As it has been well communicated and well documented for, say, two years and seven or eight months now, I hate my job. The reasons are potentially endless, and it seems that with each day I ingest just a little more shullbit that ruins what is left of an otherwise sparkling, promising personality. I am unable to express which is worse - the work itself or the people who make the work even more ridiculously banal than it already is. This post I'll say it's the people, if only for the reason that to say it's the work would mean that I'd be fussing at software and pieces of paper. At this time I have not yet reached the point of insanity where I curse at inanimate objects, but I'm close ... particularly when clutching a letter opener.
I almost wish I'd kept an actual Log of Ridiculous Events. It would certainly make it easier for me to unburden my mind with the dozens of examples swirling in my mind that I just can't seem to type out fast enough before I'm completely derailed by yet another moment of bunk.
It's like competence is no longer a standard quality feature found in working people today. You gotta upgrade or pay extra for competence. It's like if the standard feature for cars reverted from power windows to manual ones; that's what this feels like - people have become dumber, pettier, socially stunted.
A list of things that have happened to me today (in order of pissed-me-offedness):
1. Okay, the picture below is a peek at what I do daily (I realize it's difficult to see, but LJ and I had some sizing disputes and you don't actually need to know what it says anyway). I'm really good at processing this information quickly to provide rapid turnaround so billable folk can do what they do best - schmooze and be self-important. Needless to say, it came as an offensive surprise to me when I received TWO arrow-laden e-mails directing me to things that I dunno, I could have just read without thinking my computer screen had been attacked by bloody Robin Hood. There's a line that says "Details" where managers can notate things for my reference. This person used that feature correctly, but then for some reason suffered great uncertainty as to whether or not I would be able to understand what they typed - even though it is in English - so they send the e-mails. The sending of the e-mail is in itself a redundant, unnecessary action. As they've been made aware, I have access to a portal in our software system that is populated when opportunities (that's what you're seeing below) are marked as "won." Anyway ...
I'm not sure which arrow caused me to go berserk first. The one pointing at the word "Won" which is completely ridiculous a) because I can read that and b) because pointing at it implies that I need to do something which, ironically, the other 2 arrows are telling me not to do. Also, the other 2 arrows cancel each other out because they're pointing at words which say the same thing which makes me think that someone is awfully proud of themselves for being able to import screen shots into their e-mails and then use Outlook's drawing feature to direct my already rapt attention to things that - again - I CAN FRIGGIN' READ.
My response was terse: "______, it is sufficient to note in the opportunity that no new engagement is required." This person replies, "Thanks. Just wanted to be sure! [smiley]."
Exactly what they need to be sure about is beyond me. Obviously. What? Do we need to be sure that I can read or sure that I can read arrow-type? And the smiley? Let's just say I was as visibly flabbergasted as Lewis Black and bit my lip to keep from cursing the snide, bothersome em-effer who sent me these 2 KBs of shite in the first place.
2. I know I've uttered this into the Workplace Gods Must Be Crazy Universe before, but why do people call, leave a voicemail asking that you call them back and then 2 minutes later - because you haven't called them yet because you're listening to their voicemail - send an e-mail saying, "I just left you a voicemail. Can you please call me?"
It's either the phone or e-mail. Pick your line of communication and stick with it. This is like holding a duel and asking your opponent to choose their weapon and they pick up a sword and an uzi and shrug.
And let me tell you what started this #2 tirade in the first place. I send an e-mail telling this person exactly what they need to do. I anticipated (because this quality is what makes me great) that they'd have no idea what I was saying, so I added, "An EA [Executive Assistant] should be able to further assist you should you need further direction."
What happens when I hit send? Not even 30 seconds passes and my phone is ringing. It's unspoken, but this is a direct violation of the Danita Workcode. Calling me on the phone when I've e-mailed you instructions means I'm not answering the phone. Why not? Because if you want to be read to you need to call your damn mama and get a night light. I'm not reading to you what is written in plain English. A minute - one minute - after the voicemail light starts blinking the e-mail arrives, "Danita, Thanks Danita, may you please call me, I'm in the ___ office at ext. ____."
I don't care where you are or what your extension is. That callback could not and did not happen a) because even after counting to ten in French (it takes longer for me to count in a different language because in my head I need to sound French as I'm saying quatre, etc.) I couldn't relax the angry muscles in my face enough not to speak through my teeth and b) because calling people back means they start clicking around in the system wanting a step-by-step tutorial and I don't have the time or patience for that crap.
So I ignored her, forcing her to seek the help that I'd already told her to seek (which she did). The bad thing is that I felt horrible for not providing the level of customer service I usually provide, but I've had it. My helpfulness has been abused enough and while I have always been great about granting one kind favor to each person, I couldn't do it this time and that upset workerbee me. I got over it though, mostly because I moved on to ...
3. Righteous Indignation. I ask a person for billing roles. This is basic stuff. I need billing roles so people working on this particular project can be assigned to a task (or code) so they'll have a place to enter their time, which is the reason this person is asking for my help in the first place. I make it possible for team members to have a code to which they can charge their time. It's simple. Or so I thought because I dunno, you enter your time so you can get paid. This person replies with this - and I am quoting here, people - "The first part of the project is clear, however the second part of the project is not from the roles perspective. Do you need this for the project? I can add the resources after you set up the project." No youcan't nimrod. I add the resources. We've been through this three times before already.
So I remind person of what "roles" means by saying, "The roles are the skill levels and rates which are required in order for resources to be able to enter their time."
I shit you not, person replies with "For now ....... _____ 56 hours, _____ 28 hours. Would that work?"
{Picture me walking away. Just picture me throwing up my hands and walking away. Hell, I'll do you one better ...}
That's me. Right before I took me a walk.
"I don't need to know how many hours; I need to know at what hourly rate ($) each resource should be established at the engagement level."
Oh, duh was the essential reply.
And these are the people we've entrusted with garnering, managing and sustaining our business.
Through it all (well 40 hours a month and sometimes $.99 extra) Pandora is constant and omniscient. Around the 10 o'clock hour when I start to wonder if time is actually moving Pandora speaks to me in Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." On Monday, a meeting request reminder popped up, and I groaned realizing that i wasn't heading home as early as I'd intitially thought. What does Pandora do? Slips a little Stealers Wheel into the mix with "Stuck In the Middle With You." Yesterday at around noon I resumed my task as department mail girl. I cannot tell you how distressing it is to be approaching 30 years of age and having mail distribution defined in my job description. Anyway, exasperated, I typed to a friend how I needed a vacation. Pandora heard me. The next song? Keane's "Somewhere Only We Know."
I also don't think it's a coincidence or merely an affirmation of previous thumbs ups that Pandora is playing The Clash with greater frequency either. Rebellion is only the beginning ...