Wednesday, June 09, 2004
What is the sound of hair being ripped out of a head?
Ok, not like I have all that much left to rip out, but I'm damn ready to commit trichotillomania on my poor tete. I'm at work. Is that enough, or shall I expound? Seems to me that a little venting is in order before I get back to the all-important job that I'm currently in the midst of.
First off, just let me say that we've been extraordinarily busy lately. We're pulling in quite a few jobs and the budgets on the Big Four are in excess of $20 million. I've been getting so far behind on my paperwork that for the past few weeks I've been taking abbreviated lunches so I have AT LEAST a good half hour of peace while John is out of the frikkin' office. Slowly but surely, I am digging myself out of this dead white mountain.
But then. Little Napolean comes in after lunch and proceeds to bitch and moan that I didn't write a phone number down on a message I left him. Hmm... when he leaves messages for me, usually he won't write a number down. Just the name of the person that called, no time, no number, no clue as to what it's all about. Double standard? Or is it just that I'm the lowly business manager/secretary/whipping post? For fuck's sake, the guy doesn't even pay his own bills. I give him an allowance and he's not allowed to touch his checking account. I gave him a company credit card and set the limit to be about half of what mine is. And he's got to bitch about all this minutiae that doesn't do anything except piss me the fuck off.
Now I need to get back to work and figure out why in the hell one of our subconsultants is overbilling a project by $16,000... I would really enjoy a nice vodka soda right about now.
First off, just let me say that we've been extraordinarily busy lately. We're pulling in quite a few jobs and the budgets on the Big Four are in excess of $20 million. I've been getting so far behind on my paperwork that for the past few weeks I've been taking abbreviated lunches so I have AT LEAST a good half hour of peace while John is out of the frikkin' office. Slowly but surely, I am digging myself out of this dead white mountain.
But then. Little Napolean comes in after lunch and proceeds to bitch and moan that I didn't write a phone number down on a message I left him. Hmm... when he leaves messages for me, usually he won't write a number down. Just the name of the person that called, no time, no number, no clue as to what it's all about. Double standard? Or is it just that I'm the lowly business manager/secretary/whipping post? For fuck's sake, the guy doesn't even pay his own bills. I give him an allowance and he's not allowed to touch his checking account. I gave him a company credit card and set the limit to be about half of what mine is. And he's got to bitch about all this minutiae that doesn't do anything except piss me the fuck off.
Now I need to get back to work and figure out why in the hell one of our subconsultants is overbilling a project by $16,000... I would really enjoy a nice vodka soda right about now.
Comments:
<< Home
Who dat snappin' back? |
He'll be two years old on October 9th. He's 'full grown' in the sense that he's as tall as he's going to get, but I'm guessing he'll pork out some. He weighs 25 pounds now, which is a bit high for a pug, but I wouldn't be surprised if he gets up to 30-32 as he ages and gets a little more mellow.
Post a Comment
<< Home
