basically, that means that I listen to him whine for a while, tell him (for the umpteenth time) that I can't help him, then I wait for his next call. The scuttlebutt around the office is that he's unhappy with the onsite printer he's been given. It's old. Loathsome does not do old. Unless it's really, really old (like antique Tibetan Buddhist altars) or he can dress it up in coordinated, tasteful clothing.

Mr. Moneybags swears that Loathsome is sabotaging the printer so he can get a brand, spanking new one. I don't know. Mr. Moneybags has an obsession with co-workers sabotaging things from databases to (now) printers. It could just be another manifestation of this particular nuttiness. I do know that Loathsome only wants the shiniest, newest, most aesthetically pleasing everything. That would, of course, include printers.

I'm officially taking wagers on how long it will be before he drops another multi-million dollar tool. Second wager is how long he will hide the fact that he's done it again. Get your dollars in now. You snooze, you lose. My best (based on previous experience) estimate is about a week until the accident. We won't find out about it for two or three.

I've been filling out Environmental Health and Safety forms (part of my ever so eclectic job description) all morning for Hemorrhoid Guy. Every last one of our clients asks for different information. The same client can require different types of information from year to year. It's fine; I only have to search through old files to ferret out the bits of data to suit their capricious desires.

Hey, I'm versatile. I'm flexible. I have no problem with said searching. The hitch in the whole process is that, though Crazy Employee has graced us with her presence, she's too busy making personal calls to answer the phone. The Information Superhighway and the receptionist were both out this morning, so I was answering the phone. (Hence the ongoing Loathsome encounters.) It slows down the data search considerably.

That brings me to the final Crazy Land anecdote for the day. It's time for Crazy Employee to update the employee manuals. We have new workers' comp insurance forms that haven't been included in all of the old manuals. When Information Superhighway told Crazy that she'd given the last of the manuals to The Ladies' Man, Crazy replied that she'd just had the receptionist put some more together. Superhighway repeated the problem, then took Crazy over to show her the empty cabinets where the manuals should be.

No, this time Crazy Employee did not cry. Let me not understate the significance of this show of self-control. However, she did grab a handful of hair from both sides of her head and moaned "Oh God, no!" Even the residents of Crazy Land are baffled by her hatred of the dreaded employee manuals.

Crazy doesn't have to copy them; we send them to Kinkos. She doesn't have to punch holes. She does not have to collate. All she has to do is place the main text in a binder, with pages that require signatures in the front pockets. The back pocket contains special information (like workers' comp insurance information, for instance). And it turns out she's delegating the task to the receptionist. That's what we all love about Crazy Employee. She's completely incomprehensible.

I have therapy today, so it's an early day for me. I probably won't get around to checking in on my blog friends or even responding to comments and posts. I'll be back to my regular routine as soon as possible.

Veggie Platter Has Been Located

Apparently, veggie platter was lost in the refrigerator. It has been located and people are now eating it. I guess that means I'll have to bring something next time. I guess that means I won't be spitting in it, either. It's a mixed blessing, really.

Why My Dad Made The Decision, Part 2

"I believe that more unhappiness comes from this source than from any other--I mean from the attempt to prolong family connections unduly and to make people hang together artificially who would never naturally do so." ~ Samuel Butler

I didn't see my dad for about a year before he died. He'd been married before he met my mom and had a son from that marriage. They never had a relationship while his son (Shannon) was growing up. My father liked to cry and feel sorry for himself about it every once in a while.

I spoke with my parents for an hour every day after I moved out of their house. A year before Dad checked out, he started calling me a couple of times every day, haranguing me to get in touch with Shannon. It was critical to the development of their relationship. My father had always made me feel that he'd sacrificed having a boy to provide financially for me. When I was a little girl, I believed it was my fault. It made me angry. It bruised my soul.

I've never had any interest in getting to know Shannon. I resented him, the Golden Child left behind. I do not feel connected to him. For me, sharing a genetic link doesn't imply a relationship, although it's likely that Shannon is possessed by the same madness that infected my father and everyone else in his family. Why would I invite that into my life? It's a terrifying possibility.

Furthermore, I thought my father used his blossoming relationship with his son to carry on with his first wife. Before he started nagging me about it, my father had gone to the state where his son and ex lived (and where virtually all of my father's family lived) for a visit. He stayed at his ex-wife's house and my mom stayed at my aunt's house. When I found out about that, I was enraged. I didn't want to do anything that would encourage that kind of behavior.

My dad didn't have a lot of good things to say about Shannon, most notably, that he had a drinking problem. I've had a rule since I was a teenager: I don't have relationships with addicts who aren't in recovery. I was very ill at the time and the thought of receiving some of those 3:00 a.m. phone calls that alcoholics like to make ratcheted up my already-high anxiety level.

Nonetheless, I finally gave in. I called Shannon and left a message.

Thanksgiving Follow-up

Follow up to Thanksgiving event.

No, they did not eat any of the vegetable platter. No, they didn't even take it out of the refrigerator.

What am I bringing next year? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And I may spit in it.

Thanksgiving in Crazy Land

"Work may include battles of will as Metal brings intensity and inflexibility to the day." ~ my Chinese horoscope for the day

We're celebrating Thanksgiving in Crazy Land today. It's our usual comedy of errors. Crazy Employee sent out an email telling us the company is buying the Honeybaked Ham and soliciting side dishes. Owner immediately answered that he doesn't want any Honeybaked anything. He either wants a ham that someone has cooked in their own home or he wants nothing at all. Surprise. No one went home, bought a ham, glazed it and baked it. Mr. Moneybags wonders if Owner will boycott the whole affair. What a naive thing to think for a man who's worked here at least a decade now. The inadequacy of the ham is all the more reason for Owner to be there. Prepare for torture. Owner will spend the entire hour (or however much time it takes for everyone to gulp down their food) talking about how bad the ham is. He will also probably be unhappy with all side dishes. There's no half way with Owner.

I have my own issues with Crazy Land Thanksgiving. About ten years ago, when I was in the depths of my three-year stress-related illness, I summoned what little energy I had to spare to bake a pie for the office Thanksgiving party. I make my own pie crust. It was a lot of work and left me completely depleted. Back in those days, I still felt very emotionally connected to Crazy Land and the people who worked here. See how far I've come?

I brought my lovingly prepared pie and, at the end of the lunch, no one had touched it. There it sat, uncut. A couple of people came up to me and said they were saving room and looked forward to tasting it. No one did. I was deeply hurt. Do I hold a grudge? Not usually, but when I do, I never ever let go.

Since that day, I have never prepared even a morsel of food for any Crazy Land get together. When I opened the email asking people to say what they'd bring, I thought about reviewing this whole incident and informing everyone I'd be bringing potato chips. Yes, I know no one wants potato chips with ham, stuffing, sweet potatoes and green bean casserole. This is exactly my mean-assed point.

When I discussed it with my mom, she suggested that, since I have an extra loaf of sandwich bread at home, I should have just brought that. I could plop it down on the sideboard and dare anyone to comment. Woe to the person who would be so foolhardy.

Then I thought maybe I should have Hubby make his famous chicken tenders. He likes to use unbreaded chicken breast, stick them on the George Foreman grill and press down on that lid until they're so dry that it you can't even cut them with a steak knife. You can chew on them for an hour or so and they still retain their hard, stringy quality. They're like petrified wood. Sooner or later, you just have to swallow and hope no one has to Heimlich maneuver you. Since no one would touch them, though, it would be hard to really enjoy my little joke.

I took the high road. I brought a pre-prepared vegetable platter from my local grocery store. If no one touches it, I can always take it home and eat the carrots and celery, etc., as afternoon snacks. See? I hold onto grudges, but I'm not vindictive.

I'm in a bad mood about the whole business and don't even wish to attend. On the other hand, I have Owner's sarcasm to look forward to, because I know it will put a serious damper on everyone else's fun. There's always that.

The More Suffering, The Better

"Where does discipline end? Where does cruelty begin? Somewhere between these, thousands of children inhabit a voiceless hell." ~ Francois Mauriac

My mom and I were watching a Thanksgiving-themed program on the Food Channel this weekend. She reminded me that my dad wouldn't allow her to have a potato masher. When we had mashed potatoes, she had to do it with a fork.

It's a small, mean thing to make one's work harder than it has to be. It was just another way my father enjoyed making her life miserable. I have to remind myself periodically: My father thought it was fun to watch other people suffer. The more suffering, the better.

Remembering that fact always makes me feel like someone has stabbed me in the heart.

Other Duties As Assigned

One day, many years ago, Owner made the Golf Pro follow him around all day with a can of air freshener. I will leave it to you to figure out why.