Friday, February 24, 2006

LIVID

The new job wants me to start Monday.
They need one more reference call in order for that to happen.
Little Miss Bitch told me yesterday that she was glad I found something and would certainly return the call by the end of the day.
I get a call from my New Boss asking where Little Miss Bitch is because she didn't get a call yet.
I send an email to LMB asking that, at her earliest convenience, I would sincerely appreciate her participation in keeping me gainfully employed.
She replies in two minutes that she and her boss just talked about it and its against corporate policy to give references, written or verbal, and her hands are tied.
I go to the email from my coworker who would rather hire me as her personal secretary than see me go that reads "let me know if you need a reference, I would be happy to speak on your behalf".
I recall the conversation with the Department Head's secretary who asked if I was extended YET (nullifying the "we don't do extensions BS I got last week) and her emphatic "do you need a reference? want my number? at home??"
I wonder what the fuck I did to these little snotty lightweights to piss them off to the point that they will tell me to my face they are sorry but they can't help me.
Is this the "don't speak if you have nothing nice to say" cliche smacking me in the career?
Is this their way of power tripping?
Is there a nice way of saying "get your stories straight if your going to lie to someones face"?

LIVID. Fuming. Grinding my teeth. Chomping three peices of gum. Twitching. And suddenly not caring if the three feet of filing gets done.

Its not the next temps fault these people suck as human beings though, right? And I wouldn't want to walk into a desk with three months of filing stacked up, so karma wise I'm screwing myself.
I can feel my blood coursing through the capillaries in my fingers and fear if I am on LMB's side of the building and I see her I will releive the pressure by gripping her neck until normal blood pressure returns.

I go get a paycheck today. I'll be stopping for lunch and my gym bag. I am sure I will have no problem pumping out some seriously engaging reps this evening... if I make it that far. Perhaps I'll just take a shower, get into my gym clothes, and work out some reps this afternoon.
If they are fine jacking me, I'm cool with ditching them.
Fuckwads. 105 lbs of fuckwad. Stick that in you pipe and smoke it; report back with what it tastes like - all I can smell is Menthol.

My fucking picture won't post. Its a pissed little puppy staring under its eyebrow up at the camera in a stance ready to pounce. Its what I would look like if I could hide the fangs and stop snarling.
Aunt Flo picked the wrong week to fuck up my hormones - I am really ready to get this bullshit aired out and not care where the shit flies.
Fuck Cubicles.

1 comment:

Mom of Three said...

So can you start on Monday anyhow?

What was the position?

Bye, Miss Menthol!