Christmas Is Cancelled

Well, maybe not, but the Lufkin trip is definitely off. Also we're now undergoing a hiring freeze. "If somebody leaves," said our section director in an emergency staff meeting Friday, "for the time being, that just means everybody else's workload gets a bit heavier."

Um, what if, say, four people leave? Within a month or so of each other? No reason. Just curious.

I really did want to go to Lufkin, though, so that's a bit of a bummer. Instead, my boss wants to send me to a class (presumably here in Austin) on how to conduct training via videoconference.

This does not sound like nearly as much fun.

What the section director did not know on Friday is whether we still get to hire a replacement for Robbie, since his vacant job was already posted, and closed the day the hiring freeze was announced. Do we just not get to post any new requisitions, or are the existing ones cancelled?

I asked this question in our staff meeting, and of course what I was really wanting to get at was, what happens to the four internal job postings I've applied for in the last few weeks? I thought it might be better not to ask this directly. But, continuing that train of thought, does a hiring freeze mean you can't post any new jobs at all, or can you just not bring new people into the agency? I mean, if they want to encourage people to be happy in their work, they can't tell them (can they?) that the only possible way up is out? Until whatever indefinite date that the hiring freeze is over? Shouldn't you still be able to hire internally?

If the only way up is out, then only people who can't get up stay in.

Oh wait. I think maybe that already happened.

Alalalalala!!!

Today my boss walked in on me filling out an internal job application, but that's okay. HR will probably accidentally send my receipt letter directly to her again, anyway.

Oooh, but wish me luck on this one, my little electronic friends! I actually applied for it about a week and a half ago, but then realized I had left off some particularly relevant job experience - or at least some job experience HR would consider to be particularly relevant. And I want this one. So I submitted a new application, on paper, in person, and specified that today's application supersedes the one I submitted online last week.

Let's hope somebody there will know what that word means.

It's primarily a writing job. Wouldn't that be perfect? The tricky part is demonstrating to the brainiacs in HR that I possess written communication skills. Upon careful consideration, I decided that giving them the link to my blog would probably not be a good idea. Which is a great pity, isn't it? It's sort of like applying for a job as an L.L. Bean model when your portfolio consists entirely of naughty pictures from your days as an exotic dancer.

Hypothetically speaking, of course.

Anyway, I really do have my fingers crossed for this job. I want it! It involves not only writing, but project management, travel, and that new-fangled internet thingummy, you may have heard of it. I'd be perfect!

If I get picked for an interview, I sure hope my boss will pass on the message.

Scott Adams Is Hiding in My Bra

Our panicmongering supervisor sat us all down in a staff meeting today. "Just a reminder," she said in a hushed, serious tone. "Breaks are 15 minutes long."

We glanced around the room at one another, surprised. They are?! Is her watch broken??!

It wouldn't be the first thing. Even though our entire division (you might think the entire agency, but let's not go crazy, here) is networked, everyone's computer tells a slightly different time. We don't have administrative access to our own machines (that's GOT to be a euphemism for something), so we can't synch 'em. But whoever does have administrative access has apparently figured that three, four, five minutes, here or there, plus or minus, is eh. No big deal. And it isn't, except that we never show up at quite the same time for staff meetings.

She also went on to say that negative energy is a bad thing, and we should try not to emanate it if at all possible. If we are not happy with our job, or her management style, or anything else in any way, we should go and find another job and she'll be happy to help us out by giving a good reference.

I need more Dilberts. She'll want something to read to keep her occupied when everyone else is gone.

You've Created a Monster

I put my resume on Monster.com a few months ago. Just for laughs - and so far it hasn't let me down.

Last week it sent me a job listing for an Army chaplain. I'm serious. I'm still scratching my head over what possible criteria I might have filled in that made Monster think I'd be a good fit for that one. What's next, a nun job? "Must be able to spend extended periods of time on your knees."

The real job is okay, if not stellar; but I get bored and start thinking more and more about the future. This is always a bad idea. The main problem with the future, as I see it, is that it invariably involves your own death. Yearly mammograms, too, if you're a girl. That's not even getting into the amount of dental work we've all got coming to us. Dear God! How is anybody ever supposed to look forward to anything?!

But even the best jobs tend to entail getting up at some ungodly hour in the morning, which is the main thing I'd like to get away from. Today I woke up from a terrifying nightmare where I was being mercilessly pursued by a naked, bald, muscular giant. I'd find something to hide under, but he'd knock it down. I hid in a closet, but the door wouldn't close all the way. Then, suddenly, it hit me. Naked? Muscular? Giant? And I'm running away, why?? The dream was taking a much more pleasant turn when my alarm clock went off: time to get up and go to work, where almost everyone inevitably wears clothes.

Not that I'm wishing otherwise. I guess I'm just hoping that someday, Monster.com will turn up a perfect job, where I can sleep in, and all the men are delicious (and some of them are even straight!), and the work is interesting and fulfilling, and the pay is great.

You can stop laughing now. Thanks.

In the Air

If I'd timed things better, I'd be making this, my four hundred-twentieth post, on April 20, which would be sort of marginally cool but really pretty stupid, especially seeing as how my parents probably have no idea what I'm talking about.

So forget I said anything.

But 80-degree temperatures out at almost 10 at night mean that spring has officially sprung, I think. It's a time of new beginnings: Bryan's out in two more days; Thomas gave official notice today; the trees are leafy and green; the grackles are in full courtship mode, which is always annoying.

Today we saw a female doing the courtship dance, which surprised Robbie. Normally the females stand around looking bored while the males puff up their neck feathers and race around screeching, those suave bastards. But this one was putting the moves on in her own right. You go, girl! It's good to see grackle liberation. And what else is a girl supposed to do if she likes a boy who's much too shy to make the first move on her? You gotta dance.

Unlike the rest of us in our department, Thomas has some fairly specialized job duties. I suppose he's what you'd call a Government Official. I've been tapped to take those on, and it really makes you wonder: can it be truly fulfilling to hold a position of unique importance, playing a role that's vital to your organization's function, if your overall organization is kind of silly and pointless in the grander scheme of things?

Thomas apparently didn't think so. Then again, it's not a bad metaphor for life on earth in general.

It's much too nice out now to be glum about these things, especially if someone would shut the damn grackles up already.

How to Freak Out Your Boss

This is by no means an official announcement, but two events over the past two days strongly indicate that I have been chosen as Bill 2.0.

My glass of Merlot and I have somewhat mixed feelings about this.

Before we moved offices, Robbie - the best friend you could hope to have, and my only competition in the "Be the Next Bill" contest - whiled away some of the slower moments by decorating the underside of his cubicle cabinet with Post-It notes, on which he had written such sentiments as "This job sucks," "I hate this place," and "Please - Kill me now!"

The underside of the cabinet, he told me, was pretty well completely covered by the time we moved.

After we moved, Robbie realized it might be a good idea to go back and retrieve his cabinet - all the furniture, of course, is modular - from his old cubicle. But it was gone. Someone else had already taken it! Who?! Robbie asked around for it. He asked our friend and fellow three-martini breaker, Bryan, who now sits in the cube next to the one across from Robbie's old one. But Bryan had not seen it.

"Wow," remarked the partly dead old-timer in the cubicle across from Bryan's. "You sure do want that cabinet, don't you?"

Robbie sure does, inasmuch as he thinks he might have signed and dated a few of his creations.

But unfortunately, it's never turned up. He worried about it for a while. But it's been several weeks now, and nothing's come back to bite him in the ass. My personal pet theory is that it's ended up in our boss's office, where she's simply continued to add to it with Post-It notes of her own, without ever missing a beat. Gawdonly knows she feels free to joke around in every single staff meeting about how anxious she is to find another position.

Robbie and I sat today and discussed how best he should handle the news, assuming that's the news there will be, that I have been the first one chosen to go permanent. He says he can cry on demand. I think we should take it up a notch further, and when our supervisor calls me into her office, we'll both show up wearing sashes saying "Miss/Mister TRM Analyst 2007" and I will scream with excitement and my hands will shake in front of my face and my mascara will run and I will turn and hug Robbie and he will give me a fake hug with little pats on the back and and air-kisses.

I better get a tiara.

Friends, Texans, Coworkers...

I sent this to 3-martini-break alumnus Justin and he promptly posted it on his blog, so I guess I might as well too, especially if it's just going to be sharing cyberspace with neck testicles anyway.

These are my peeps, as conceived by ClipArtist Extraordinaire Robbie (next to the Indy car). See how lucky I am to have such fun friends? They're actually a lot better-looking in real life, but you know, clip art.