Grandma Airplane is starting some shit. I’d already told management that she got combative or overly emotional any time she was confronted with a problem. I said this a year ago and instead of listening, the people I was talking to chose to think it was a personal issue of mine instead of Grandma Airplane being a fucking lunatic with anger management problems.
Over the past couple of months, though, it’s become quite clear that Grandma Airplane’s issues have nothing to do with me. When management finally realized this, they addressed it with her. So, what does that mean, exactly? Did she get fired?
Did she resign?
Did she apologize, say she understood, or make an effort to be better at her job and also less out of her goddamn mind?
Instead, Grandma Airplane went over our boss’s head to HR, where she made a few totally fabricated complaints about everyone in the department. And now HR is investigating (because they have to), which means that none of us are to say anything that Grandma Airplane could possibly construe as offensive, profane, or sexually explicit. This is going to be really difficult. Not because we’re as unprofessional as she claims, but because we never said things like this in the first place. It’s like, hey, Freakshow?
You hateful, racist, self-proclaimed Jesus freak.
I suppose it’s some small comfort that Grandma Airplane turned out to be exactly the kind of person I said she was, and that she’s proven herself to be that way without any help from me. It’s disappointing, though, that things had to go this far, and it’s a pain in the ass to have to go to work every day and walk around on eggshells to appease the crazy person with a truth-telling problem. And she’s still not any good at her job. It’s one thing to be a crazy, vicious, manipulative liar, but it’s quite another to spend a year and a half in a position without ever having absorbed any information about it.
Add the Grandma Airplane bullshit to the regular workload (according to recent performance metrics, I complete 17% of the total work and 22% of all the e-mails on a 12-person team, meaning I am doing the jobs of more than two whole people) and add that to the fact that I’m moving in less than two weeks (Tuesdays are crap for TV, though, which means I can pack a shitload of stuff tonight), and I’m a real fucking drag lately. My shoulders hurt. My neck hurts. My skin is disgusting. I cannot consume nearly enough carbs, salt, sugar, or alcohol to feel satisfied. Unless I find an album to review (and by the way, is September the month of the boxed sets?), I’m taking a break from writing until after I’m in the new house. This is good for my time management but not so much for my feeling-like-a-productive-writer-fulness, but I’m allegedly supposed to sleep a few hours a night so it’s really the only choice I have at the moment.
Maybe when I stop working/packing/writing/grinding my teeth so much, I’ll find the time to watch something ridiculous and tell you all about it.
(Thanks to McD for the title. I’ve been thinking it and laughing for the past four days.)