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It's not that I hate my job, just that I hate every day I have to spend doing it. No, that's not quite right. I love certain parts of my job, like losing myself in the beauty of a spreadsheet or the intricate design of a well-crafted proposal letter. I love that part. I just hate everything else. I hated yesterday and I didn't much care for today.
In an update on yesterday's avalanche of paperwork situation, which no one cared about in the first place (not even me), we are a little closer to getting paid by our notary-obsessed client. Two of our suppliers tried to get us to accept their releases without notarization, and I tried to explain to the client that not everyone has as big a bug up their ass as he does (only in slightly less graphic language, as far as I can recall).
He politely told me to go screw myself (again with the language thing). He said they have "procedures," and they have "policy," and he, of course, being merely a human being, could do nothing to remedy the unfortunate situation. It's much more unfortunate for us than it is for him, or for our suppliers whom we've already paid.
I knew that he'd had a blow-up with the Boss earlier this week, so I tried to stay calm. And as far as he knew, I did stay calm, because he couldn't see me twisting the phone cord around his imaginary neck or making rude faces at the space where he would have been standing if his neck had been real. I just listened and gave him Stepford responses. I didn't want to encourage him to think that I was rolling over, even though that's exactly what I was doing.
So we are back to square, oh I don't know, 48. Better than square one, or square 47, I guess. He pointed out that it was in the contract we signed that notarized releases would be required before payment. I pointed out to him that people who do business with each other waive such requirements all the time, in the name of a healthy working relationship.
Well, no I didn't actually point that out, but only because I didn't think of it until just now. And anyway, the contract (what I can read of it, since all I have is a nearly illegible faxed copy) isn't specific about who must supply a release. It doesn't say all suppliers, just that a notarized release is necessary for payment, and I've given him a notarized release with my very own name signed on it, in front of a witness who also signed her name and put her stamp and seal on it. If that's not enough he can keep his seventy-five thousand dollars and- whoa! Carried away much?
Now we're moving forward from whatever square I said, and it'll be no earlier than Monday or Tuesday before I can get notarized releases from all these people. We should just have told him we made the nails and screws ourselves and didn't have any suppliers. We did our own galvanizing in the bathroom sink, and we cut down trees instead of buying lumber. Yeah, that's the ticket.
Hate is too strong a word, really. I don't hate my job, or even this guy who's jerking us around. I strongly dislike being forced by people I can't stand to do things that I find distasteful and repugnant. But I love everything and everybody else. I love little baby ducks, old pickup trucks, slow-movin' trains and rain.
And I love you, too. |
