Sometimes Life isn't fair (aka how Jersey City fucked me in the ass without any Lube)

No work posts today, I was out sick yesterday. Sick with a bout of family togetherness. Sunday my dad took me on a three hour ride to some gated community in Connecticut to look at a house he was interested in buying. Being hung over and exhausted I wasn't fully prepared for some
bi-polar bonding time. When dad and I get together if either of us is off we throw the other one into a tail spin. He's at the point where he's taking some sort of twisted inventory of his life, telling me about my grandparents impending death, his own mortality and my inability to become a "functional adult." It was trying to say the least.

After spending several hours with a balding realtor, who was wearing (I kid you not) a tweed sports coat and ill fitting khaki slacks. He seemed nice enough but to be honest I don't like being fed a pitch for three hours at a time. I was completely uninterested in said property, it truly reminded me of one of those retirements villages that old people purchase into so they may enjoy the twilight of their lives. I mean what am I going to do with a shuffle board court? I spoke my concerns and in a true bit of bi-polar rationality dad looked at me and said.

"I don't care what you say I'm buying a place here , the only question I'm asking you is if I should get a place large enough to accommodate the family?"

Now this logic would make sense if this was my dad's money. The funding for said weekend house is coming directly from the sale of our beach front property which I wrote about in early December. The money belongs to the family, not my dad. But do as he does and let no one stop him I conceded that he should buy the large property.

Fully drained I returned home to the sweet comfort on Vicodin and gently drifted off into my drug sleep.

I awoke the next morning with a tickle in my throat and a low grade fever. The hangover coupled with the stress and prescription pills had weakened by immune system and made me ill. I called out and proceeded to work from home, logging into the company system and making my business calls from my personal cell phone.

I moved the car sometime around 12:00PM to get some cold medicine from the nearest drugstore and didn't return to park until about 2PM. When Rob got home he informed me that there was a ticket and a boot on the car. I called the parking authority to clarify that the agent had made a mistake. My car couldn't have been originally spotted at 1:07PM because I was driving around looking for an open drugstore. They requested a copy of my purchase receipt, which honestly do you keep every receipt under the fear that "Big Brother" will question your actions? I have a court date for February 13th, but my car will be towed tomorrow if I don't pay the ticket. So in all honesty that "innocent until proven guilty" thing only applies to you if commit a real crime. For people who may park uneven in the municipality of Jersey City, run by renegade parking attendants (probably embittered because they are not allowed to carry weapons, or serve any real purpose in the community) you are guilty across the board. Sure you can fight your ticket, but you will loose use of your car until the court date comes up. And even if you are proven not guilty you still have to pay the towing fees for your vehicle.

The only way to avoid this situation is to meticulously catalog your every movement and action for the day. Have written proof that you where you claim to be. Know that criminal rights only extend to murders and rapists, thieves and wife beaters. You my friend are a motorist with no rights what so ever. Anyone know a good documentary crew that can follow me around capturing on video any movements I may make in case this every happens again?

I paid the ticket this morning and tonight I will pay the de-booting fine. Well I'll pay but Rob has to do it because if I see anyone I dealt with yesterday I'll sacrifice my freedom for some sweet, sweet vengeance.


*Edit*
My boss is now insisting that I mark the day as an absence because I didn't notify him 24 hours in advance of the day off. Though I worked all day from home and even made calls that will be charged to my personal cell phone. He is insisting that I should have known shit would flow backwars into my tub. What a nice guy he is.

A Matter of Security

I set up our visitor in the empty workstation. The normal occupant, a new hire of less then a week, was working from our midtown offices.

As I logged her into the computer my eyes darted around the workstation checking to see if our new hire or the fired ex-employee had left anything personal I should squirrel away into a drawer to protect their privacy.

"You know," I began, "we now have two spare laptops but the office isn't wireless yet. When it is our visitors will be able to work where they please and not have to worry about pirating an abandoned workstation." She looked at me with approval, which is something because she is one of the two women mentioned in the previous post. "Yes," I continued, "the consultant is using one in the small conference room and the other is right here." I smiled confidently as my hand came slamming down on empty desk.

Wait...That's not right. The lap top was there yesterday when I picked up supplies to courier over to midtown. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks and hoped to god my poker face was good.

"Well it was here, maybe it's in the desk."

Trying not to seem frantic I opened each drawer and then the locker area, nothing, no lap top.

"Oh, I guess someone borrowed it."

I rushed to my desk and fired off a departmental email. I asked nicely if anyone had taken the computer or had any idea who had. No one knew a thing. Could it have been stolen, a laptop and dockingstation, could someone have scooped it up and taken it home? An employee, a member of the cleaning staff, any one of the numerous visitors that flow through here like commuters at the turnstyle? I looked around at my workstation and quickly stashed my purse in a drawer and locked it.

It's amazing how oblivious we can be. We assume that because there's a security staff downstairs dressing the part, we're safe. We assume that those who are waiting in the elevator bank are here for a reason and we open the door to be friendly. We assume that the cleaning staff are trust worthy, and why shouldn't they be, we employ them. All these assumptions have now been proven null and I walk around the office with my head up looking for those watching me.

Safety is in the mind and if someone can filch a two thousand dollar machine without repercussion then what's next, my I-Pod, wallet, the twenty dollars emergency money I keep stashed under a coffee cup on my desk? The offices here don't lock and now management has their panties in a bunch.

A computer was stolen from an international bank with security checks and measures. It was stolen without repercussion because they have no suspects/everyone's a suspect. This is a corporate setting it's "safe." My basement apartment felt exposed and dangerous last night, no wonder I double checked the door locks. I fell asleep alone in my bed, clutching the blanket and praying I could somehow wake up tomorrow ignorant once more.

Brave new Bank

I remember in high school reading Brave New World by Aldous Huxley and thinking about how perhaps the setting wasn't to far off from reality. If you haven't read the book quick synopsis to catch you up;
Utopian world, everything is controlled by the makers and there are several levels of society, much like the Indian caste system.
High ups, pretty, smart, perfect, mature early, have lots of sex and enjoy life and drugs and such.
Mediums not as pretty not as smart but happy to be where they are.
Lows, created to be happy with shiny objects and round things, clean up the shit of the higher ups but are created to be so dumb and malleable that they are happy doing what they do.
A new entity is introduced into said utopian society, a man created from natural birth not cloning and splicing, and causes mass havoc essentially going insane and tipping the scales left and right. All is not perfect and those with brains realize it never was.

Its a good book, not intense or anything but probably better then the standard crap one reads on the beach. That's not what really matters to me here, this post is about a dystopia, a society of a completely different order, or if you really think about it perhaps one in the same.

The large international bank I work for is a foreign company, as such we have out own little caste system of its own. There are the French who work in France and oh what a glorious time they have. Smart and beautiful they take six weeks off in late summer and completely shut down operations leaving us to come to work more for show then anything else. We can't exactly make our own decisions here. Not the pleebs, quick someone give us something round and shiny to keep us occupied for six weeks while those that command enjoy Eurotrash vacations in Ibiza, or those with class summer at the Riviera.

The middle class in our twisted caste system would be those French sent here to prove themselves in exile. For four or so years they must sit amongst the low caste telling us what to do and clenching their teeth at our brashness and manners. We test their patience and for four miserable years they must work around us proving themselves to the higher class that they too are worthy of such luxurious lifestyles. The poor middle class knowing the somewhere in their future lies better days. The flip side of this middle class are the high Americans, working for nothing because they will never move up in the ranks. Their salaries are fat and their benefits good but mobility simply doesn't exist. They stay hoping that the American above them will quit for greener pastures, retire to live off their savings or even die simply so they can fill a new job with the only new thing being their title. The name changes but the song remains the same.

There are the low class. We are not as happy as those in the novel I mentioned, because we have an idea that no matter how hard we work we will never be truly fulfilled. Sitting in the office staring at the older faces straining eyes to focus on monitors, it's not exactly the life I want to live. I'm not very cooperate I never was, there was a five year span as a child when I wanted to be a lawyer but a few conversations with friends in law school or with positions as Junior associates scared the crap outta me real quick. I accept my role and play with my shiny objects plotting my escape as each day passes. I will never learn to love my position as those around me have resigned themselves to do. Not that they willingly do so, but years and years of watching your friends ride the booms and busts makes those with responsibility appreciate that which is reliable, and you damn near have to fellate you co-worker in front of your boss to get the axe.

Our outside factors, those of "natural birth" who throw the entire system into flux are those who are French but have no light at the end of their tunnel. These individuals are not expatriates. They will not be sent back to their home land with fanfare and a brassy new title. No these French must work and live like Americans, knowing that they will never get the glory that their friends and co-workers eventually will. But they are still French and they still have one leg up on us pleebs. Two such ladies have gone far out of their way to make my life hell. Nasty emails, underhanded behind the back plotting. Making sure that all know when I have made a mistake but working hard to cover up that which I have done well. They spite me because I am not like them. I am American and therefore have just a bit less power then them. But I have my youth and a future that does not involve this company. I'll stick around to finish what a started and I shall soon see one get axed for complete incompetence, the other, well I'll just wait for her to go insane and throw our little society into tailspin.

No one wants to take care of the little things

Business, as I have learned it is all about credit. Who gets it, who doesn't, who wants it but has no way of properly staking their claim; these issues are what big business is built on. Working at this bank for a little over a year I have seen people hired, fired, and those that have quit by the droves, fleeing their eminent demise before someone else could release the guillotine blade while the masses chant "off with their heads!" (How appropriate considering this bank is French.) Those in power take credit as they see fit and those below them accept what crumbs discarded their way as some sort of semblance of gratitude for hard work done.

When undertaking a project one must realize that there are several steps that must be completed before things are in any sort of presentable manner. If said project is large then many parties must undertake such steps and divide the work up amongst themselves as they see proper. This is where the issues lie. If I must toil at my desk in front of the cold glare of a computer and spend countless overtime hours sitting in the flattering light of fluorescent office bulbs, eating cheap takeout and stressing if all the details are in order, why then do you get to put on your nice suit and dazzle the boardroom with your flashy powerpoint presentation, ( that I compiled) and bright smile pearlies? How is this at all fair to me? How am I supposed to reassure myself at the end of the day knowing that said presentation was built off of my technological skills? This is where the power and fear comes into play.

A sacrifice should be made at least once a year. An example to those in your midst, reminding them who has the power regardless if they continue to have the ability to keep up with the ever changing business world. I hear your stories of strippers sent to your office on birthdays. I smile and nod when you talk about the days past when bosses were stiff dicks with a willing secretary here and there. Some where along the line the world caught up with you, we have since surpassed you and perceive you as the relics that you are. Midlife crises have come and gone, second wives and families have been started and you see your mortality in the mirror every morning as you hopelessly push the remaining follicles on your head around with a comb. We support your career, your big house in the suburbs, your nice car, your children's college tuition, and what do we get in response? Money, medical insurance, a 401K and the knowledge that this year it wasn't me that had to pack my things in front of my peers and shuffle out the door to disappear in the that sad abyss where those with black marks on their employment record go to rest.

I watched you fire him, you said he didn't contribute. He did his part, he took care of what you couldn't. His shirt was always wrinkled and his English was tainted with sounds of his homeland, he wasn't slick or charming but he did what you hired him to do. In the end he made no impression because there was never anything soft enough to imprint himself on because in the end no one wants to take care of the little things.

The Stalls

I have to admit I'm not a very shy person. Sure, take me to a party I'll cling to you for dear life but after a glass of wine or two I'm with four new best friends discussing all sorts of personal details that I probably should keep to myself. I'm not bashful about my sex life, and am a very forward thinking, open minded individual (or so I'd like to believe.) You don't find me cringing in the corner when people discuss conversations "not fit for the dinner table." But one thing I can't adapt to in the bathroom stalls in the office.

Work is not like high school or college where there are so many people you can blend into the crowd. Each group is sub divided into their respective functions and are seated accordingly, which means that I sit among those I work with (makes sense doesn't it?) In the learning institutions one can bounce around groups of friends, from class room to class room and use the facilities whenever and where ever needed. If you enter one bathroom you're not necessarily going to see anyone you know, no less anyone at all. At work there is one bathroom near your area shared by all your same sex co-workers, each of whose names you know and daily interactions you depend on. This for me creates an issue.

Our bathrooms at work consist of four stalls, separated like any public rest room, i.e. a pieces for plexi glass not extending all the way to the floor with swinging doors that latch by turning a small knob from the inside. This construction is not conducive to privacy, your feet show through the bottom and small spaces where the door hinges allow anyone curious enough a view of who is inside. To pee in one of these is daunting enough. I sit knowing full well when anyone else is in the bathroom with me. I can recognize some by their shoes or their pant cuffs and have had the pleasure of experiencing the worst way of knowing when someone I work with has had asparagus for lunch. People socialize by the sinks, doing their makeup or brushing their hair. Some bring cell phones in the bathroom to have conversations that they don't want bosses to hear. Others brush their teeth after lunch ( a habit I should look into but know that I never will.) This makes using the facilities even more difficult for me, I have a shy bladder and have held in for more then five minutes while co-workers discuss niceties while using the toilet.

The last job I held, though dismal and dead ended had private bathrooms. There were so few people in the office that a stall situation wasn't needed. There were two private bathrooms with magazines and air freshener and fan vents that one could use at their discretion. I was still a bit horrified to enter said bathroom to find a lingering odor from the previous occupant. But here and now without such luxuries I am stuck. Yesterday was perhaps the worst. After being ill for a few days my stomach (let me put this delicately) was not right. Two days of consuming nothing but chicken broth, saltine crackers and Gatorade I had become a delicate flower succumbing to foods that I would have normally enjoyed heartily.

The overwhelming sensation of need overcame my shyness and I ran to the bathroom praying that I would find it empty. Lo and behold there it was, so precious and beautiful, the bathroom was completely abandoned and with great joy I made a mad dash for the last stall where I proceeded to, well do I have to say it? Just then a noise, heels clicking on the polished marble flooring. I strained to listen, tracking the noise, hoping that they would pass down the hall. They stopped, I panicked, the door clicked, I struggled and flushed.

Long story short, I sat in the bathroom for 15 minutes waiting for the stream of women coming in and going out to cease. I sweated a bit and pulled legs up hoping no one would recognize my shoes. I flushed several times but never left the stall. Once the traffic had ceased and I again had the bathroom to myself I finished and slunk out and slipped into my workstation hoping that no one a figured me out. I can't keep this up, I need a plan of action, I need a private bathroom. We are not animals, we should not be forced to perform our natural bodily functions in a group setting. Please some one let me know I'm not alone on this one.

It's Been Awhile

I apologize for not updating recently. But seeing as how those of you who stop by don't comment I'm not too remorseful.

A new year a new chance. If you do read this on a semi regular basis please let me know how to make it more interesting, more captivating, funnier, prettier...Gosh I feel like I'm back in Middle School. Accept me, validate me, let me find in with the cool kids who pretend to smoke after school but really hold the smoke in their mouths pushing out with each breath instead of accepting the cancerous particles like an adult would.

I got sick on New Years, well I felt ill the night before and tried to take it easy. I did so well all New Years eve day, laying low and staying calm. I got dressed and Rob and I made a dash to his parents house where we played scrabble, (I won, never play scrabble with an English major unless you're a sucka for pain,) watched 'Top Hat' (ah self aggrandizing actors and the like I personally think Fred Astaire, while entertaining can become a little crating after an hour or so,) and watched his mom go bat shit trying to set out a dinner for guests who would wind up not really eating at all.

On a side note, I am deathly allergic to shellfish. This being an allergy that I developed late in life I know what it's like to taste the wonderful flavors of shrimp, clams, oysters, mussels, and lobster. ( oh god lobster, if you had asked me my favorite food 5 or 6 years ago I would have said lobster. I loved it even as a child when my friends taunted me for eating something that resembled an over grown cockroach.) Every time Rob's mother makes a large dinner she makes some sort of shellfish, like she doesn't remember it will kill me. True her son in law is a staunch fishetarian (a vegetarian who eats fish, I made the word up, so sue me) and she tries to accommodate him, but she never makes fish (which I can eat.) No it's always shrimp this and shrimp that and mussels or crab cakes, I think the woman may want me dead. Now before you judge me and say so just don't eat it, mind you that I am so allergic that if any prepared food touches a spoon that touched shellfish I swell to the size of Star Jones, pre surgery (I don't care what she claims there's some staples in that stomach.) So I wind up eating first or not at all.
Okay griping done.

Sometime after 6 I started to feel real nasty and had to lie down, finding bursts of energy among the night to get up and say hello to guests before retreating to my cave under the blankets of Rob's old bed. Hours past and 12AM loomed near, the party got dressed to go to the park and celebrate in usual style under the fireworks in Central Park by the rock near Belvedere Castle .
It's kind of a cute ritual, they all get the stupidest hats they can find, and not the paper/plastic hats everyone wears, and traipse into the park, champange bottles in hand, ready to ring in the new year among friends, family and loved ones.

This was to be the first year I would be with them seeing as last New Years there was strife between Rob and I (there was another party involved, and no it wasn't my fault) and both he and I really wanted me to be there. His friend Jake even made it a point to tell me how great it would be if I could get the strength. So with will and determination I stood up and bravely made it all the way to the couch. I couldn't do it and Rob was torn. He wanted to be with me, he wanted to be with his friends and family, he was a broken man, so I made the decision for him and promptly kicked him out of the house sniffling and wiping my tears before he could see.

I could have been with my mom, but if I couldn't find the strength to sit upright on the toilet how was I to make it 15 blocks to her house. Besides her immune system is a bit compromised so why ring in the new year by getting her ill? I wasn't the only one who spent the New Year on the couch (both mom and sis rang it in watching T.V. and eating take out) however I was completely alone. Just me and "Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve. " So between the flu, the sight of a stroke addled Dick Clark and what appeared to be the drag queen that ate Mariah Carey, it was a completely depressing New Year. On the bright side if New Years Eve is the best time of your year, well you've got nothing to look forward to, here's to better tomorrows!