|
Thursday, Feb. 21, 2002 / 6:16 p.m. ~UNION! And...What's the Deal With Fried Chicken?~ I joked with Penelope about forming a Union at work. I said, "I mean it. I am so serious. Let's do this. We have to fight back!", and I was serious, sort of. I don't always have the fight in me anymore. I've mellowed with age - I know it doesn't seem that way, but in reality, face to face, yeah, I find it harder and harder to confront injustice. Look how I've dropped out of the Action Center. I don't even know if I'll be going to D.C. on April 27th, the BIG protest. It's hard for me to "join", but maybe I could inspire others? We got sent home an hour early. Without pay. Our toll-free phone system server had to be re-booted or something, it's not clear, but the company who manages it, who shall remain nameless here, asked us to shut down arouind 4:55, which meant the 6:00 crew got screwed. Oh, sure, take a 1/2 hour lunch to compensate, but we get nickeled and dimed, once again, out of half an hour of pay...unless we use our Personal Time to cover it. Sucks, right? We thought so. Kathy, our perennial semi-permanent temp, really thought so. She went on and on about how we can file a Class Action Suit, so I asked her to represent us. Jokingly. It's all a joke. We'll never do anything, and "they", the Fuckers Who Like To Screw Us, know that. How many days last summer was the system down? How many times did they send us home early? And what about the time it looked like it was going to snow? LOOKED LIKE! "We're shutting down, go home", no pay. "The phones are down, they've got to work on it, go home", "It's getting dark, the roads have a dusting of snow on them, go home", "We have a site-wide virus, need to shut everything down, go home". Excuuuuuuuuse me?! Oh yeah. YEAH. Without pay. "You can use your sick time if you have it, turn in your Request For Time Off". Great. YOUR fuck up, MY time, MY money. I just don't know. Used to be, Penelope would get livid, in her own internal Scorpio way. She'd question, "Do we HAVE to leave? Can't I work the front desk? Can't I stay? I don't have sick time left"....and I'd say, "I DO!!! I'm outta here!", because sometimes I couldn't wait to leave. But I'd bitch too. And we'd bitch together, but we'd do nothing. No ACTION. A Union! Laverne says we need to do it TOGETHER, or they'll simply fire the upstart, the instigator. Right. We won't do a thing. And really I was thrilled to leave an hour early, it was great, I was thinking, oh, wow, what does this mean? Where should I go, what do I do? Will I go home? Should I go see an early movie? Should I go sign my new apartment lease? What? How? When? Should I? The weather is beautiful, there's not even any smog! Warm, sunny, just global warming at its best. Really. I came right home, opened up the porch, let the fresh air in, fed the girls, put on my jammies, yeah, my crazy kitty pajamas, and I've been online, reading diaries, checking out the "work at home" sites, which I believe to be a big scam, all of them. There is no easy way out, thank you. Crazy day. The phones slowed, Lulu asked if I'd had any calls, I said, "Shhhhhhhhh.....don't say anything, just enjooooooooyyyyyy it". Lulu said a shy, almost sheepish "Good morning" first thing, so I replied. She's trying to break the ice, trying to be friends, or friendly, or something...... *Wait, suddenly I smell hot oil, like someone lit up a giant wok in my living room - dammit, can't I leave my windows open around here?!!!! FUCK!* Anyway, so we've been chatting, or more likely, I've been joining in when I find a ripple in the conversation, or like jumping rope, it's simply the right time, so I do, I jump in. Sure, I have a comment or two about the freak who didn't burn the bodies in the crematory because it was broken and he was too cheap to get it fixed, or whatever, so he buried them all around his property.....and I have comments about the calls we get, how sick we all are of it, I have two cents to add here and there, and sometimes, when it's slow, and there's a lot of conversation going on, and Lulu is her charming and magnanimous self, and I miss her, want to forget the knife she stuck in my ribs. Sometimes it all falls into place, and the human contact is there, and it clearly feels better than being alone. I notice D. is now as I was, she won't talk to anyone, she looks miserable, she scowls, she stomps all around, her head is down, her finger ceaselessly poised above a calculator, in her cubicle, always crunching numbers for her reports, or composing email on her computer, walking away and leaving it there for anyone to read, but do we want to? I kind of have news about this subject, this work stuff, but I am biting my tongue, controlling my fingers, keeping myself from typing it here, even though it's my diary, it's too iffy, too speculative, too unsure, too......up in the air. We shall see. That's it. We shall see. I spent a long time today, throughout the day, changing my Windows colors on my PC at work, adjusting the custom colors for my active title bar, my text, my fonts, my Window color......I use a custom made "mauve" for Word now....lovely. Damn, I'm so creative! Really. I've yet to find my calling, but it should involve color and art, and computers, and writing, and maybe metal.....we could narrow it down to "Mixed Media". Tonight is the women's figure skating finals, and I'm rooting for Sasha Cohen all the way! Go Sasha!!!! I'm actually really excited, and I don't think it's going to conflict with any previously planned TV viewing, on account of "Temptation Island 2" is over, and I haven't watched "CSI" in ages, knowing I can always catch repeats....and I've been watching "TI2" for weeks, or likewise, "ages". Such excitement! I know. Okay, the hot oil is for frying chicken, I can smell, and it smells good, but not good, and I'm imagining greasy molecules working their way up from downstairs, from her kitchen below mine, through her living room, up to my porch, sucked in to my living room and all the way in here, my library. That's some powerful stuff, huh? Why do some people eat so much chicken, especially fried? (Did you notice that I didn't say "African American" people? I'm sure other races eat as much, er, don't they?) I've lived in the South almost my entire life and I've never once fried chicken. I seldom eat it. Chicken, fried or otherwise. Hmmmm.....I admit it's good, yes, but what's the deal? It's cheap? It's plentiful? It's cheap? It tastes good? It's cheap? Don't you know how they treat those chickens? What they DO to them before they get to you??? Ewwwwww.....yeah, I eat it, sometimes, rarely, and if I purchase it to cook, at home, it's free range. Read, people, READ! Let me end on this note, an observation after being alive almost 41 years...and being a woman the whole time, a heterosexual woman: A woman cannot choose her man. You may disagree, and I know I still do the choosing, but what I mean is that if the man is not presenting himself to the woman, and the woman chooses him, he will go along with it for a while, partially due to the ego boost. And if she is attractive and appealing, he will stick around for the sex, but if he doesn't do the initial choosing, it won't last. He will most likely not "love" her. This is something I've observed. The man has to choose the woman, then he has to woo her, win her over, let her think she is choosing him, and if he is worthy, she will. But the other way around.....she can have him for a bit, he'll play along, but if it wasn't his choice, initially, he won't feel something he needs to be feeling, perhaps it's his "masculinity". This is my theory, my observation, after years and years of "practice"! I know what I mean to say, but I'm not feeling very literal right now, so it's not coming out right, I'm sure. I may need to go close the porch, turn on the fan in the bedroom......or the smell may drive me batty. Wait, I thought of something else that happened today.....I wrote a business letter, my first in a long time! Used Word's "Letter Wizard" at first, but it's too inconsistent, too fluky, so I used my own groovy stylings. I had to write to my credit card company, well, not "my" credit card company, but you know. I got my statement yesterday and there's a charge for $25.90, charged by "FOOD", in "Salem, VA". HUH???? What company is "FOOD"??? I've never been to Salem, VA! Fuck me! I called the customer service line, which was actually operational at almost 11:00 p.m. (!), and spoke to a very nice rep, who made me feel inadequate for not sounding as nice when I'm working as she does when she's working, but she couldn't tell me anything other than what was on the statement, like we were both looking at the same thing...."Yes, it says the company is 'FOOD', in 'Salem, VA', do you live in Salem?".....NO!!!! What is this??!?!!!!?!??? Help me! Oh, it drove me crazy, all night, until I forgot about it and went to bed. So, first thing this morning, at work, of course, I wrote a letter to mail to the Billing Error people, to say, "HEY, WHAT THE FUCK? Did I charge this? What is this?". It was very well written, in my favorite font, Tahoma, very professional, I was so proud. Mmmmm.....smooches! I love me! Really. Sometimes, like when I "apply myself", I am good, I can do anything. No, I'm not in a manic phase, I'm not bipolar, I'm just hopped up on caffeine 'cause I had a Coke for lunch, and normally I do NOT ingest caffeine after my first cup of coffee. There. This issue will be resolved, I will find out who charged "FOOD" on my credit card, dammit. Harrrummmph! Cost of the War in Iraq
(JavaScript Error)
Recent Entries: It Was 40 Years Ago Today - 9:44 a.m. , Friday, Oct. 12, 2012 Dead Black Cat - 9:07 a.m. , Wednesday, Jan. 25, 2012 As Seen From Outer Space - 1:07 a.m. , Saturday, Dec. 05, 2009 I Survived to Tell the Tale - 7:29 a.m. , Friday, Sept. 18, 2009 Reading My Life - 12:55 p.m. , Saturday, Sept. 12, 2009 
  |