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2006-12-12 - 6:46 p.m.

333: I'm Only Half Evil

My conscience kicked in yesterday. And my co-worker was sitting nearby when Lumbergh tappity-tapped on over to check out the status on the Schweaty balls. I mean, bourbon balls.

"Well, you said you were going to add a few more names to the list. I was waiting for those..."

*deep breath*

"And by the way, I came across this catalog and I got to thinking that the 8 piece set is kinda on the small side. What do you think about the pound or 1/2 pound box?"

He leaned over to take a look. "Hmmmm. What's the price difference?"

"Well, the 1/2 pound box is eight dollars more, and the..."

"That doesn't include shipping, does it?"

"No."

"How many pieces are in the 1/2 pounder?" He picked up the catalog. "Let's see here: 1, 2, 3..."

*rolling eyes*

"You know, that might be better."

"Good, ok. Who else did you wanted added to the list?"

"Oh. John Blahblah. I'll get you his contact info later."

"Alright."

I began gathering up the catalog and mailing list, swiveled my chair back to my desk right as he said:

"Don't do anything yet. I wanna think about it. I might wind up sending some folks the bigger box, and some the smaller one. I dunno yet. But I want to get this wrapped up by this afternoon."

ALRIGHTY, MR. INDECISIVE CHEAP FUCK.

I shoved the folder in a corner while he walked off to mull over his ball selection. A few hours later he came over to inform me...

that he wanted me to send back a pet gate for the farm owner.

Now, normally returns for the farm owner are handled by -- you guessed it -- her assistant. Especially since she's the one who orders the shit. Yet, this particular return was suddenly my issue.

Fine. Whatever.

Then he said:

"Problem is, we can't find the paperwork. But here's the item in the catalog. I'll see if we can dig something up. In the meantime, let me get the box for you."

He came back with this big (at least 3'x3') flat box, took the gate out and started pulling out packing material.

"I don't see it in there...but you go through it and see if you can find something. Maybe it's at the bottom. At any rate, get it all boxed back up and ready."

He promptly walked off.

Sweet Jesus send me a shotgun.

I reached in and pulled out wads of paper and torn plastic. There was still some crap in there, so I turned the box upside down and bits of styrofoam floated out. I peered inside and saw broken styrofoam blocks stuck at the bottom. I turned the box upside down again and started smacking it. Did no good whatsover. But at least I was able to tell that there was no paperwork in there. So I decided to leave the blocks at the bottom and start repacking everything. I borrowed a yardstick from my co-worker to level the blocks and smoosh down some paper for extra cushioning.

The real fun began when I pulled the plastic over the gate, lifted it up with both hands and tried to wedge it down in the box between an inner flap of cardboard. It was sliding fairly well and nearly all in when I realized I'd completely bypassed the middle of the flap.

**Frackin' schmakin'***

Out came the gate. This time, I held it up with my right hand, and balanced it against my face and chest, while keeping the inner flap open with my left hand. I couldn't see what the fuck I was doing, but by sheer will, determination and the spirit of Helen Keller, that fucker slipped in like butter. And everything would've been hunky-dory if the top lid closed.

The styrofoam blocks were not designed for the bottom, after all.

Fuck.

I decided to give it a rest. Especially since the paperwork had yet to be located. I busied myself with another task, or surfed the web for awhile, when bossman came back by.

"Any luck?"

"Nope...there was no paperwork in there."

"Well, we're still looking. Oh, and by the way, there's no rush on this. Farm owner has a tendency to change her mind about returns, so we'll hold off until the end of the week at least, just in case."

"Ohhkay."

(Here's an idea: Why didn't you locate the paperwork first, then bother me about the repacking LATER?)

Around 3:30, I ran into farm owner's house assistant/errand boy/what have you (the one who boss doesn't think is bright enough to do the Kroger runs on Monday). Through the grapevine, I found out he's the one who unpacked the pet gate at the house and might have seen the paperwork.

I inquired, but he said no, there wasn't "nuthin' in there" besides the instructions.

I turned to walk back to my desk as he said "Hey, there's some other stuff that goes with the gate. I'll bring it by later."

WELL, SWEET!

As I discovered, around 4 pm, there are not only 4 additional rails, but there's a WHOLE OTHER BOX.

The, ya know, OUTER ONE.

By that time, I was in no mood to bug Lumbergh about his balls.

So this morning, first thing, I drafted a new copy of the Christmas mailing list, wherein the last column next to each name had two gift choices (8 pc bourbon balls 7.50 OR 1/2 lb 15.50). I wrote above the column in red ink "Please circle your choices." I planned to put the list with his mail and then he could pour over it all fucking day at his leisure. Probably with 17 circles that had been drawn and then scribbled out, then drawn again in a different color pen, then rescribbled out, then he'd use arrows and write in the margins, finally writing his choices on a small piece of paper. In pencil.

When he waltzed in around 9 am with a big sack of mail, I mentioned I had a Christmas list ready for him to look at, and that I'd drop it off with his correspondence, unless he just wanted to take it now.

He replied:

"You know, I was thinking about this more last night. I'm just gonna go with the smaller boxes across the board."

OH, YOU COMPLETE ASS.

"Unless there's an availability or timing issue. Then we'll reconsider. But those smaller boxes won't even be available till the 15th per the website, right? So we've still got plenty of time."

WHATEVER, LOSER.

"Sure, I guess. I still need an address for John BlahBlah, and to know if there's anyone else you want to add."

"Right," he said, looking at the list. "Oh, and that guy there has moved to another location. I'll see if I can track down his new address."

By the end of the day, I still hadn't heard back from him on it. But I did find out he wants me to ship the pet gate on Friday.

So actually, it's the best of both worlds. My conscience is clear because I did my due f'ing diligence by pointing out a social faux pas beforehand (in a roundabout way), and he bypassed my advice so now he's a double cheapskate dick.

Ha ha! I win! I win!

But oohhhhhh -- I need YOUR advice now, gang. As much as I want to quit by the end of the year/sometime in January with little notice, I realize the person I really want to screw over is my boss, first and foremost. But leaving my co-workers hanging seems shitty. While I still think my fave co-worker is probably leaving soon as well (or maybe not?), the whole thing overall seems disrespectful. I'm not gonna walk out after giving some dramatic speech, because it would come out like this:

"Ummm...ppppbbbbfffftttt!!!. Spew spew...TANGENT! Blahblah BLAH! Uhhhh...and ya know what, another thing! Oh my god! Ppppbbbbfffftttt!!!" BLAH! SO THERE!"

And considering I have no job lined up, it probably wouldn't be a bad idea to walk out with a letter of recommendation and some references.

So here's what I'm thinking, peoples. If I give two week notice, I'm gonna get fucked with making lists, and cross-training co-workers and god forbid, training a replacement, not to mention every project bossman and farm manager can think of to throw at me before I leave.

But if I give 2 weeks notice before Christmas...

1) Bossmans will probably be taking a week vacation, so I would only have to deal with him in person for a week (only Satan knows what kind of shit he might call or email me about).

2) Fave co-worker will be out from the 19th-26th, and bossman's accounting assistant will probably take off a week (no cross-training there).

3) One of those days we'll hopefully get off for a Christmas holiday.

So I'm looking at around 9 days, with about 4-5 days (HARD TIME) scattered here and there.

But all this hinges on me putting in my resignation THIS FRIDAY.

Or well, Monday morning.

Questions:

1) What do y'all think?

2) Is it better to put in my resignation on a Friday afternoon, or a Monday morning?

I know I won't regret giving two weeks notice, because it's the accepted norm and I will have a clear conscience. I do know they will use me as much as possible, which SUCKS, but they do that anyway...yet I'll be able to blow stuff off from farm manager because I'm too busy wrapping something up for boss, or vice versa. As the old adage goes: What are they gonna do, fire me?

Plus I'll be able to say all my goodbyes gradually and I won't be hated for ditching them out of the blue. And I can come back and see my beloved, the office cat Rosie, and the dogs. And the horses!

Leaving on good terms is the best route. I'll probably find out they wanted to replace me anyway. They'll probably tell me to go ahead and leave.

That's the spirit!

Wait a minute. I get paid $385 a week after taxes (I KNOW!) for busting my hump in a go-nowhere job. I made $250 a week when I was on unemployment insurance. 10 YEARS AGO.

So how shall I word my letter of resignation?

Listening to:

"I've Been Losing You" by A-Ha (I can still our screams competing, you're hissing your s's like a snake), "Gloria" by Laura Branigan, "I'll Get Over You" and "Talkin in Your Sleep" by Crystal Gayle (she's awesome -- and if you didn't know it, she's Loretta Lynn's sister)