Vacation
I was going to write a long entry about my boss going on vacation. About how he just left on Friday. Which means he spent three days going through everything on his desk. Which means he was digging through piles of things I'd put there about four months ago, the time he last went on vaction.
About how I came to work on his last day to find piles of papers with sticky notes on them, with cryptic scrawls indicating what should be done on files with expired deadlines. With letters that had never been answered. With messages from people I don't know and have never spoken to.
About how I'm supposed to take care of this stuff that's been sitting ignored for months in the few days that he'll be gone and have finished product sitting on his desk when he gets back so he can review it or ignore it and it can sit on his desk for another three weeks, until he goes on another vacation.
About how I came into the office on a Saturday, thinking I was going to get cracking on all this stuff. How I wore crappy clothes so I could crawl around on the floor, making piles of the most important, vital, time-sensitive stuff to start working on. How I brought Diet Coke and fast food and music to keep me sated and kept company.
About how, instead of working, I started looking through the classifieds.
About how I got a call from a friend and decided, "Screw it, I'm going to the bar."
But then I thought better of writing that, since I wouldn't want anyone to think I didn't like my job.
About how I came to work on his last day to find piles of papers with sticky notes on them, with cryptic scrawls indicating what should be done on files with expired deadlines. With letters that had never been answered. With messages from people I don't know and have never spoken to.
About how I'm supposed to take care of this stuff that's been sitting ignored for months in the few days that he'll be gone and have finished product sitting on his desk when he gets back so he can review it or ignore it and it can sit on his desk for another three weeks, until he goes on another vacation.
About how I came into the office on a Saturday, thinking I was going to get cracking on all this stuff. How I wore crappy clothes so I could crawl around on the floor, making piles of the most important, vital, time-sensitive stuff to start working on. How I brought Diet Coke and fast food and music to keep me sated and kept company.
About how, instead of working, I started looking through the classifieds.
About how I got a call from a friend and decided, "Screw it, I'm going to the bar."
But then I thought better of writing that, since I wouldn't want anyone to think I didn't like my job.
posted by Miss Head at
9:52 AM
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