I've been gone from my previous job for over a year -- and yet like a bitter divorce, I'm still not over the break-up, the disolution of my relationship with that place or the people I once thought of has my friends, as people I could trust. I could never put my finger on what happened -- suddenly things were just bad. And then someone sent me a story, one of those things that get passed through e-mail umpteen times. It was about knowing when you needed to find a new job. And low and behold, there in the middle of the list was this little gem, which sounded strangely familiar:
"It happens when the boss takes on a new favorite employee. Eventually that person gets layered in above you on the corporate ladder, intercepting your access to the boss, taking over plum projects and moving you out of the decision-making loop. Hollander describes this as 'death by a thousand cuts.' The change is subtle at first, but your loss of status compounds over time."
The hardest part -- and probably what took me so long to realize what was happening -- was that the new "favorite" was my closest friend at work. So unbeknownst to me, if I vented about our boss, or said something to her in confidence, she was was feeding that information to him.
But reading this description -- and realizing that I must not be the only one this has happened to -- gave me permission to move on. Am I still resentful? Sure. Am I still hurt? Absolutely? But I don't think about it as much anymore. I learned a painful, corporate lesson (even if it was in a not-for-profit organization), but still came out okay.
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Friday, July 22, 2005
M-O-U-S-E
Again. At least I know it's coming -- because Casey is such the little huntress. She was acting weird around the closet under the stairs, even got the door open and sat just inside. I got brave when I got home from work, and pulled everything out. All my Christmas stuff. All my extra small appliances (rice cooker, blender, ice cream maker, etc). Took the flashlight and looked. Nothing.
Casey took this opportunity to lay at the back of the closet. A jiggling can of Pounce rectified that long enough for me to stack everything back in there. And neater than it was. Bonus!
Later that evening, I decide to do a little work on the computer. I closed the front door, just to be safe, I guess. But I live in the country. In Ithaca. But I closed and locked it anyway. No sooner than I sit at the computer than I hear Casey jump off the kitchen counter. Loud. And here she comes up the stairs with something in her mouth. I run into the bathroom and close the door.
Not sure why I ran that way. I am now locked in the bathroom, with no phone and no clear way out around my cat and her new toy. I open the door slowly. She is on the stairs, playing "chicken" with the mouse. Letting it climb up a stair or two and then knocking it back down. I can't go down the stairs -- too icky!
I run back in the computer room and shut the door. So now I have entertainment, a phone, etc. But I'm still locked in a room, with no happy way out. I could call my mom, but she lives an hour away. So I do what any reasonable, self-reliant, confident woman does -- I looked up my landlord's phone number on the internet and called him.
He and his wife walked across the street from their house, found Casey playing with the mouse in the bathroom, and trapped in under the garbage can. "He's not going to hurt you. Want to see him?"
No thanks -- they let him out near the woods.
I honestly can't do this again. This is why I need a man. To take care of things like this!
Casey took this opportunity to lay at the back of the closet. A jiggling can of Pounce rectified that long enough for me to stack everything back in there. And neater than it was. Bonus!
Later that evening, I decide to do a little work on the computer. I closed the front door, just to be safe, I guess. But I live in the country. In Ithaca. But I closed and locked it anyway. No sooner than I sit at the computer than I hear Casey jump off the kitchen counter. Loud. And here she comes up the stairs with something in her mouth. I run into the bathroom and close the door.
Not sure why I ran that way. I am now locked in the bathroom, with no phone and no clear way out around my cat and her new toy. I open the door slowly. She is on the stairs, playing "chicken" with the mouse. Letting it climb up a stair or two and then knocking it back down. I can't go down the stairs -- too icky!
I run back in the computer room and shut the door. So now I have entertainment, a phone, etc. But I'm still locked in a room, with no happy way out. I could call my mom, but she lives an hour away. So I do what any reasonable, self-reliant, confident woman does -- I looked up my landlord's phone number on the internet and called him.
He and his wife walked across the street from their house, found Casey playing with the mouse in the bathroom, and trapped in under the garbage can. "He's not going to hurt you. Want to see him?"
No thanks -- they let him out near the woods.
I honestly can't do this again. This is why I need a man. To take care of things like this!
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
The Case of the Exploding Soda Can
OK, it was a 12-pack, not a case, but I like the way that sounds -- like the title of a Nancy Drew book.
Last week, it was unblessedly hot in upstate New York -- over 90 degrees for several days. I learned -- the hard way -- that you shouldn't leave cans of soda in the car. When I finally got around to bringing the 12-pack in, it was dripping. I opened it to discover an empty can, split in the middle, and 11 others grossly deformed.
I put the soda in the car this morning, to take back to the store after work. I should mention that it was another unblessedly hot day today -- high 80s, low 90s. I carried the soda package in, and as I was explaining to the girl behind the customer service desk that a can had exploded, I thought I should pull one out for a prop and .... BAM. Yup, another exploded. All over the front of my work clothes, all over the floor and the counter.
And this is what I love about Wegmans -- in less than three minutes, I had three customer service people with paper towels and wet wipes, as well as two managers, fawning all over me. I think if they could have, they would have given me other clothes to change into, and probably helped me change! They kept insisting that the would dry clean what I was wearing.
I needed to pick up a few things, but the front of my shirt was soaked. So I said, "I'll be back." I went home, changed and brought my clothes back to Wegmans, where it will be dry-cleaned, gratis, and ready for pick-up on Friday after 5pm.
Last week, it was unblessedly hot in upstate New York -- over 90 degrees for several days. I learned -- the hard way -- that you shouldn't leave cans of soda in the car. When I finally got around to bringing the 12-pack in, it was dripping. I opened it to discover an empty can, split in the middle, and 11 others grossly deformed.
I put the soda in the car this morning, to take back to the store after work. I should mention that it was another unblessedly hot day today -- high 80s, low 90s. I carried the soda package in, and as I was explaining to the girl behind the customer service desk that a can had exploded, I thought I should pull one out for a prop and .... BAM. Yup, another exploded. All over the front of my work clothes, all over the floor and the counter.
And this is what I love about Wegmans -- in less than three minutes, I had three customer service people with paper towels and wet wipes, as well as two managers, fawning all over me. I think if they could have, they would have given me other clothes to change into, and probably helped me change! They kept insisting that the would dry clean what I was wearing.
I needed to pick up a few things, but the front of my shirt was soaked. So I said, "I'll be back." I went home, changed and brought my clothes back to Wegmans, where it will be dry-cleaned, gratis, and ready for pick-up on Friday after 5pm.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Still standing on the steps
I don't know if I'm doing this internet dating thing right. It's not very fun -- and right about now, it's not doing any wonders for the ego. I got an "icebreaker" a message from a 50-year-old man who wrote: are you sure you don't mean a 50-year-old 35 miles from Ithaca? *sigh* It's not even worth responding to.
Am I setting my sights too high? Expecting too much? Contacting people "out of my league"? And what does that mean? Out of one's league? Are people somehow naturally divided into the American and National Leagues? Or the NFC and AFC? Never mind, those are conferences. Anyway, I'm attractive -- some might even say pretty. I'm funny, sweet and have lots of interests. So where am I going wrong?
I've not heard from either potential suitor that I iniated contact with. I did however get an icebreaker from someone who has potential. He's 38, from Syracuse. Hey, if it's got to be an hour away, Syracuse isn't a bad place. So I responded back with my own icebreaker.
We'll see where this goes. I have the feeling that the month is going to be up pretty quick and I'm going to need to decide to continue with this avenue or try something else. In other words, shit or get off the pot!
Am I setting my sights too high? Expecting too much? Contacting people "out of my league"? And what does that mean? Out of one's league? Are people somehow naturally divided into the American and National Leagues? Or the NFC and AFC? Never mind, those are conferences. Anyway, I'm attractive -- some might even say pretty. I'm funny, sweet and have lots of interests. So where am I going wrong?
I've not heard from either potential suitor that I iniated contact with. I did however get an icebreaker from someone who has potential. He's 38, from Syracuse. Hey, if it's got to be an hour away, Syracuse isn't a bad place. So I responded back with my own icebreaker.
We'll see where this goes. I have the feeling that the month is going to be up pretty quick and I'm going to need to decide to continue with this avenue or try something else. In other words, shit or get off the pot!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
