Not That I’m Bitter

It has already been two months since I was laid off. Time flies when you are consumed by worry and anxiety and rejection.

The fact that the layoffs were due to an epic level of mismanagement is especially enraging disheartening. Some people with a lesser character might consider a slow, painful, perhaps fiery, death too good for the people responsible. I, however, choose the high road. You know, the road above where you actually get to watch them die.

ha ha ha

Oh, relax, I’m just kidding.

As a business professional and a former executive, I wouldn’t dream of criticizing my former employer, no matter how well deserved. And whoa boy, it is well deserved. Really well deserved. Really, really, really well…I guess you get the point.

I can tell you a story though. This is a completely mythical tale. Uh huh, it is. (You can’t see it, but my head is nodding.)

Once upon a time, a company dwelled in a tall tower. This company was managed by people called Blockheads. Panic driven, incompetent, fear based blockheads.

One day the Blockheads said “Let’s get some contracts that will pay us millions of dollars by promising some dupes, I mean companies, the moon.” They clapped their hands and cheered because they were going to get millions of dollars. Even though what they promised was impossible to deliver.

The Biggest Blockhead realized “Uh oh. We don’t have anyone to do the work we just promised!”

“Uh oh!” cried the other Blockheads.

So they scurried and hired many people, some sight unseen, because the minimum requirement for the work was breathing.

These New People were smart. They asked for policies and procedures. “Oh, we don’t have any.” said the Blockheads. They asked for a training manual. “Oh, we don’t have one.” said the Blockheads. They asked for a training program. “Oh, we don’t have that either.”

“But how will we learn the job?” they cried.

“Teach each other.” was the response. And the Blockheads disappeared into a conference room and would not be disturbed.




The New People tried to do the work as best as they could, as they needed jobs. But much of it didn’t make any sense. And each week the Biggest Blockhead told them to do something different from the week before. And he would call them names when they didn’t get the moon, like ‘lazy’.

The Biggest Blockhead’s management style was screaming, yelling, cursing, and throwing things in the office against walls. It is believed he was a model for Mussolini. He perpetually yelled this: “I HAVE AN MBA!”, while thumping his chest. The New People guessed that he was attempting to intimidate them with his intellectual accomplishments, but they all laughed at him behind his back. They believed MBA actually meant “Maniacal Bullying Ass” not Master’s in Business Administration. Because no one with an actual MBA could run a company down so thoroughly or be so bad at management. He routinely sent out e-mails criticizing the New People. These were so long, so confusing and so rambling that everyone had the same response upon getting to the end of one of these manifestos: “Asshole.”




Other Management Blockheads wore about a half dozen hats each, none of them very well. And they switched hats constantly, so often the New People sometimes didn’t know who they reported to from one week to the next. The New People couldn’t get answers to questions or they would get conflicting answers to questions. There was no IT staff and no Human Resources. The Blockheads were having trouble with cash flow, furloughing workers every week in order to meet payroll.

Eventually, the companies the Biggest Blockhead had promised the moon to wanted to know where it was. His response was to yell more at the New People, who were already running frantically like hamsters in a wheel, all of them doing something a little different because no one had ever really told them exactly what to do. The Biggest Blockhead was panicking because the people he promised the moon to were catching on and ending their contracts.

There soon were only two contracts left. Four others had been ended when the companies didn’t get the moon as promised.

Now the New People were scared too, because if these contracts went, so did their jobs. And it was proving impossible to get the moon.

Finally, one of the last two companies ended their contract. They actually had discovered that they had an in house department trying to get the moon and they didn’t have to pay the Blockheads anymore. They were Blockheads too!! But that was it for many of the New People, even though they had worked hard and done everything they were supposed to. Even though they had actually chipped off pieces of the moon! They were laid off. Over the phone. And they were told, I swear someone really said this, “It’s not personal, its business.”

Unfortunately, as we all know, it is very personal to the person they lay off.

So, to this day, the Blockheads are still trying to catch the moon for their last client, threatening and generally abusing the New People who are left.

The moral of the story is…beware of Blockheads.

The End

Muddy Waters

I live in a wonderful old house, built approximately in 1930.

Everyone loves it, it is charming and rambling and sunny and welcoming. I adore it, every unique, Craftsman architectural detail. But holy mackerel, is it ever a lot of work. Eighty year old things just are constantly breaking, falling off, falling down or simply sagging. But I figure it just goes with owning an older home.

For example, about once a year I have to have roots snaked out of my sewer line. I feel as though it is a small place to pay for my gorgeous maple, but it is a pain.

In January I used a new plumbing company we’ll call the Incompetent Wankers. The Incompetent Wanker who did the job January 27 left a receipt stating he had pulled out “a lot of roots” (so articulate) and added the promising note “30 day warranty”.

I love a Wanker who can stand behind his work.

However they also charged twice as much as I had ever paid, so I decided not to use them again.

At any rate, four days ago water began to accumulate in my basement. What do I know about plumbing? I assumed my sump pump was broken. The water rose and rose. I called several plumbers who said it sounded like too big a job for them. My friend Peter came over to assess the situation. By now there was a foot of water and my boiler and hot water heater were out.

He found that the sewer pipe that had been snaked just three weeks earlier was completely, totally blocked. And, he added, it was absolutely because the job had not been done properly. He (a repairman) said he would do it, but I had paid them so much money and it was their responsibility, they really needed to come and fix everything.

I called the Incompetent Wankers and they, with ill grace, sent out someone to snake it out again. Sure enough, once that was done the water was gone over night, leaving God awful mess. But I was still without heat because there had been too much water for anyone to repair the boiler before.

I had hunkered down by my fireplace, just putting on log after log to keep warm. Barely warm. There was a blizzard roaring outside.

Friday morning, with the water gone, I called the Incompetent Wankers to come relight my boiler. They sent two guys who walked in my house with a major attitude and it was all downhill after that.

I was, as I always am, nice when they arrived. One of these guys had been the one snaking the pipe the night before and he had to wade through the foot of icy sewer water (although why a plumber answering a call to a flooded basement didn't have waders on I will never know). While he was down there I was standing at the top of the stairs wringing my hands in absolute agony for him. I offered him tea, towels, clean things to change into (which I didn't have but I would have crossed that bridge when I came to it). He knew I was a nice normal person and he acted like one too.

But once his fellow goon got started on Friday, he joined right in. You know, I think that was one of the most upsetting parts of the whole experience.

The other guy started by accusing me of neglecting my sewer system and stated the flood was my fault. He was actually yelling at me. Now I am 5’3” tall, I’m a widow who lives by myself and I have Multiple Sclerosis, so I walk with a cane or walker. I’m not a threatening person. This guy was so unbelievably rude I finally said to him “Don’t you dare speak to me like that.” His response? “Fuck you lady. You want us to fix your boiler then don’t you talk to ME like that.”

Remember I said it was all downhill after that? Well now it sped downhill faster than an Olympic skier.

“Get out you! Just get out. Your co-worker can do the work but I want you out of my house!”

He laughed in my face. “$199 to fix the furnace.” I said “Absolutely not, you people caused this damage and I am not paying you anything.” “Ok, we’re outta here.” He declared, punctuating his statement with “You crazy bitch.”  (An aside: It has occurred to me that I should have kept my mouth shut, let them fix it and then just put a stop payment on the check and advise them why.  But then I wouldn't have had the rest of this entertaining post!!)

By this time I actually had chest pain and was weeping. I was SO cold!!!  They slammed the storm door as they left and I absolutely snapped. I raced (yes folks, raced, me who can barely walk; it is amazing what adrenaline can do) ahead of them in the snow wearing no coat and with nothing but slippers on my feet.  Well, I had clothes on too.  But there was no way I was going to let them go without fixing my boiler.

So…I planted myself in front of their truck and said, through hiccupping sobs, I wasn’t budging until my boiler was fixed.

Crazy bitch? They had no idea what a crazy bitch even was until they pushed me over the edge.

They called the owner on their phones. I called the owner on my phone. Now I have to interject these people have trucks with huge smiley faces on them. Their motto is “Same day service with a smile”. When I spoke with the owner I anticipated some level of customer service.

His response to me: he called me crazy too. And an ‘abnormal person’. OK, granted, I was sitting on the bumper of one of his trucks crying hysterically. I called my son and he raced over. He was conciliatory, trying to work things out, but they gave him the same attitude. They threatened to call the police. I offered to call for them. The owner on the phone, his voice dripping with venom, said “I am going to report you to the health department for unsafe living conditions [that they had caused]. With my connections I am going to fix it so you will be paying fines until you are 100 years old.” I was speechless.

I knew I couldn’t bear being cold for one more minute. I also knew I would not be able to find another plumber that day with the snowstorm. So I folded. I said “Whatever, I’ll pay, just fix my boiler.” But now they said I had to pay cash. And it would be $600. Six hundred dollars in cash. Which I didn’t have.

They had won. I got off the truck and leaned against my fence, crying in the snow. My son once again tried to reason with them, but the Incompetent Wankers took off, driving so fast they fishtailed as they rounded the corner.

My wonderful son put his arms around me and I just cried and cried. Because on top of everything, I was laid off on Thursday. This was all too much.

My phone rang at that point and it was my friend Peter again. I told him what had happened. He said he would be over in ten minutes and he would fix my boiler.

And he did. With a part the cost less than $50.

For a giggle, in honor of my son’s bravery and support:



E-mail readers:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2V0a81GdyUA


And Now I’m Unemployed




I know that organizations are simply panting to hire 55 year old women with Multiple Sclerosis, so I’m sure I will be fine. I base that on the fact the last time I was laid off I was out of work for ten months and almost lost my house and my mind. I’m really looking forward to reliving that experience.

I am trying to not be negative. For example, I still have gas, so I can always stick my head in the oven. See, the power of positive thinking. Massive quantities of vodka and xanax are also extremely comforting.

My friends have rallied around me in a way that truly humbles me. They are absolutely holding me up at a time I cannot do so myself. Through these nightmarish few days my phone has not stopped ringing with offers of moral support and places to stay until I had heat again. My Facebook page has been inundated with messages of encouragement and prayers. My friend Jane (The Witty Ways of A Wayward Wife) actually called me from England to see if I was alright.

I can only ask God to bless them all for their compassion and love.

But I have to warn them not to get too close. I think God hates me and I don’t want them to catch any of His wrath.