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The Toybox

people for the conservation of limited amounts of indignation


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drama in the office, the boring version
children of dune - leto 1
seperis
Interoffice politics are boring.

Okay, they're not, if you have free time on your hands. I have a theory on this, but it's--yes, boring, but it involves the idea that people who don't do their work adn complain often and loudly about everyone else also seem to have the strangest affinity for backbiting.

Yes, I'm sure it's a shock to us all.

Ah, but today, today was rather interesting.

Across the hall, Drama is going on. Unfortunately, my client speaks no English, and I have the translator on the line, so really, no clue what is going on, though by the volume, I'm thinking bad. Later, I ask the coworker in question what happened.

I'll skip this part for privacy--suffice to say, halfway through, Supervisor walks by the office. Because that's just the kind of luck I bring to people. No sooner did S get to her office than she asked for Coworker M to come see her.

Oh, this can't be good, I thought.

Coworker M and Coworker C leave, with purses, to HR to discuss the situation, which is, you know, not so good. I know because i was sitting outside, smoking a calming cigarette and thinking, hmmm. I want a brownie. Because I'm telling you, narcissicm and shallowness as a way of life *rock*.

Ah, but secondary Drama, as S comes to my office to ask me, very subtly and casually and without any intent at all, what with the sneaking about and *shutting the door*, before fixing me with the most frightening friendly expression I've ever seen. It was like watching my entire life flash before my eyes. But just the boring parts, which was annoying. Stupid life.

Her: So. (casually) Did you hear what happened?

Okay, first off--do I look that stupid? This is my *supervisor*. Of course I heard nothing. Omerta, man. I am all about the blind and deaf.

Me: (very brightly) No, I was interviewing this client--she speaks Spanish and I had the translator on the line--

Because my idea of omerta is to *talk myself into being suspected of something*.

Her: (very casual) Do you know what M and C are up to?

Do I really need to add commentary to this one? Come the hell *on*.

Me: No.

Her: Did you talk to M today?

Me: No. (wince, she saw me in her office!) Yes. Twice. She was helping me on this case this morning, and there was this thing that wouldn't work--

I will never, ever make a decent spy.

Eventually, after many a completely casual and significant look, I was left to my own devices, which were pretty much limited to deep breathing and selective memory expulsion.

She's not a bad person. I have met people who I would consider sociopaths with better social skills, but she's not a bad person. She is just--I wish I had words. Well, we've all had that kind of a boss.

I am thinking of five entire work-free days in October with the kind of longing I used to reserve for nicotine, caffeine, and double fudge chocolate brownies, extra chewy, from Thundercloud subs. Yearning. It's not like I think I'm the most sane, rational one in the office. I just think I have not yet met the normal ones.

*sighs* Brownies are our friends.

Also--it *is* spelled omerta, isn't it? *curious*


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oyyyy.

I was just telling someone today that as flipping insane as my job is, I have stellar coworkers, which helps quite a bit.

Also? My vacation starts a week from today. WANT TO GO NOW.

*dangerously filled with envy*

NEXT WEEK?

*whimpers*

*wince* Makes me glad that I'm not back in an office situation yet. Although that will probably change soon *sigh*

Can't wait to see you in October! Just hang in there until then! Then p0rn, p0rn, p0rn!

Thunder Cloud Subs is awesome... useless comment inserted here. <--- Whee!

-Diana

oh, man... reasons why I no longer work in an office!

My biggest intrigue is walking into the bathroom and trying to figure out which cat pooped on the floor...

Which, okay, is gross and really I'd rather i didn't have to, but at least I'm not worried about the Cat's turning on me.

After all, they can't scoop their own kibble.

:D

Also--it *is* spelled omerta, isn't it?

It's spelled "Luca Brasi sleeps with the fishes."

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