Tag Archives: Boss

The Deal

23 Oct


…So the deal is, two days before I went on vacation for a week in order to open this show, Corporate arrived on a surprise visit, fired The WHS Pimp, and brought in another guy.

…With no time to process any of this, I had to call a cab to take The Pimp home, and meet and start training my new Boss, within two hours. Hadda total meltdown at lunch in the car, then finished the day, ran music and lines with a recorder, and that night, went to see our Sister show Open…only to wake up and do it all over again the following day.

….Friday night, I left my desk with no fucking idea if I’d have a job or an office by the time I got back, a week later…but there was certainly no way I was gonna cancel the vacation, as I was also (as previously discussed) freaking the fuck out about opening this show.

For a week, I sought a buffer and tried to land some kind of solid footing on emotional ground. I didn’t succeed. But I did survive.

….And I came back from my non-vacation, to the same job and desk. And I didn’t die, or have a meltdown that Monday. Even when Corporate came back again. And I didn’t on Tuesday. And I didn’t on Wednesday.

…And I say this more as a form of wonderment than achievement, because I still don’t know why.

These past months of awful, just seemed to get so much worse, even when I thought it couldn’t possibly. That bitch peaked at like a Mount Everest height…so it makes sense that it was hard to breathe and terrifying at every step.

…And then, because, I guess there’s nowhere higher to go in the vicinity: it stopped climbing to worseness.

…Which doesn’t mean the world and my problems in it are magically fixed somehow…it just means that at some point, the fates were like: “Yep, she’s totally teetering on her last straw. What comes next is what they make Lifetime original movies about…guess we should back off her ass a bit and see if she can keep floating or drowns. No use beating a dead horse…”

Despite the fates’ combo-metaphor usage, they knew enough to stop when they did. I’m not gonna say I’m grateful about it…they’ve been making dick-moves for ages. But I will say: “It took me two weeks to process all this, and I think both theatre and office worlds are slowing achieving a better place.”

…Leaving me with an actual weekend, were I can actually relax a bit, with only laundry…a performance, and a choice of whether to audition for that one show, or just wait and work on Seattle Fringe.

This is a more reasonable speed, fates. (In case you were wondering.) This, I can do.


The End Of An Error

15 Oct


Today, at 5:30 a.m., Boss showed up at the office, put down his computer and company truck key, and walked back out…

…Never to return.

We are still not exactly sure what that means for us…only that he quit before they could fire him.

…We don’t know if legal suites are still pending.

…We don’t know what the hell happens with all the shit he’s stored at the offices.

…We don’t know if they killed his name off the buyer accounts, disconnected his network access in the cloud, or what happens next.

We only know, there currently is no Boss.

They are going on day three-thousand on inventory tomorrow, we don’t have any more account access than we did before, or have the authority to instigate so much as a P.O.. We fielded calls all day about things Boss had promised people before he left, so the forest fires now burning in his wake are just another fun obstacle to deal with, along with two suits from corporate in the house, watching our every move…like some gigantic fucking Olympian qualifying level to see if we get to keep our jobs at the end of it all. Or what.

…Boss is gone.

…After seven years and countless incidents of bullshit and lies and manipulations.

…I should be celebrating.

…I should feel just overwhelming relief.

…I should be tossing back whiskey shots like it was going extinct.

Instead, I feel unbelievably weird. Sorta numb. Sorta terrified. Sorta irritated. A lot exhausted.

…Like death or something is waiting around the next bend.

You have to understand the depths and breadth this has all gone…for SEVEN YEARS. I think I’ve been trained, to just suspect it is all hopeless, and always will be, and the next shoe drop is just inevitable.

This job has actually TRAINED me to be depressed even when a good thing happens…because I don’t recognize “good” as being an actual option.

…”Good” doesn’t happen here. It never has. Only horrible things. So then…what’s behind the Halloween mask THIS time?

I can’t actually trust it. Any of it. I want to be relieved, or ecstatic, or…you know…something.

I’ve waited so long for this day, and it’s here, and so am I…which means it happened…for real…and I made it…but instead, I’m just sitting here, unable to even decide what to eat for dinner tonight…because nothing sounds good, it’s cold,  and maybe a nap would be better instead.

What the fuck, you guys????

…What the fuck.


Gnome-Idiot, Takes The Lead

8 Oct


Now that Boss has been relegated to a mere “Feature Guest” role in the blogosphere (soon to be killed off, General Hospital style)…a new idiot has taken his place at the office, in pursuing the “ridiculous” and “mind-blowingly” stupid things for which he has become so beloved, by the yous.

…Not “beloved” in a “Happy Christmas morning” kind of way.  More like “that stupid thing you did while drunk that one time, which turned into your best party story.” 

Entertainment.  That’s what we’re talking about.  And there is a new kid in the “stupid” game.

…We will continue to call her the Gnome-Idiot. Because of both her pint-size and sheer innocent stupidity. 

After two weeks, I’ve come to the conclusion that she REALLY can’t help it.  It is not due to bad choices.  Watching her for sixteen days…128 hours…I have used all of the (frankly considerable) study time, wisely.  Mostly because I simply can not believe that a human being can make it to age 24 and be as seriously backwards and innocent in not only human interaction and communication (but, especially in THIS day and age) all tech and computer forms imaginable.

She has a High School Diploma, and got into College, without ever once using any form of Office Suite software, having to alphabetize, talk to adult human beings (or in complete sentences), nor realize the common sense kind of things that keep you out of being that 1% that every accident of all time happens to, because there is no warning label yet to TELL you NOT to stick a butter knife in a toaster, blow dry your hair in the shower, or cross a highway, on foot, and without looking both ways.

…Honestly.  After the first week, I seriously doubted the validity of her stupidity.  So I started sorta, allowing it to be put to the test.  Here and there.  Now and again.  And without fail, she upheld her end, each and every time.

I mean, this girl is seriously.  Seriously. SERIOUSLY, legitimately deficient in just plain common sense. Not even a little bit.

…This girl is the kind of idiot that you have to teach how to pour coffee grounds into a filter.  Not “make coffee.” Just “pour in the grounds.”

…This girl is the kind of idiot, who continually forgets how to put a call on hold.  Or take it off.  She’s the kind of idiot that has screwed up one of the five separate file systems, at least once per day, since she has walked in the door.  The kind of idiot who, no matter how much you train her, has YET to answer a single phone call, without passing them back to someone else for help…who forgets our phone number printed ON A SHEET IN FRONT OF HER, which I placed there, for that purpose, two weeks ago. She asks things like, “How do you heat this water for tea?” and “What do I do after scanning these?” When there is a post-it note on the stack of paper telling her point-by-point directions on what exactly to do.

…In fact…there have been A LOT of post-it notes.  Three cubes worth so far.  Everything in her inbox has to be labeled with step-by-step instructions, AND still are brought forward for interpretation when she finally gets to them.  Common communication between us has included conversations like:

G-I: “So, when I’m done faxing these sheets, I do what with them?”

Me: “File them. Like it says.”

G-I: “Okay. Well cuz, um…I just wanted to make sure cuz, um…well…I just did this yesterday.”

Me: “With other papers. Yes.”

G-I: “Cuz like…I mean…it just seems like I do this a whole lot.”

Me: “Right. Because it’s your job.  It’s what we do here.  A lot of faxing. A lot of filing.”


Me: “Okay.  So, you’ve filed these batches incorrectly again.”

G-I: “What do you mean?”

Me: “Remember?  THIS stack is for ‘archives,’ and THIS stack is for ‘pending.’ ”

G-I: “It just gets really confusing…”

Me: “It’s okay.  You just have to look at the dates, remember?  You know because THIS stack has dates that are passed, they are for archiving. And THIS stack with dates that haven’t happened yet, are ‘pending.’  Also: the bins are labeled.  See?”

G-I: “Ohhhhhh.  Wow.  I’m really glad you explained that.”

Me: “We had this same conversation yesterday.”

G-I: “Right but, I mean…there are really a lot of stacks of paper around here.”


Me: “…So then, I need you to just label these hang files with these titles please.  On tabs.”

G-I: “Riiiiiight.”

Me: “Is there…what’s wrong.”

G-I: “Yeah.  By hand or…?”

Me: “No, the computer deal didn’t work out so well the last time.  Just by hand.”

G-I: “…And these marks?”

Me: “What marks?”

G-I: “These thingies.  You want these thingies on the tabs too?”

Me: “The quote marks?”

G-I: “Yeah.”

Me: “No.  No…you don’t need to put the quote marks in.  That’s just what I want you to call them.  Remember? You got a little confused the last time I just wrote titles down.”

G-I: “Riiiight….”

…This is REAL-talk, people.  Actual conversations.  With an idiot.  And she’s not joking. She’s not pulling a leg.  She’s actually, ACTUALLY just an innocent, actually, actually asking these questions.  For real.

It’s real.


I’ve tested the waters, and NO ONE is that good of an actor.  She’s the GENUINE article. Either that, or she is in Witness Protection from the Mob, and her LIFE is at stake, here.  Those are the ONLY two options.

…So, as I wait until the 15th, (the date when we are told Boss is to be canned and I can go and find a legitimate QUALIFIED office assistant), I bite my lip repeatedly, and attempt to keep from obliterating her to tears.  Because every time we need to have these little conversations, it’s like I shot her dog or something.  She is so very eager to make good.  But so very incapable of achieving it. 

…Which puts us at a dead lock for another week.

Dear lord.  How will I even make it?

…If I have to hear one more sentence like, “Um…yeah, I think black is the darkest color we offer…”…I think I’m gonna explode.

…Yet every day, she seems to top the last, somehow.

It’s like: she’s a fucking magical Leprechaun of fairy-dom.

Totally unbelievable…despite all our wildest imaginings: yet, there she sits.


I Will Mutton Chop Your Ass!

19 Aug


First of all, it is important to note that the WHS Pimp has Muttons.

…Not the kind of exaggerated sideburn that Elvis rocked in the ’70’s.  The “old school” kind of muttons, that your Great Grandpappy rocked in like the Civil War.

His muttons mean biz’ness

…They take up nearly all his cheeks, bushing out in varying lengths depending on the season, a careful and precise trim to accent the jaw line below, with a 5 o’clock shadow on upper lip and chin, in between. In short, if you went about three days past “Wolverine,” but kept it manicured, you’d just about nail it.

Now, I dunno if you realize this, but it takes a face to pull that off.  Your average dude can’t just yank this one outta his back pocket and saunter down main street while rockin’ it. It takes a certain je ne sais quoi…a generous amount of mountain-man meet old timey gravitas.  A face that tells a history.  It takes someone with an intriguing demeanor, who looks like they could go from “jolly” to “kill a man,” in almost nothing flat.

…Like a Hell’s Angel on a “Toys for Tots” run.

This, is the WHS Pimp.

…And though by “casting type” he fulfills all the above-said requirements, the dude is one of the funniest, easiest going humans…in the world.  So accomidating, and such the “good guy” that he (like most “good guys”) consistently gets fucked for it, (in all the wrong ways), by the people he stands by and bends over backwards to help, the most.

…Namely: Boss n’ the Builder Bunnies.

WHS Pimp, is the kind of dude that will take shit n’ make gold with it, for reasons surpassing understanding.  (While I just throw it back at people, like a primate in a cage.)

…And today…the poo flew.

It flew big time.

…From three hours BEFORE the office opened, until the MOMENT it closed.

Today was the kind of day where NOTHING goes right.  Weekend contractor accidents screwed up weeks of schedules, with people now in casts…already booked up a month in advance, road shows backed up in Customer Service, Shipping fucked up container load deliveries, Inventory reallocated our own stock to other branches without asking, Contractors went MIA, and customers and Corporate stormed with screaming freak-outs, as we were on the phones doing our best to adjust the schedules accordingly.

…By nine o’clock, we had blown through an entire pot of coffee and felt like we’d already been at the day for 15 hours.  By ten, we were volunteering to swap departmental homicides and make it look like an accident. By ten-thirty, we were making suicide packs.   

…And then, something happened that in over a year of knowing WHS Pimp, I have never seen.  Not even once.

(…And you must understand, we’ve seen about every “low” that either one of us could possibly have.  Because this is the kind of place which brings out the absolute, psychotically, pissed-off, ridiculously worst in EVERYBODY.)

…But, in ALL of that time…

…With ALL of  the things I have seen…

…Through ALL of the shit-storms…

…I had never witnessed WHS Pimp bust out into “Wolverine.”

Until today.

It took roughly three hours of non-stop, antagonism from Corporate, Traffic, Customers, Boss and non-stop phones and emails to bring him to the brink, the absolute edge of the precipice…when then: the wrong Contractor, picked the wrong time, to go “Build a Bitch” in his office.

…Not an irregularity.  It’s what this guy routinely does.   And what’s more, what he does EVERY Monday, while WHS is busy loading him up for his full week of building. This has never changed.  No one expected it ever would.  But today…today, this Builder Bunny had picked the wrong day to play his “pitty me” record.

Suddenly, with a growling BOOM, the office just beside me, went off like a hydrogen bomb.

…And being as it was Monday, and being as it was that same dick head complaining about the same things…being as we were swamped with phone calls that just never ceased, and Boss was (again) MIA, and people were literally waiting in LINE to scream at us some more, for things we had zero power to control.  Being, as it was the first time, after over a YEAR of goddamn infuriating accommodations, making gold out of shit being thrown at him, for the zillionth time…

…The satisfaction of sitting, in total silence, muting incoming phone calls, and listening to the eruption of Mt. Vesuvius, just there beside me…aimed at full force on this guy, was about the goodest thing to happen within those office walls since…oh…since the invention of “ever.”

It was a fury.  It was non-negotiable.  It was terrifying.  It was something never witnessed from him before. Aimed at a person, who had WELL earned it, with interest payments, going back across at least 16 months of time.

It was…


As hell.

…In that so thoroughly enjoyable, “seeing-karma-come-uppance-at last” kind of way, that mostly only happens in movies.

So, I shut up, and just enjoyed it.

…And the Builder Bunny eventually exited (as dismissed to, in no uncertain terms.)

…And I continued on with my paperwork,  and answered a few more screaming phone calls, yet managed strangely enough, to smile all throughout.

After a while, WHS Pimp emerged from his cave, a bit of growl left, but not much. And I looked up.

WHS Pimp: Sorry ’bout that.

Me: –Nope.

WHS Pimp: Weren’t on a customer call I hope.

Me: –Uh uh.

WHS Pimp: So, we might have another issue to deal with.

Me: –Kay.

WHS Pimp: Down another Contractor, could be.

Me: –Right.

WHS Pimp: But I got an idea for cover.

Me: –Kay.

WHS Pimp: I’m just gonna sit here for a bit and cool off…

Me: –Right.

WHS Pimp: Then maybe see…

Me: –Uh huh.

WHS Pimp: So, we’re on the same page, then.

(Long beat.)

WHS Pimp: So.  Anyway.  Yeah.

(He turns to exit back into his office.)

Me: Mad-Fucking-Awesome-Unbelievable. 

(He stops.)

WHS Pimp: Boss is gonna freak.

Me: Yep.

WHS Pimp: Then, what?

Me: He’ll get over it.  And ass-hat over there with either build or not.  The world doesn’t end.

WHS Pimp: Kay.

(He goes back to his desk . It’s quiet for a bit.)

Me: (Hollaring from my office.) Freakin.’ Awesome. You’re my hero, man!

(From the other office, a very slight chuckle can be heard.  As if: he knows it.)


10,000 & A Day

24 Apr


As SWAL swiftly broaches her 10,000th read, I live out the rest of “day off,” which still technically had me working, only this time from home, in my pjs.

…I need to get a fulltime gig that allows me to do this, for reals.

Part one of the day had me awake and answering emails at 6am, and telling the necessary people that this would be the total extent of my working relationship with them for the day.

…WHS Pimp took it with silence, Boss took it to mean, “I’ll just transmit all the phone mssgs into text as they come in thru the day, and magically do close outs and reports, without a printer, via my phone.”

…So naturally, I told him where to get off, and that I was done fwding the first load of crap for the day, had been up since 4, and needed a nap and cold meds now, then signed off.

By 11, I was up and at it again, only this time made it all the way to the couch. A major feat. It’s as far as I got for the day.

…Until about 9pm, when I had to dye hairs.

…Then pick up Marty from rehearsal…

…Then back home to more cold meds, a hot toddy…and bed.


I love you bed.

…And my pillow.

…And my readers.

(Which is you.)


Locked Out

22 Apr


I’ve fantasized about being locked out of work before.  Many times.  It’s a frequent “happy place memory” that I go to, in fact.  But in the fantasy, I can’t get in and don’t want to.

…I guess you have to be specific with these things.

I had just finished pulling the front door closed, and was going to lock the final door in the upper warehouse when I realized that my keys were still on my desk inside.

…My keys to my car, my apartment, the campus gate…the works.

So, that sucked.

…But then, we always hide an ER key somewhere in the yard, for just this purpose…

…Only there was no ER key in any of the ER places…

…Which was confirmed with the WHS Pimp, over the phone, who was at that point about 35 minutes away, picking his kids up from school.

…And I had about the same amount of time to get to my Landlord’s, where I was (ironically) meeting to pay and get a duplicate of the only key that opens my front door, currently resting all peaceful right now, on my fucking desk.

…But (I bet you guessed already), they were already closed by the time I got there.

…And not by my own car (still locked in the yard) but via Boss’s, who I forced to come and try all his keys to open the damn door. 

…But then, he lost all the ones that actually open the doors, so after however long of trying to break into the shop (another thing he isn’t good at)…I talked him into dropping me by my Landlord’s, hopefully to still meet and get the key…which still didn’t work out. 

…So then I wandered, homeless and carless, to Ma’s .  Who let me in.  Cuz she has to.  Cuz she’s my Ma.

…Followed by feeding me (another “Ma” thing), and then texts to the WHS Pimp, in hopes he returns sometime tonight to the WHS and will let me in, so I can sleep and shower and things like a grown up person, else I’ll be sleeping at Ma’s too, and she’ll have to get up and drive me to work in the morning at the butt crack of dawn, while wearing her PJ’s…like I’m 15 or something.

Alllll these damn complications, people! 

Just because I wasn’t “specific” when I said, “I wish I was locked outta that hell hole and could never get back in again.”

Stupid details.


Greetings, From An Asshole

10 Apr


There is no amount of coffee that can fix the evils of this day and lack of sleep coming into it.

From the get-go, I have been a complete asshole to everyone, non customer-related.

…It just pours out of me like toxic sludge.  I can see it and hear it, but my ability to sensor it is completely shot.

…So I just sit here, tossing papers around, researching Boss cock-ups, dealing with Customer fires, screaming at the contractor bunnies, constantly resetting frozen computers and living under this eternal black cloud of frustration which seems to be permanently stuck to me…following me around from printer, to lobby, to warehouse and back again…like a super bitchy Eeyore.

…Even the WHS Pimp has cleared out.

…I think I can vaguely recall him saying he needed to do a stock run anyway, but I’m sure I helped the ASAP need of it.  At 10 in the morning.  On a Wednesday. While it was pissing down rain at the time.

…And yet he STILL stopped long enough to perk a thing of coffee before he left, and poke his head in my office to announce that caffeine would be coming to my rescue in T-minus 5 minutes.

…Because he is a better person than me.


Oh God. 

…How in the hell am I gonna make it through the rest of this day, and then the traffic, and shoving food down my face in five minutes, and then more traffic, and then show prep, and then fight call, bows blocking…never mind the actual performance??

I’m three mugs of coffee in.

…I don’t even think it’s helping.

…Maybe I’ll take five minutes, silence the phones, and have a good cry in the bathroom. 

Sometimes that helps.

Have OD’d on too many things at once, and not enough of others.

Let this be a warning to all of  you.

…And also, to everyone I talk to today: I’m sorry.  Ahead of time.

…Unless you are a dickhead. 

…In which case: I meant every word I said.


When Boss Fixes Things

25 Jan


Another Road Show opened today, on the other side of the mountain. 

…Twenty minutes before the doors opened, we were notified by our client that our display product (which had arrived yesterday) was all shot to shit.  Dents, scrapes, chipped paint, missing trim…and worst of all…no sales literature to be found.

…Now, I had just paid a Contractor this morning (over $500) to ship, set up, and prep this same said product, with zero update notations on his work order.  According to him: the job was done.  And so as calls from Client Corporate and OUR Corporate started streaming in on a tsunami-wave, we were just a little-bit-lot confused.

Me: I just paid that dude half-a-grand for one day of work.  Are you flippin’ KIDDING ME?!

Boss: No. 

Me:  What exactly DID he do for four hours, if it wasn’t prep, clean and set-up?

Boss: Pick his nose and get drunk? How the hell should I know?

Me: And we don’t even have sales lit out there?

Boss: We gotta find someone to go over the mountain.  Now.  Who we got?

(WHS Pimp and I list off names. We make the calls.  No one will do it.)

Boss: Well, fuck.  I suppose now I have to do it.

(WHS Pimp and I blink at one another.  It is quiet a moment.)

WHS Pimp: But. Um. There are repairs that are needed too.  Not just brochures and order forms.

Boss: Well, I guess I’ll have to do that too.

(WHS Pimp and I blink at one another.  Again.)

WHS Pimp:  Oooookaaaaay…

Me: What he means is – How?

Boss:  I can “fix” things.  I’m not completely useless, you know…

(WHS pimp and I try not to look at one another.)

Boss: …I’ll just need some supplies. Paint and rollers and…I dunno…hammer? “Stuff.”

WHS Pimp: I’ll…I’ll go get you some. “Stuff.”

(WHS Pimp leaves. It is just Boss n’ I alone now.)

Me: You know, there will be people there. Customers, I mean. Watching.

Boss: Yep.

Me: Watching you. “Fixing” things.

Boss: Uh huh.

Me: …And as far as they know — you’re one of our Contractors…

Boss: Yeah.

Me: …Who actually, like, shows up to build their stuff. That they are buying. From us. On that floor.

Boss: Right.

Me: …So…um…have you like ever actually built or painted anything. At all. Ever. In your whole life?

Boss: I’ll figure it out.

Me: …Okay.

Boss: And listen — I need you to help put the fire out. Fax this to their sales department so they have “something” out there, and tell them I’m on my way.

(He exits. I take a second to contemplate the ruin that will surely come upon us. I go to his office to use the fax. I face a box with brochures in it as WHS Pimp re-enters.)

Me: He forgot the lit.

WHS Pimp: He almost drove off without the paint.

Me: Will you flag him down and give him these, please?

WHS Pimp: Yup.

(As he sails out the door…)

Me: We are fucking doomed.

WHS Pimp: So, that must mean its “Friday” then…


And now Boss has just called.

…He’s about to go over the pass and be lost to all communication for at least the next hour.

It is only 12:30.

The WHS Pimp has three site-visit fires to put out, and Corporate is screaming about some completion forms we’re holding paychecks ransom for, from the Contractors.

…But: I have me a dark-roast from the nearly-naked-ladies Barista stand down the road (very popular with the fellas here, so I always let them go get it for me)…and the sun just came out.

That means I’ve got at least two hours before Boss will be able to bother me again.

…With some new earth-shattering problem.

…Like, how to use a paintbrush or something.


So, That’s Done

23 Jan


We have completed now (one hopes) the remainder of the car drama.

Harriet was picked up yesterday (per schedule)…paid for with an uber loan check, tabs were updated today, and she’s got some new oil and good gas is in her belly.  After a gutting like that, I’m sure she’s happy to be home and huddled with her friends in the neighborhood, tucked into the curb all safe and sound.

…And about damn time.

…And just IN time for one night off without worries before launching back into the shows again.  Which are NOT a “worry,” only the part about how I get to and from there.

So things are looking up.

…And yes, I know I sound like a broken record.  But this is called “trying”…so bare with me, huh.

In the meantime, Corporate is back again…so that brought everyone but Boss in bright and early.  Contracts keep rolling in, though the bulk of the build dates have been pushed by customers deep into Spring.  We already don’t have enough spaces on the calendar to accommodate that…which means that 3-4 months from now when they want their stuff by “next Tuesday” it sooooo ain’t gonna happen. 

…I’ll just Scarlet O’Hara that away for another day.  I’ve got enough crap to worry about.

…But not tonight. 

Tonight I will keep playing this stupid “Draw Something” game that I am secretly now addicted to…and watch some Telly, and check on The BFF, and give Niles and Daphne a long-awaited bath.

…And then I will change my pillow case.

…And then I will go to bed.

The end.

Until next time…

…With the Further UnAdventures of SWAL.

(check your local listings for show times)


Four Openings

11 Jan


…See, there’s a reason I always take Opening days off from work. 

At the ass-end of Hell Week, after an often frustrating Preview where you very quickly learn all the shit NOT to do, and you’re tired and inevitably don’t sleep really well because of troubleshooting in your head all night long — the last thing you want is to go into the Office and put up with 8 hours of bullshit on TOP of it.

…But I didn’t have any choice today.

…Because Boss is MIA again, and we Opened 3 Road Shows this morning.

…Making that 4 shows I’ll be Opening in total today…

…And while the bulk of the B.S. is being handled right now by the WHS Pimp…we are still tag-teaming on the info and resources stream, while I finish payroll, work orders, and whatever last-second Corporate reports are thrown at me.

The shows started at 10 a.m.. in three different cities, branching out in three different directions from our Warehouse…up to 185 miles away. One over the pass through snow, one across the bridge through traffic, and the other: south. Inevitably the relocation of our product was held up, tossed off, mutilated, stripped and partially deconstructed before we finally got it to where it needed to be…P.O’s then sent to local hardware stores for immediate repairs, and we are still late on the last one with a salesman on the floor, even while a contractor is climbing on the roof to re-shingle.

…Meanwhile reports I turned into Boss earlier in the week for forwarding are all being bounced back to me again with exclamation marks because he forgot to turn them in…am trying to figure the schedule for a bunch of repairs with no idea how the sales specs are floating, or if we have time to book them as early as next week…and someone ate the last of the stale donuts in the fridge from Wednesday.

Look: I know I haven’t been in the greatest mindset lately, but I think this crap would challenge anybody about to wretch their guts out in front of God and everyone tonight, on no sleep and one cup of coffee.

Straight up, I knew this wasn’t exactly going to be a “fun” Opening to begin with.

Frankly, it’s a total mind fuck of self-consciousness, regrets, frustrations and some strange game I’ve unknowingly been playing with myself that goes something like: If I focus hard enough, kill every last ounce of self-vanity, and let everything come out at it’s most ugly, shameful, despairing, naked, hopeless, frustrating, gut-wrenching state…I will “Win.”

…”Win” what? I dunno.

…I still haven’t figured that out.

I’ve only just realized the sick little torture I’ve been allowing me to do to myself.

…All I know is the total self-rage and hopeless sense of inadequacy when something comes out “wrong” or I’m not really “in it” or I try something new that doesn’t work, is on a whole other level with this show. Mercifully I have two intermissions in it to go outside, try to cool off, re-focus and re-group. But for a person who has always been hard on themselves on performance levels…I’ve taken this one to a whole new intensity.

…Which isn’t good.

…And probl’y more than a little frustrating to the others around me when I start to lose it.

…So today, now that I’ve seen what a live audience can do to me…now that I know that feeling of being watched and pointed at in circumstances of self-conscious levels that I am more than a little familiar with…in fact the REASON I wanted to do this role to begin with…I HAVE to try and be a little kinder to myself. Doesn’t mean I will be, but I’ve got to at least try.

…I have got to realize that for most people in the audience: this is just a “show.” They cannot be expected to care or understand what it takes to put oneself through it, what it feels like afterward, or the actual, actual horror of realization that maybe if you pissed your pants right now, that would be about the only more degrading thing you could be putting yourself through, up on that stage. Because for me, it ISN’T just a show. It is highly personal. Which is a dangerous thing to play with.

…For some reason, I thought that with all those weeks of rehearsal and living through it over and over again, it would somehow get easier to deal with by the time we’d Open.

But it isn’t.

That’s the truth.

And while I certainly don’t want to be little Miss Debbie Downer on an Opening Night that we have all worked really fucking hard for…I feel like if I just admit this crap now, it’ll somehow help later.

That’s what I’m going for.

…I actually could not be prouder to work with these young people, who have pushed themselves to do and say things with a hideous truth of deception, with the kind of dedication that makes them viciously hateful. It is so incredibly brave of them, to face not only us, but a full house of patrons every performance, who don’t KNOW how wonderfully joyous and deliciously fun they truly are to be with.

…I am grateful, further, for the mind-games thrown from every-which-way direction by our “Aunt Lily” and “Mrs. Tilford”…who make it so easy to remember this emotional place of existence and revisit it every time with a fresh shock of slap marks still across my face.

I appreciate the good man, who is our “Joe,” for seeking a kinder less vengeful version of his character…even when “Martha” presses him much further than she should.

…And I lose my shit…maybe not always “fully”, maybe not as “snotting ugly” with consistency…but at least legitimately, and painfully…every time, because of the person I face most on that stage…who has taught me so goddamn much about so many things, not least of which how to trust someone so hard, so far, so faithfully that no matter how wrecked I am at the end: she will always, always be there.

Dear Marty, my dude-chick of love in every-day life:

On stage, even if I didn’t know you as the friend that I do…I’d be jealous of anyone who faced a partner like you, in front of all these people, who can somehow make them all go away, and keep you safe.

Happy Opening, “Children’s Hour” family.

With Love,

~ Martha.


Contagious Hangovers

7 Jan


For some reason, I thought that once Boss got a steady girlfriend,  he would start to calm down. 

…He strangely enough, actually picked an age-appropriate one, so I got some silly idea that a grown woman just wouldn’t put up with his mid-life-crises-boozopoly-of-ridiculousness, insisting he suck it up and stay somewhat in control.  So far she hasn’t been much in the way of positive  influence.  He’s not getting any worse, so at least there is that, but it’d be a damn feat of major achievement to sink lower on the scale than he’s already resting at…in the direction of which his personal life of woe has taken him.

To be fair, his wife DID leave him for a woman.

…If you weren’t here for that episode, by all means catch up here.

I find, (after years of careful study), that when a man of a certain age who has been married forever, all of a sudden finds himself wifeless once more…he’s gonna do either one of two things:

1) Revert back to his early College years of never shaving, showering, changing his underwear, doing laundry, eating anything not out of a fast food bag, and walking around smelling like a distillery all the time.

2) Revert back to his later College years of bathing in Aqua Velva, buying ridiculous man-toys (usually in red, with rims), sporting sunglasses (even when it’s raining, and dark, at 7 a.m.), wearing his hat all the time (only backwards), to cover thinning hair…and dressing in tracksuits (with the crotch down to his knees) with blinding white trainers…like he thinks he’s Lil Wayne, and not a 260 lb-plus, bald, white man.

…Boss took the second option, threw in a case of energy drinks and a lot of cheap whiskey, and ran with it.

It’s been a very disturbing ride to have to witness.

I don’t think he owns actual “pants” anymore, for instance. 

…Certainly his Dockers and belts have gone by way of the Caveman, now that there is no one to pick out his clothes for him in the morning.  I suspect that the new line of track suits he’s been living in ever since the break up, are actually servicing as both PJs AND day-wear, as most days (when or if he actually comes into the office…at or around noon or later) he looks like he’s just rolled out of, if not “bed,” at least directly off a counter top, or couch or the seat of his truck cab, and walked in the door. 

You can’t hide the perpetual hangover look, even with Oakleys and ten gallons of aftershave splashed on to attempt it.
…Then there is the potty mouth. 

I have ALWAYS owned the title of Absolute Curse Master, here at the office. Always.  This has never in the history of ever, (going on it’s sixth year), ever been disputed.  I’ve put a lot of time and effort into it.  Almost no one, outside of David Mamet, could out “shit-to-the-asshole-pissing-dickface-sunofabitching-pigfucker” their natural inclination to get verbally, offensively, pissed off…with more power…than me. 

…But Boss has been trying.

…And it sounds ridiculous.

…Because these words do not come to him with the natural poetic fluidity that it does to one who has studied it as an artform…so it is forced and heavily repetitive and wholly without imagination or love of the language and musicality of it.

You have to fucking respect the goddamn structure of a correctly pissed-off sentiment, for shits sake.  You don’t just throw “fucks” around at random, every third word.  Unless you’re from the projects, a gang, Boston, Scotland, or Ireland.


…Basically, his current lifestyle, (since snipping free from the Lipstick Lesbian who has been training him on how to be a human for the past I-dunno years)…has become a wincing, sigh-inducing, train wreck…leaving us nearly perpetually without an authorizing signature when we need things, a WHS Pimp at his wit’s end without any building report projections, or correct Inventory accumulations, literature and sign prep…a thoroughly pissed-off contingent of Contractors still waiting (since November) for authorization on expense checks and Hotel per diems…and a me…getting yelled at for the 11th time, cuz the “who-de-haw” on that one build STILL hasn’t been repaired, due to the fact that we STILL haven’t gotten a fucking truck order in as yet.

…And this is just ending the “slow season.”

This Friday, we will be opening THREE road shows at the same time…which coincidentally, is ALSO my show’s Opening Night.

…And Boss KNOWS this…

…As I have been reminding him of it DAILY for two weeks.

…So, as my sleepless, perpetually line-running brain, arrived at work at 7:52 this morning and was told by WHS Pimp that Boss wouldn’t be in today, because he didn’t want us to catch his hangover…cuz he’s thoughtful that way…I sorta, a little bit, lost my shit.

It was really a pity he wasn’t here to hear it.

…Cuz I feel it would have grown his cursing lexicon of available string-theory vocabulary, significantly.

And I feel really bad about that.


The Iceman Cometh

18 Dec


Snow here, in these parts.

…Came out from rehearsal last night, with great blobs of it sailing down through the sky, sticking everywhere, and making the drive home feel like light-speed-warping in space.  It was kinda awesome.  But maybe only cuz I was driving outta the snow instead of further into it, like Marty.  We eventually got our own lightly dusted version here too…but for the most part it was the ice rink of doom that faced our neighborhood this morning.

Living not far from Hospital Row, I was brought awake earlier than usual this morning with siren, after siren, after siren as accidents started piling up on the detour hills, leading to the freeway.  Car motors warming up and left idle under my window for upwards of fifteen minutes per driver…the scrape of ice being chipped off a host of windshields…winter is here.

This is the point where I check in with the Brothel peeps, gauge the schedule, hook up my remote office feed, and make sure everyone is where they need to be, before starting my own slow trek in.

…Which was circumvented when Boss shoo’d me away, claiming that live-feed was more than enough for the day, and to stay off the streets til they thawed some, maybe checking in at some point later in the day.

We can do this, you see, on account of the fact that I answered all of five phone calls, in total yesterday, and three of them were Boss. We sold nothing.  All weekend.  And snow certainly isn’t going to help us sell any more than that. 

…So I’m home now, back in my Pirate PJ pants, sipping coffee, my tree lights and heater blaring, my fish fed, and am considering walking to our little greasy spoon on the corner, for some hot breakfast involving plates that I don’t have to wash afterward.

It seems like a good plan.

…Then tonight: Act II run-and-work.  Things start getting stickier for our secretive little schoolmarms as a lie begins it’s nasty quest to seek and destroy.

…Incidentally, did you know the last mounting of this show with Kiera Knightly (ick), Elizabeth Moss, Carol Kane and Ellen Burstyn was done at the Comedy Theatre in West End?

Irony, you escape me not.


Death By Chemicals

26 Nov


Corporate is coming again on Wednesday. 

…Because I won’t be at the office tomorrow (due to a student matinee of the show), I had to fit in all my cleaning today. But then Boss decided it would be good to shampoo the carpets at the same time…and it’s cold out…so all the windows and doors are shut, and the heater is on. Between the bathroom, lobby, and my office, I’ve been accidentally snorfing a shit-ton of cooked chemicals for a little over three hours now, and I feel awful.

…My throat is rasping, I’ve caught this honking bronchial cough that started back in the shop-vac stage of cleanup and has gotten worse with the heated carpet chemical steam…my eyes are watering and I keep sneezing.

…In short: I am slowly being poisoned right now, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do about it but keep walking outside and hacking up my lungs.  Why EVERYTHING has to be feast or famine in this place just never makes sense to me.

…Hold on.  Gotta go outside again. Giant coughing fit.


(From the upper warehouse.)

All the dudes are gone for the day, and I’m huddled in the freezing warehouse under the clamp-light where the building schedule is posted.  Our army of a Corporate-prep  team has done wonders out here with the stacking and organizing…our new WHS kid is being broken in via baptism through fire, and I am 45 minutes from chemical freedom.


…Take a shower to get the gunk off and do a lot of deep steam-breathing to help clean out all m’wind pipes…then get ready for The BFF and Fella to pick me up for a Tapas night at the In-Laws. The last “hurrah” together, before The BFF sets sail back to movie-land…and I kick it into overdrive workin’ two shows at the same time, til we close one of ’em, end of next weekend.

Tis the season to work your tail off.


The Lady Market, In The Lobby

14 Nov


Boss has been online for the bulk of the morning in the Lobby, shopping on The Lady Market.

…This is where he sits with his laptop, scrolling his dating site of choice, and from time to time calling me or the WHS Pimp over to grade the women on a “should I, or shouldn’t I” basis. 

I don’t play the game, usually yelling from my desk, “I’m too busy doing your job right now!  P.S. I need some coffee!”

…And so he’ll go away and find some, plop it on my desk with whatever other offerings to buy my silence, that he can come up with (today: mini cinnamon rolls), then go back to his “work.”

In that time he’s also managed to dodge having to put out a contractor fire, because of a sorta fake conference call. “Sorta,” in that he DOES have a conference call, but he screwed the dates up and it actually happens tomorrow…but he was logged in on a dead air call (put on mute) for twenty minutes, while he Lady shopped, before he decided to confirm the date on his calendar.  I (of course) knew none of this for quite some time, and continued plowing through contracts and pay reports and answering phones for several hours, before taking a break to go pee for three seconds.

(I pass by him in the lobby, seeing him playing with his new iPad.)

Me: Wait.  Aren’t you on a conference call still?  It was set for like four hours.

Boss: Oh, yeah.  That’s tomorrow, I guess.

Me: Wait.  So how long were you on-air before  you figured that out?

Boss: Like twenty minutes.  I dunno.

Me:  But you’ve been off since then?

Boss:  Yuh.  I wonder what our app allowance is gonna be?

Me: …So you could have been answering calls, at least…

Boss: –They have this new band-mix one I could totally use for my gigs.

Me: Isn’t that thing bugged? 

Boss: Yeah.  But I can disable it.

Me: The bugging was the whole point.  If you go off grid, they’ll just yell at you to get it fixed.

Boss:  They gotta catch me first.

Me: I need you to get phones.

Boss:  But not (enter name of Contractor here.)  I’m hiding from him. 

Me: How long?

Boss:  Told him is was a training day.

Me:  We’ve never had a day of training in this place, in the History of ever. For anything.

Boss:  Yeah, but he doesn’t know that.

(I look at his new mess in the lobby, of scattered crap everywhere, and him sitting huddled over an iPad trying to decode it, as his laptop, open just to the right of him, is set on a collection of women’s headshots.)

Me: …You wanna bet.


…Meanwhile, some of you may be asking yourselves, “Why the lobby?”

…Some of you may be asking yourselves any NUMBER of questions, actually…believe me, I am well acquainted with them all. I can’t answer every one you come up with…cuz in five years time working with this man, I still don’t understand him fully. But this is one question that I can answer.

…He has set up shop in the lobby for two reasons:

1) Two weeks ago, his swivel chair broke and he fell to the floor…so moved into the lobby where the chairs are better, but too big to fit at his desk, while we waited for the new one I ordered him to arrive.

2) Last week, his new chair arrived, but his desk was so messy that he decided he’d just keep camping out in the lobby every day. Mostly because, every day after he leaves, I clean the lobby out, by putting all his shit back on his desk, which he occasionally shifts around in piles on his desk and floor, that he never does anything with, thus the piles grow, and he’d rather just not deal with it.

…I am not kidding.

This is what his office looks like today:

This is what my desk looks like today:

…These were taken at the beginning of my self-proclaimed “break”…which happened, directly after I got out of the bathroom, and he called me over to show me this new YouTube video.

…My “break” was all of ten minutes, and I was well into typing today’s post, before he declared that “since the conference is tomorrow,” and he has, “this new iPad thing he needs to figure out, with new software and everything,” that he was just going to, “take off to one of the vendor sites to test it all out,” and maybe, “not come back again, until tomorrow.”

…”If that was okay?”

I told him to knock himself out, and went on with my typing.

…And so it goes.

Morning reports completed, I sit here and tap on the keys in between phone rings, and rearrange the schedule as customer’s continually realize that next week is Thanksgiving, and they need to change their booking dates, cuz they’ll be at Aunt Pearl’s all week n’ things.

…And I’ll listen to their entire family life history, as they explain it all to me in mind-numbing detail…as if I give a shit…and I will “uh huh,” and “okay,” and “no problem,” and “Yep,” my way through the rest of the day.

…An annoyance, but better than one of the other worse kind of days. So, I’ll take it.


The Idiot & The Holiday

12 Nov


A true story:

(Phone buzzes, and I pick it up.)

Boss Text: So, you’re not here.  Are you taking today off?

My text: Yes.  Everyone is.

Boss Text: Why?

My Text: B/c it’s Vet’s Day.

Boss Text: No isn’t.

My Text: Yes. Is.

Boss Text: That was yesterday.

My Text: Observe on following Mon = Today.

Boss Text: We who? The Co.?

My Text: The Nation.

Boss Text: But not Co.

My Text: Yes.  Us too.  Look on sched.  Been posted over three weeks. And in email. And reminders on Fri for Mon alerts. See where it says “Holiday” in everyone’s boxes?

Boss Text: Thought meant day off for non-staff.

My Text: That’s not even a thing we do. “Holiday” is self explanatory.

Boss Text:  I didn’t know.

My Text: Am not coming in.

Boss Text: You can take day off.

My Text: I know. It’s a Holiday.

Boss Text: Well, am not gonna argue it.  Just want know where everyone was.  I guess see you tomorrow.

(No response.)

Boss Text: You will be in, right?


… Just your average Monday of shit I have to deal with, even on a Monday when I’m not supposed to have to deal with it.

So thank you again, Boss…for continuing to provide constant idiocy in all you do.

In Other News: A little nesting and clean.  Spanish rice-making, friend IM-ing and script reviewing.  Walk to the market for incidentals, some coffee, some laundry sorting, some Ma hanging. A good day.  As days go. 

…Back to the mindless drivel tomorrow. 


Rocket-Shipping In The Warehouse

2 Nov

We are one less Employee in population today, here at the ol’ Brothel.

…The WHS Mgr walked in this morning on enough pot, canned CO2, and empty beer bottles to launch an Apollo mission.  The company truck was missing, the forklift: naked in the yard with the key still in it, the gates wide open, and the only clue to go on, being from his WHS lackey at 10:30 PM last night…calling in “sick” for today.

…And now we know why.

A stellar employee, he never was…this is fact.  But that is to be expected from a grown man still living with his parents, who smelled of alcohol poisoning and organ damage, perpetually…never bathed, and had a penchant for hitting on everything with an “X” chromosome.  Even the AM/PM tellers across the street were creeped out in his presence.

“How did he get the job to begin with then,” you may ask?

Because Boss has a “thing” for “second chances” in life. Because he was cheap. And because he answered the ad.

…In that order.

Sure, he had to pass a drug screen et al upon hire, and he did…though at least two of us (in retrospect), have no idea how. It was obvious to us, within a week, that this guy had “issues”…and grounding him from whipping the forklift and trucks around was about the maximum power that either the WHS Mgr (or I) had in this. 

…Which, then, leaves a fairly useless employee, wandering around, making piles of stuff in the yard, then reorganizing them into new piles, over and over and over again.  Occasionally he would paint, or repair something. Sometimes he would shelve some stuff, but by and large his specialty seemed to be off-the-clock drinking, tweaking out on any number of alternate-controlled substances, showing up two hours late, and stacking things, while bitching.

He will not be missed.

Now…every time a layoff occurs here, there is this whole “procedure” we have to undertake directly afterward. Because anyone who has ever worked here knows every weakness in the system of his place…and they know the hours we keep, that the alarm pads are purely for “show” and that if they want something it takes very little effort to get in here and take it. Not that we have much of any worth, outside of product…which weights a literal shit-ton, but with a forklift and a truck in-hand, this place is easy pickings really…and everyone knows it.

…So, instead of doing his average Friday of usual fix-its, the WHS Mgr has been flying around changing locks and bolts and combos and passwords on everything all morning long. Though we know that these things only work enough to keep an honest person honest, and that any pissed-off, drugged-up, drunken asshole who might want to get in, to say…deface every piece of property we own…could very easily do just that, with only a pair of bolt cutters and a 2 x 4.

…We KNOW this…

…And of all the layoffs, THIS is the one that verily PROMISES a return payment. We totally expect it. We just don’t know exactly what it’ll be, or when, or how.

…Which is sorta terrifying, really.

…So today, we are each of us, boxing up and relocating materials and things so that when (not “if”) the inevitable occurs, the damage might not be so bad. But it probably will. And we’ll have to deal with it. Most likely, on Monday.

…Which it totally great, cuz that’s exactly what we NEED! I often say that, in fact: “Geeze I wish we had more crap-happy calamities on Mondays! I feel there just isn’t enough of that in general, around here!”


“A Case Of The Fridays”

26 Oct


I am having, “A Case of the Fridays.”

…This is when paychecks have already shown up, everyone from Corporate has already left for the weekend, Boss is out having cocktails, and I am sitting here basically waiting for phones to ring.  “A Case of the Fridays,” is actually oddly exhausting…all this nothingness after a week of everythingness, where you sit there and look at the volume of emails and contracts and reports you’ve sent out, sitting in the sorting file, and become reminded of just how much paperwork and record keeping you do all day long, everyday, and how it is never going to change, and how “retirement” is still like 30-something years away.

…”A Case of the Fridays” can be oddly depressing, at times, for an end-of-the-week “period” to five days of collected crap.

…And that’s when I remember that I have this whole OTHER job that defines me, and of which I am proud, and eager to work in, and learn from. Then, “A Case of the Fridays,” sorta starts to melt away into a muddy little puddle, that I will accidentally step in, first thing on Monday morning.

…But that’s another problem, two whole days from now, so lets not think about it at the moment.

…At the moment, all I need to think about is what to blog today. 

Not a whole lot to throw out there for you guys.  Just sitting here at my desk, and looking around for inspiration, doesn’t help much. 

The ancient Kennedy Administration furnace just conked back on, with a couple jiggles and a bang. Every time it begins it’s new cycle, it’s like raising the dead. But at least it is consistent, and though all is gross and wetness outside my wall of windows, inside we are holding to the low 70’s (because I can.) 

The phone rings.  I answer it.  The call is complete. 

…I sigh, and look around again.

Out in the lobby, on the carpet, is a spent cigarette butt. Tracked in (no doubt) from the tooth-grip of a Contractor’s boot. It’s all shriveled up and twisted…and cuz of the filter, looks a lot like a pretzel.

…I’m hungry.

…See how almost everything can turn into something about “food” with me?

Another phone ring.  You guys, I know…the suspense and adventure I’m giving you right now is just unbelievable.  And you’re welcome for that.

…”Marty” is dinging me with IM’s every so often, as we chat about yesterday’s blog, and what she’s eating that I wish I was eating (answer: a blueberry bagel), and how we are going to see a show tonight, and about what we are gonna eat before it, and who we are gonna see once we are there, and if I can slip out early…since it IS only Friday…and beat the traffic, maybe.)

…But then, it’s already a quarter after 3 anyway…at this point, how much of a jump on the commute can I really get?

…Plus I need to go home and maybe change or something first.  Or maybe not.

I have to pee.

Listen, I know this isn’t your usual post of topical theme and stuff, but I feel like we know each other well enough by now, for me to be like, “Guys, it’s one of those days, can I just do this stream of pointless narrative instead?”

…And you’ll be like, “Dude, whatever you need.  It’s been a WEEK, and we totally get that.”

…And I’ll be like, “See, this is why we hang out.  Because you ‘get it’ and stuff.”

…And you’ll be like, “Fuck YEAH we do.  Cuz I’ve got ‘A Case of the Fridays’ too!”

…And I’ll be like, (clap of hand on your back) “I feel yuh bro.  Let’s you n’ me leave early, and get to the more important things is life.  Like what’s for dinner.”

…And you’ll be like, “…Whatever it is: it’s gonna have beef in it!”

…And that’s the first time I’ll take your hands in mine, look you in the eye, and with all my soul tell you:

“I love you.”


Sometimes, It’s Just Not Funny

9 Oct


When the Whs dudes get pissed, they have this little system. 

…It involves demolishing things: product that is already compromised, trucks in the yard that no longer run…I’ve heard tell of it more than I’ve seen it in action, but I have to say, the enticement it offers, far surpasses most anything else.  Great feats in their past include forking a diesel one-ton into the air at its top-most height, than shoving it off, busting tires, shocks, struts, engine pieces and windows at random.  Another (ongoing) is to run into same said truck, with forks primed, and skewer it repeatedly like it is no more than a tin can or something made from aluminum foil.

…They will, upon occasion, shoot nail guns at the dead product pile, annihilating it further as it spews splinters in mini explosions like a machine gun in War.  I’m told that shattering cracked glass is also edifying in accomplishment, or putting a fist through a wood panel…in which case, I will just have to take their word for it.

…All I know is that in the fucked up lunatic asylum that is the “office,”  I don’t have anything to take my frustrations out on but people.  Believe me, nothing would make me happier than to slam my stapler through my office window, bursting it like a bomb instantly.  I would be very content to kick the absolute shit out of the file drawers until they are nothing but dented safes of paper that no one would be able to gain access to, ever again.  I’ve has fantasies of pitching the phone up in the air, and whacking it with a 2 x 4 for a shattering Home Run.  There were less sadistic evil tortures done during the Dark Ages, than I’d like to commit daily, to my computer.  Very few Politicians I hate get me angrier than my Boss on any given day of the week, and when I have HAD it, there is almost not a prop or piece of office equipment…right down to a paperclip, post-it, or a pen, that I could not easily forsee committing homicide with. And this all happens at LEAST once per day without fail.

…Which is NOT a good environment to be in 40 +  hours per week.

I know I am no alone in this. Plenty of people loath their jobs…but they also (most of them) seem to at some point (apparently) come to peace about it, deal accordingly and move on.  I, however, being an exceedingly stubborn person in which “fairness” and “competency” rates higher most days than breathing, absolutely CANNOT come to grips with the hand I’ve been dealt.  Some days are worse than others.  Yes.  But even the not-so-bad days, make jesting about the environment more than I can manage until I’ve put a day between me and whatever it is THIS time, that has royally pissed me off.

…And sure, I’ve had plenty of people say, “well, why don’t you just quit?” And I’ve asked myself that question too, only every twenty minutes in every day.  But the point is: I can’t.  I’m a grown up, with bills to pay, and another career to tend to.  I can’t afford to leave.  Because I can’t afford to drop in pay for 90 days, and any position higher will require me to be on salary with my time at someone else’s beck and call.

…So instead, I implode about crap, give it air time, throw it up in a blog, and try to make light of it, to take away from the power it holds over me.  But it knows it.  I don’t know who I’m really kidding, frankly.  But it seems like the more positive thing to do.  So I do it.

…And I’m doing it now, from my car (again), taking a lunch minus food…just me with my computer and some Netflix, jerry-rigging a sort of drive-in theatre environment for a half hour or whatever, just to cool me down a bit so I don’t go on a rampage shooting staples at the Boss’s face.

It’s all I could think of.

…Well, that and setting the whole place on fire.

But being in jail on arson charges doesn’t fit in my rehearsal schedule, really.

I checked.


Vino, Theatre, Jane Austen &The English Nutter

5 Oct


Tonight is girl’s-night!!

…To sip on some hoity-toity grape juice, pop in “Sense and Sensibility” and push play on the audio commentary wherein Emma Thompson will commence to teach us everything she knows, about everything she knows…in a totally charming and hilarious manner.

As my favorite English Nutter, she has been doing this command performance for several years now, but it never gets old, or less funny.

…This entire night, btw, is under the pretense of Ma n’ “M” actually meeting. Like freaks of fate. Because then they can geek out all they want to about Hobbit feet and trolls vs. fairies kinda crap, and leave me the hell outta it. 

(As if we really need an excuse to show up in PJ’s and pseudo-sob over romantical period things.  But that’s my story, so I’m sticking to it.)


In Other News: I’m leaving work at 2:30 today.  I hit the office door this morning, straight out-the-gate with a solid declaration that this week was shit and I was leaving early today to help make up for it.  I got a blink and shrug from the Boss in response:

Boss: Ok.

Me: You know…it’s not fun rebelling when no one cares.

Boss: (Pretend melodrama, but not really selling it) Don’t go…! Don’t go…!

Me: You suck.

Boss: Want a coffee?

Me: I do.

Boss:  Be right back…


In Other Other News: After-rehearsal hang time is golden.  It’s not that I “forget” this, but it is constantly being reinforced how much I miss my peoples when I am not doing shows.  Not that I don’t see them anyway, but not in as large groups, and not with the night’s work to ruminate over and tease one another about. 

…I’m used to a big family, and it’s nice to be back around one again…flinging insults and sex jokes and drinking each other’s drinks when people get up to pee or have a smoke.  Family is important.  All the people in it…the “new” ones finding where they fit within the order of things, the “old” ones shifting here and there to accommodate, and everyone genuinely enjoying and respecting the work of one another so much, that we can afford to play at one another’s expense…take a hit on the chin that is made with a wink. Sometimes, a cast can be all-round magical…and this one is a hell of a team already…even with a month yet to go in rehearsals before the run begins.

…Its times like this that make me feel bad for the “normals” in the world…the ones who work their 9-5’s and get to bed at decent hours, don’t obsess about creative shit all the time, and still have their dignity. Poor bastards. They have NO IDEA the kind of life they are missing.

…But then, I’m preachin’ to the choir here. Obviously.

It must just suck to be them. Am I right?


Wasted, On A Tuesday

2 Oct


Now that month-end is over, my thoughts are almost entirely placed on lines…and the Yakisoba left-overs in my fridge.

I am super hungry.

…Which is prob’ly why I can’t concentrate on anything at all right now.

Have been spending the day drinking terrible coffee that faintly resembles the cleaning fluid section at the grocery store.  I can’t quite put my finger on why, or what the specific scent/taste is reminding me of, but I know its something toxic and wrong.  Yet I keep drinking it.  Was hoping it would keep my tummy from growling.  All it’s really done is make my mouth taste like bitter antiseptic.

…I think I’m getting a headache.

Today is clearly one of those post month-end-from-hell, life-sucker ones, where you kinda feel like you have a hangover the next day.  And it would prob’ly help a lot to just punch someone. Yesterday’s round of shit accomplished just exhausted the life out of me.  Which is inconvenient when it is only “Tuesday.”    

…Also, it’s been a day from Hell in the phones department. 

Ringing, ringing, ringing…all day long

…Three lines lit at the same time while you’re on another.  Can’t catch up with them…even when I try to liquidate them from the VM roster, they are multiplying due to the fact that EVERYONE IN THE WORLD monitors their phones.  So they wait to get a message, then call, then wait to get a message, then call…it never ends.  I’ll get in carousel rides with these people all day long…calling and re-calling, and re-calling the same bastards over and over and over again…because they can’t be bothered to pick up.

…And they ALWAYS bitch when you finally DO gain access to them: ” I’ve called and called and called you people…!” 

Yes.  I fucking KNOW.  It’s because you won’t stop calling, and just pick up the goddamn phone (along with the seventy other people today) that I am constantly on the line and cannot answer!  How about you recognize that you AREN’T the ONLY customer I have, nor my full purpose in a day.

…You guys, I’m really cranky right now, and I know it…but there’s just nothing to be done.  I called it at noon.  Just gotta suffer until the clock clicks over to four and I can get the hell outta here.

Sometimes, I just don’t have the capacity to give a shit about the work day, the customers, the constant demands, the always being pulled in twelve directions.  And this, my friends, is one of those days. 

I hope yours has been “gooder.”


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