Little Miss Bitch

Another tale of WHOA from Cubeville...

I get the faxed in crap, I give it to the big wigs, they do some data entry about it, and give it back to me to file.

So every day I get a bunch of crap, put it in neat little stacks with paper clips staggered for convenience, and walk around cube to cube until my stacks are gone. Then I come back to my desk and read blogs until another stack of stuff needs to be walked around. =)

This morning, I take a little something over to my manager, Little Miss Bitch.
I've never liked this one.
Not since the first day when I was supposed to meet my REAL manager and SHE came down all "I'm her right hand gal, she hand picked me to work with her, so follow my 5"1', 105lb, 3inch heel wearing, fake boob falling out of my top, rickity little ass all over the building since it isn't my job to aquaint new temps with where the bathrooms are and I have to show off how everyone loves me while I have an audience."
She then became the one I bring my problems, questions and concerns too... and the one who bitches at me for taking a lunch break or getting coffee in the morning.

OK, so I'm cranky today. Whatever, its still all true.

So I take a little something over to her desk to slide into her inbox and slink away like I usually do.
She says "wait, I have something for you, hang on..."
She usually waits until right about 2pm to see if I've made it back to my desk on time, but today I happened to slip right into her scatergloried area for a ripping of monumental ego shreds unimaginable by those who have actual humanity in their vains.
I look down at the stack of papers she is giving back to me, clarify the protocol, and look up to see her turning on her sad face. This is the little "I care" smile, tilt of the head to 65 degrees toward the left, and both hands on the table. .
"I talked to your actual boss about your six month temp position coming up and she said you hadn't talked to her about it yet. I wanted to let you know that the big super top of the organizational chart manager, as far as I know, doesn't let us extend temps, so, yeah, thats where that is going. Talk to your real manager first, maybe there is something I'm missing, but I don't think we keep our temps. So, ok, talk to her like you said you were going to per our last conversation and see what she says. Alright, ok, bye."
Yeah, um, I told YOU because I can't catch HER to say "will you let me keep my shitty soul sucking meneal job for a few more months please oh please?" I TOLD YOU THAT and YOU said YOU'D make sure she was on top of the paperwork.

All that I am totally fine with. That she has obviously talked to my real manager and discussed this like she said she would, and then tells me she doesn't know anything about it, ok. This is how she operates. Got it.
That she is trying to help by giving me an overhead managers supposed possible don't really have a clue and needs to be checked on by someone you are going to have this conversation with anyway WORST CASE SCENARIO with her head all sideways and watching me realize I will not be buying anything but peanuts and top ramen in two weeks... ok, well, she likes to torture the meek (and in person I can be) and I know that about her and her perfume is Eu de SatansAss so its to be expected.

That her excuse for letting time fire me is that the big boss won't let temps stick around is where I am ready to come back from lunch with a backpack for my personals and never come back.
Miss Menthol is a temp on an extended contract.
I could have been here, freely walking to and from my workspace for the last MONTH if the big boss wouldn't extend contracts.
Maybe the smile that was lingering from Vegas at that time wouldn't have turned into this scowl I carry now.
Perhaps I wouldn't have a drink or two at home every night if I didn't have to share my mini cube with a 6' 225lb woman with no common courtesy and a serious sinus problem.

Ok. So I don't work all day. I can't get to my desk before 9:04am EVER. I tend to save work until it warrents me getting up from my chair (read:I can't leave you all!). I am no longer fun to have around. I maintain that you don't have to repeat your directions to me 13 times, then ask you for clarification. I don't like you and you can probably smell it on me.

But DO NOT treat me like an imbesile.
Do Not question my ability to understand what is really going on here.
I am in a job where I am chastised for having a thought - that does NOT mean I can't form one.
I have NEVER come to you with basic workplace complaints, never told you when you are wrong, have always been humble when pointing out where you forgot to do your job, and laugh at your stupid jokes about how you and your 14 year old keep mixing up jeans in the laundry.

I have two interviews set up for Tuesday. One for a job that I might actually really get challenged and worked and respected for in pay and prestige and personal growth; the other for a temp agency that called me the FIRST DAY I posted my resume online. It is, at this point, entirely possible that I will just pack my things today and leave all this work I keep avoiding sitting here for whoever comes next. Its almost organized, dust free, and manageable in one good day of work.
I'm not sure if the pay is worth this amount of degredation.
And my roomie says I can make a fake resume saying I've got all kinds of waitress experience and she will help me learn the basics. She makes more than I do in tips alone in a shorter work day. And she can spit in peoples food when they treat her like this and have them pay her for it.