Some of you know that the University of Utah in Salt Lake City has been pulling out all the stops trying to recruit me to a VP job there doing assessment. Flattering, of course, to be so wanted, but I’ve been ignoring them for 10 days. I mean, I turned down MIT in December because they would not move to Florida or let me work remotely 6 months of the year. So, this morning, I talked to their guy, Neldon (yeah, Neldon) about the job. He went on and on about the job and did the hard sales pitch about Utah’s many wonders. And the whole moving package. And the $185K a year. Wow, really? I could live like a rock star for that kind of bank in Utah. But then… Me: “What about some sister wives? I think I’d like two.” Silence. Nervous laughter. More silence. Deafening silence. Neldon:
My boss called me this afternoon from the recovery room of a hospital where she’d just had 5 hours of surgery to “strategize” for a few minutes while her boyfriend went to get her ice chips (cause he’d kill her if he knew she was working). True story. No words. I work in Crazypantsland.
In PA, you cannot get an I-9 notarized. It’s a law. I explained this in September and all was well until two days ago when an HR assistant to an assistant to an unpaid intern from some college in Boston who can’t understand English got involved and suggested this morning that I drive around to banks all day to find one that would do it. My response? “If you would prefer that instead of doing my job today or tomorrow, I drive around to local banks to see if I can have it notarized, please let Rucha and Cindy know that HR is requiring this of me and that our project will be put off schedule while I attempt to do this, and know that it will likely be fruitless and you still will not have a notarized copy. I assume mileage for this escapade will be reimbursed?” Now they’ve
Dear Job That Sounded So Promising: No, I am not working this weekend. Yes, I realize that there are 174 emails in my inbox at this moment; I did look briefly this morning. My favorite one — I peeked at it — said, “I know you are probably busy doing family things and holiday stuff, but this is important…” When I said on Friday that I was both done, and done in, I meant it. No more 10 hours a day, 7 days a week. It’s thankless. I don’t even think you realize that I’m doing it, or worse, you expect it. I doubt I’ll even get a Christmas card from my boss let alone a gift or a holiday bonus, and there will be no boozy Christmas parties with bad holiday sweaters and frenemies seemingly like all is well for me because I’m remote. Some of us enjoy that.
“Dear Patty, Please excuse Daniel from Religion class FOREVER. The batshit nun whose constant focus on suffering, death, dying and the separation of children and parents in heaven has caused enough distress in my child that I will likely put a therapist’s kid through an Ivy League school trying to calm him down. Yeah, I know I sent him to Catholic school, and I know you can’t control the punitive penguin who spouts this crap, but he is done with being in her class. Capisce?” Okay, I prolly need to work on the verbiage a little.
In Daniel’s backpack, I find the the following note, “Happy Monday Families! Your child may have been exposed to lice…” And I want to write back, “Dear Patty, While there may be a handful of things that make a Monday happy (like putting the urchin on the bus in the morning and thinking a thought without interruption while sipping my coffee), lice is not among them…” Time to dig out the Fairy Tales shampoo and pretend I’m a mother gorilla looking for nits…
“Why do Mormons merry zombies?” My eyes fly open. He’s sitting on the floor next to my bed, and it’s 5:30AM. “No. What? What are you talking about? Why are you awake?” “Sister Sheila is a bride of Christ, right?” In my head: BBQ. Just BBQ. It’s gonna be one of THOSE mornings. In reality: “Yes, she told you that.” In my head: Darn you, Sheila, and your “I live with 50 Brides of Christ and you think your life is hard” comments! “Well, then Sister Kathleen is a bride who merried Jesus, too. And SisterNancyCoyle. And Sister Maryanne. And Sister Jo. And SisterTerrorants.” I sigh. “Terencia.” “Her. And if all of them merried Jesus they’re Mormons. Cause Mormons merry lots of people, right? So Jesus has lots of wifes. And since he’s dead in heaven, he’s a zombie. So the sisters are Mormons who merry zombies, right? Is Jesus
So far this morning, my secretary, aka “the suckretary” has battled a mortgage broker, had two fights with her OCD hubs over his bathroom “issues” and this mortgage thing, chatted with a coworker about how much she hates me and that I am back in the office, totally messed up arrangements for a conference next week and had a screaming match with her 21yo daughter, who has pulled out all of her eyelashes and eyebrows, about bathing. Because she has not washed in 9 days. Is there a novena for new jobs?
Daniel to server: “I’m goin’ commando. My mother forgot to pack my underwear. It’s thurfree days now.” I give him the Death Stare across the table, which he pretends not to see. 20 yo Server: “Well, that’s not good. You need underpants But I like your tattoos. They’re pretty cool. I love dragons. Are they REAL????” Daniel: “My mudder spends money on some stuff, like my tattoos. They ARE real. And ice cream and candy. She fed me ice cream all day today while she drank wine on the boat. This is my first real food since breakfast. But she said she wasn’t going to spend $17 on boxers so I have to go commando.” Server: “Well, I guess we all have our priorities” as she wanders off and returns with an entire BOWL of maraschino cherries for him (like they’re a fruit, with nutritional value). In my head: “Listen
Dear College That Had Me Spend 6.5 Hours Interviewing Today, You should have offered me, at the very least, a danish, if not a sammich, though I do appreciate the AA who “stole” me a bottle of water from another meeting at 1PM. I am not enthralled or impressed. Epic Fail. Sincerely, The Candidate Whose Salary Demands Have Just DOUBLED.— in West Windsor, NJ. West Windsor, New Jersey City · West Windsor, New Jersey