floating facedown in the mainstream

I think I might have been holding my breath for the past two months…

 Since I began my new job in December, I have been dealing not only with learning the intricacies of a whole new business, but also a shit ton of harassment from a particular co-manager. It’s literally been so bad that I had begun to dread working with him, as he inevitably disappeared for hours on end, leaving me to handle situations about which I had no clear idea how to handle according to company policy.

 That’s bad enough, but having him around was even worse, as he was constantly mocking me to the serving staff and making jokes at my expense to my face and in front of customers and staff members. I realized he was going to be a problem from the time I walked into the office on my sixth day and he greeted me by saying (in front of the male accountant), “You look like a slut today!”

 Not that it matters, but my “slutty” attire consisted of a sleeveless mock turtleneck blouse and black jeans. But even HAD I been wearing something inappropriate, it was not his place to reprimand me, and most certainly not in front of another employee, regardless of gender.

 I repeatedly caught him going through my cellphone, my employee box in the office, and I had no problem assuming that my purse was fair game in the office when he was alone.

 He was constantly asking me what my salary was, to which I replied that I had no desire to share that info with him, nor did I think it would be beneficial to our professional relationship.

 He threw a fork at me during my meal break from behind a potted plant, narrowly missing the eye of the delivery guy sitting across from me. This sort of thing was the height of hilarity to him, as were the times he referred to me as ‘The CryptKeeper’ (from Tales From the Crypt). I never let him know how much THAT stung, haha.

 But the straw that broke the camel’s back was yesterday, when he fired a recent hire over Facebook. I can’t even express how flabbergasted I was when he read aloud to me the exchange posted on his wall, wherein he shared my issues regarding the recent ex-employee’s job performance. And then the guy calls me a liar, and it just went downhill from there.

 Can you imagine someone thinking that this is appropriate behavior in the workplace, even a restaurant?!? My jaw just dropped. Though my reply to him when he said I was called a liar was: OK. He is entitled to his opinion. I’m not emotionally involved in this kid’s opinion of me.

 I made mention of this to the owner, as I didn’t appreciate my name being drug through the mud on a FB page that was linked to our business page.

 Then I came home and prepared a list of grievances I had accrued from this co-manager since I started there, and it came to six fucking pages.

 Prior to the FB firing episode I had scheduled a meeting with the owner for today, in order to share with him some of the difficulties I was having and ask him how he would prefer for me to handle it. I specifically wasn’t going to do anything rash like demand he fire him or threaten to leave if he stayed.

 I woke up this morning in tears. I was a nervous wreck thinking about how this could blow up in my face and I could be back searching for a job, knowing that this kid was laughing at how he prevailed and my cowardly ass let him run me off.

 Nevertheless, I summoned up all my courage and made the trip into the city. I sat down with the owner and explained how difficult it was for me to come to him about this, as I preferred to work out professional differences with the person involved, and that as I hadn’t been there too long, I was hesitant to make waves, but that my ability to perform my job and to grow in my knowledge of the establishment was being affected.

 He listened to me and then before I had to start reading to him my list of humiliation, he said, “I fired him today. I went to the computer and he had left his FB page open. Not only had he insulted you, but also the General Manager as well as myself. Not to mention the blatant inappropriate sexual comments made by him. I honestly was sickened by what I read, and by the way he carelessly left the restaurant vulnerable to lawsuits.”

 My whole body relaxed. I swear to you that I got 10 years of my life back in that moment.

  Then the owner told me how truly sorry he was that I had been subjected to that sort of treatment. And I think that he really meant it, even.

 I came home and crossed that dude’s name off the schedule with a big black marker.

Oh, and what about ol’ Greg Kelly?

Prince What-A-Mess

I honestly thought that today was SuperBowl Sunday until about 4 p.m.

Go ahead and laugh.

 So while I was outside my job having a cigarette on Monday, I heard someone get hit by a car. I was turned in the opposite direction at the time, but I heard the collective gasp of everyone around me and saw a crowd gathered.

 My first concern was for the delivery guys we employ and my heart sank. Then I noticed there wasn’t a bike involved, and was relieved, momentarily anyway.

 The person was not moving and I was in the process of dialing 911 when I realized everyone standing on the sidewalk beside me was already doing so.

 The ambulance came and took the person away. I have resigned myself to the fact that I will most likely never know what became of them, which is a strange reality of NYC, I suppose.

 For the next few days, I was extra sketchy about crossing the street, even when the light was in my favor, something that seemed to amuse fellow pedestrians from time to time. But fuck that, laugh if you want. I know I must look pretty darn amusing, all jumpy and paranoid. I just don’t wanna end up lying helpless in a puddle on the street, surrounded by a bunch of strangers.

 I went back inside and watched through the window, my hand occasionally covering my mouth due to anxiety and concern. At one point, the intern said, “Michelle, if you’re gonna get upset, you should go downstairs and get yourself together.”

 It struck me as condescending, so I of course (very maturely) said, “SHUTUP INTERN!”

 Luckily we have a good working relationship and she knew I was kidding around.

 Which I was, mostly.

I’ve never experienced a tornado.

 Was just discussing this with another Alabamian. (that sounds so weird)

 However, I do recall being subjected to periodic tornado drills in which all students were herded out into the hall and forced to sit on the floor with our knees drawn and our hands covering our lowered heads.

 This seems as unlikely to protect one from a tornado as crawling under a desk would if there were a nuclear threat. (in light of reports that the 16 year old girl killed in yesterday’s tornado was found 40 feet from her home yet still in her bed)

Also, I recently discovered I have Dutch heritage.

 I was surprised, though not sure why.

Perk!

 One awesome thing about my job is that people are forever leaving accessories behind. I let them languish in the Lost & Found for about a week, but then they are MINEALLMINE.

 Thus far, I have managed to acquire one pair of really nice leather gloves, one pair of cashmere elbow length gloves, and (my personal favorite) a pair of black velvet gloves lined with some sort of Thinsulate material that are the warmest things I’ve ever known.

 Also, assorted scarves.

 Note: I did not take advantage of the Invisalign braces that someone left behind. I have my limits.

And this happened:

 About a month ago, my father called to tell me that my younger sister was pregnant. (Like I care! We hate each other! Though sometimes I think that it’s just a comfortable habit at this point, I can’t remember exactly when our relationship became one of animosity).

 The only feeling I had about this news was an uncomfortable suspicion that a grandchild might enable her to receive more attention from my father. (Yes, I’m four years old)

 Tuesday, Daddy left me a voicemail saying she had miscarried. I haven’t called back as of yet. I don’t know what to say. Additionally, I doubt my ability to sound sincerely sympathetic.

 Don’t get me wrong: I don’t wish that on anyone, even her. I hope that she will be able to conceive in the future, if she wishes. I just… well, I don’t even know. I think I’m troubled by my apathetic reaction. Or by his conceivable perception of it.

 Side note: When I told my mother about it (aforementioned sister is actually my 1/2 sis, we have same father) she said: I’ll bet she regrets that abortion a few years back.

MEEEEEOOOOOOWWW! Hisssssss!

Ladies and Gentleman: My mother! She knows how to carry a grudge!

 But don’t judge her too harshly. It’s easy to say spiteful things about people whom you’ve not seen in over a decade.

 And her comment doesn’t BEGIN to touch the things my sister and HER mother would say about me in this situation. Talk about spiteful! Those two are the definition of the word.

I feel guilty but it’s still true:

 During this whole ordeal, one thought kept surfacing despite my attempts to push it away: I’m so glad it’s not CJ.

Cats…good grief!

 Yesterday SickyPie-Pie-Pie threw up at least 6 times, the last 3 nothing but bile (sorry). He was very lethargic, and I suspected he had a fever. I called my regular vet at around 3 p.m., but received the voicemail stating the office was closed.

 Brief tangent: Why does the voice on the outgoing message on my vet’s voicemail have a British accent? No one I’ve ever encountered there has any accent at all, other than the normal nasal tones I associate with people from the NE U.S. And why is my vet’s office closed at 3 p.m. on a Wednesday? And why doesn’t the outgoing message state the office hours, rather than merely saying the office is closed?

 These things are a bit concerning to me, but then I’m a worrier. They have been wonderful to my two fuzzy buddies in all other respects.

 ANYWAY: I ended up calling the Emergency Animal Hospital to see if I should get him some immediate medical attention and they recommended I bring him in ASAP, which I did.

 Long story short(ish): The vet gave me an estimate of $1400-3400. I said, “Look, dude, I love my cat but I can’t even begin to afford that. Let’s take this one step at a time, what would you suggest I do this evening”?

 He ended up giving him IV fluids and a painkiller and recommended I abstain from giving him any food overnight, and only a small amount of h2o to see if he could keep it down. So, despite my fears that this cat was going to eat my face off in my sleep due to his obvious desire for sustenance, that is what I did.

 By the time we woke up this morning, he seemed much better.

 As of now, he has eaten and there have been no more instances of vomit. Always good news.

 It cost me $230 thus far. I was so upset at the vet that my hands were shaking and I couldn’t retain the info he gave me. To be fair, no one wants to hear that their pet needs bloodwork, x-rays, ultrasounds, hospitalization, and possible surgery. Not to mention that all of this will run several thousand dollars.

 I joked to R this morning that Slick did this for attention. He reminds me of how my mother claims that I repeatedly stuck Band-Aids all over myself as a child, and how the doctor would insist upon removing every single one of them in order to make sure I wasn’t being abused.