December 08, 2008

Care To Go Postal, Anyone?

Yes, please, I would love to go postal. OK, so if my employer found out I said that I'd be roped and tied and fired and every other bad thing they could think of. Especially as I work for the...government. But I'll tell you what. You'd fucking die if you knew what went on around here. Fucking die, I say.

I've been employed by the same agency for almost thirty years, and I'm just here to say, I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the clients, I'm sick of the coworkers, I'm sick of the superiors, and I'm sick of the administration. I'm sick of driving in every day. I'm sick of driving home every day. I'm sick of having to do everything twice because no one values efficiency like I do. I'm sick of handing out free money to gang bangers. I'm sick of watching really needful people get turned away on a technicality. I'm sick of the ass-kissing and I'm sick of the fear people have around here of speaking up about things that are important.

Boyfriend is of corporate employment. He hates it to no end. I don't blame him a bit. Everything about corporate employment is fake. You have your little fake friends. You give your fake smiles. You nod your fake agreement to whatever the boss says. Fake. There's nothing I hate worse than fake. But check this out - where I work, in a government agency, the administration is faking being corporate! And they want the rest of us to fake corporate with them. We're not public servants anymore, we're Corporate America wannabes. I ask you, what is worse, the fakes of corporate, or faking the fakes of corporate? Hmm, that's a tough one.

Okay, and then there's Moo D., who just booked herself a trip to Meredith's Hell this afternoon with her snide comment. She's got her fat arms undulating all over the damn place while she's pretty sure she's smarter than Einstein, and when I point out something she needs to do differently, she commences to publicly berate me out of the embarrassment she feels for having done something wrong. Moink, the boss, spends her entire day day trading in her office. Yes, you heard me, on taxpayers' money she's playing the stocks, and therefore has no time to take care of the things a manager should be tending to. And don't forget that raging red-headed dyke who thinks she's the Queen of France; she's taken away every piece of office equipment I need to effectively do my job. Have you noticed that all the people of whom I speak are women. Yeah, that's another thing. I think we need some testosterone around here or I'll lose my flippin' mind! And not that wimpy, sensitive kind of testosterone found in the likes of that one guy who wears socks and sandals and smokes with his pinky out. He's not gay, by the way.

Sick of it, I say. I'm ready to quit. After nearly thirty years I've had enough of public service. I've had enough of being a cog in the great machine we call government. Of course I'm way too big of a chicken to just up and quit, what with the pension I've got coming and all. So I come to my little blog and just scream my little lungs out. Hey, maybe I'll turn into the next Dooce. (Does anyone still read her, by the way?)

So the next time you're talking about government employees being slackers, watch your back. There are plenty of them who are, but then you've got the likes of me, who are trying to do the job we were hired to do in the most efficient and effective way possible but are prevented from doing so because of red tape and big egos. I'm through taking abuse from the public and from my employer. It's time to let my little light shine!

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