Calmer now, Young Geoffrey contemplates yesterday's meeting with his department's manager, the woman from Human Resources and the poor bastard who is his direct supervisor.
It was an ugly mood that greeted our visitors from on high, with words like "lies", "deception" and "incompetent" bandied about freely by two or three of us who took the lead in expressing our dissatisfaction. As one of the more vocal among the group, I do not expect to be seeing a promotion any time soon.
Though the department head and the Human Resources woman both acknowledged they had erred, and both took "ownership" of said errors, they were remarkably evasive when asked point-blank, "It's all very well to 'take ownership'; what are you going to do about it?"
Er, nothing, really. The machine grinds on. I fear my supervisor (a nice guy, in his first managerial position, and the fella who actually sent out the email saying, "You've been approved for the package") will be sacrificed on the alter of "accountability" - and nevermind that he had been as mislead by upper management as the rest of us.
And so, I have accepted that I will remain here for the foreseable future (which, in the corporate world, means: for at least the next couple of months) and have determined that I will update my resume and start activitely looking for something else. Maybe even something fulfilling, that might at once do some good in the world, make good use of my considerable talents and pay me a decent wage.
Do such jobs exists? Well, one can dream ...
Finally, I have heard from the computer shop. Apparently, there is nothing wrong with my ethernet card, so the fact it doesn't work remains a mystery. I will pick up the box after work this afternoon, plug it in (most likely tomorrow, if Missnegativity doesn't bail on me), then - presuming it will still refuse to work - make a desperate call to my Linux-guru and offer him beers.
Speaking of beers, had a brief tete-a-tete with Vern at Rhino's last night prior to returning home to watch the Montreal Canadiens, unsurprisingly, fall to the Lightning in the first game of the second round - but - really! - I digress.
I think the new waitress was flirting with me! Why - oh why! - is it that I have reached this ripe old age without being able to be sure she was doing so? (There's nothing like slapping down a copy of Paris 1919 to spark an interest in the brighter serving staff - or maybe it's the fact I'm no longer wearing glasses?
Indeed. I wander, slipping now almost into stream-of-conscious, I think - it's a good thing I don't ask you people to pay to read my meanderings on days like this.
The Tedium (How's That for an Eye-Grabbing Headline?
Slow day here in the ol' cubicle, the calls just trickling in. I've finished the Globe and, like a little kid saving the icing for last, am trying to stave off starting in on this month's Harper's; I know that, when I do start it, I will likely rip through it in only a sitting or two. (God! I love that magazine ...)
This really is growing pointless (more pointless?), isn't it. Time to close, time to contemplate the start of my weekend.
Fare thee well, each and every one of you (except you!), my gentle readers. Until next time ...