Salon of Shame pt. 1

Oh dear lord. I found my high-school diary from my senior year.  I can’t not share some of the strange, hormone-induced ramblings.

5.30.01

The girl in front of my is afraid of people with Tourette’s Syndrome.

5.31.01

We just had an intruder alert drill. “Cluster behind the file cabinets. It’s harder for the bullets to penetrate them.”

7.19.01

I am sitting in the doctor’s office lobby.  There is a small lab puppy who resides here to keep the nurses company.  I feel that this may consistitute a health violation. He is trying to eat a plant that serves as decor in the waiting room.  Now the puppy is trying to eat my water bottle.  My purse.  Sit, puppy.  Sit.  I have now been informed the puppy’s name is Elvis.

Lie down, Elvis.

Asian man staring at me.

Elvis eating plant.

Asian man is wearing a grey-green suit with navy socks. It bothers me for some reason.  He leaves, and now I am alone.  Just me and Elvis.

7.20.01

Everything seems dingy and all blurred together today. Everything is dusty, and God just ran his fingers over it, just to make sure.

I like to watch the duct-tape Jesus hanging from the rear view mirror.  I made him, and a little crucifix for him to hang on.  He lives in Justin’s car now, shaking lightly in sync with the engine, holding on for dear life when Justin takes a 15 mph turn at sixty.

Jesus doesn’t like it when we take his life in our hands.

3.30.02

I had a dream in which I fell in love with a young, curly-haired genius. The dream spanned several years, from college (when I didn’t like him and stole his credit card to spite him) to an architectural expo where I gave it back in a touchingly funny and timelessly romantic scene.  Though, in hindsight, stealing one’s credit card only to return it years later is hardly romantic.

Later in the dream, we escaped death by climbing up the walls, and I discovered a calculator program that would categorize people by what flavor of lube they enjoyed most.

5.10.02

I met a man the other day with a sidewalk-staring gaze,

His sour-dour face was one which smiles could never phase.

I asked him for the time and he replied, “Why does it matter? Go buy a watch instead of bugging me with idle chatter.”

My brain began to clatter with harsh words and moral strife,

So I blocked his way and demanded his say on why he hated life.

His eyes locked mine with a soulless stare, a never-ending pit.

“I hate life,” he said ice-coldly, “because I’m living it.”

5.27.02

Loneliness is an empty threat to someone who has never had an oportunity to synchronize their heartbeat with the nervous ticking of a wristwatch.

Professional Beatdown

Today I witnessed the ugliest bawling-out of my career. I am leading a project on Transactional Analysis and working with a coworker of mine, G. In a meeting today with K (my boss),  and other project leaders, we were asked to comment on our individual group’s progress.  I went last, and asked with some trepidation for some ideas to help my group move faster.  I have been paired with G, who has a long period of exposure to TA – though has never taught it. I have more functional knowledge as I teach a class on the topic four times a week, but have less exposure because I’ve only been teaching it this year.  G and I were grouped together because my boss assumed we had equal amounts of experience – an assumption I had as well. Frustratingly, G has not been doing the assigned readings ahead of time, and has been resistant to work independently.  These behaviors have slowed us down, and I relayed as much to the other group leaders, as well as to K.

I was hoping for some advice regarding my situation, as the attendees of the meeting have all known G for some time.  Rather than give advice, however, K simply said “It looks like you, G and I need to meet about this.”  When our team leader meeting was over, K called my G into the office and closed the door.  G sat down next to me at the table.

For five minutes, K yelled at my coworker, making scathing accusations roughly based on the concerns I voiced in the meeting, but much more about the consistent avoidance pattern G has apparently displayed for a long time.  It was like my concern was transformed into a launch pad from which my boss rocketed, straight into the ass of my coworker.  With me, right next to him.  I kept thinking, “My God, I have to work with this man!  How am I going to continue any sort of professional relationship?”  I suddenly became a backstabbing, snitchy bitch, when all I wanted originally was some advice.  G stammered through, with a multitude of “Yes, but…” and sullen frustration.

When finished yelling, K turned to me and said, “Now you two need to come up with a plan on how you are going to make this work.”  He then left the room and closed the door.

“What?” I thought to myself.  “You just made it impossible for me to look this man in the eye, didn’t even provide me with any problem solving tools, and now you want me to deal with it alone?“  I haven’t been so mortified since I farted doing push-ups in 7th grade gym class.

I reached deep inside and called upon every social problem-solving skill at my disposal, somehow convincing my coworker that not only was I on his side, but that I am a completely reasonable, rational person willing to compromise.  I walked away from the conversation with an agreement that he would increase his workload, a plan for doing so, and a hug.  I was responsible for my coworker getting his professional ass kicked, and he hugged me for it.  I am that good.

As I was walking to my car to go home, my boss ran out of the building, calling my name.  He jogged down the block to catch me.

“I just wanted to touch base with you on the meeting with G.  I wanted you to know that G needs to have lines drawn in the sand in order to get things done.  Transactions like the one you saw are necessary to, well… for him to keep working here.”

I stared at my boss.  “It was uncomfortable,” I said.

“I can see how you would feel that way. But G will continue to fail to meet expectations unless those expectations are extremely clear, and linked to consequences.”

“Well I appreciate you touching base with me.”

“No problem, Shiloh.”

Apparently, being incompetent at my job will not get you canned – you will simply be yelled at regularly until you either become somehow more intelligent, or quit.