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There’s a Reason You Can’t Have 2 Alphas. No One Likes to Clean Up Blood.

For the past 5 years, the closest I’ve ever come to a hostile working environment is the time, only a couple of months ago, that I went all Office Space on my home printer and accidentally-on-purpose dropped it in a childish fit of frustration at its apparent refusal to do its job.

We haven’t spoken since.

Looking back, I realize I’ve been very fortunate.  Aside from one boss of questionable moral character and another with questionable people skills whatsoever, I’ve had some pretty fantastic co-workers throughout my adult working life.  (I say “adult working life” because we can’t even begin to explore the smorgasbord of bona fide taxed jobs I’ve carried since I was 15-years-old and literally flipping burgers at an ever-classy A&W Root Beer/gas station combo.)

Not the exact one where I worked, but you get the idea.

It started with my first “real” post-college job doing GIS (i.e. “making maps”) for engineers in an environmental consulting company, complete with the extra-private, 6-foot cubicle walls to ensure maximum productivity with minimum person-to-person interaction and an hour and 20 minute commute each way, and then continued when I moved on to working in GIS and then sustainability programs for the U.S. Army in an office full of mostly women — amazing women and one guy — surrounded by a world full of men and politics and acronyms and things that exploded and made the walls shake.  It even continued when I reverted back to waitressing in a bar where I worked only for shoddy tips and the occasional bounced paycheck and where I mopped floors for free.

Throughout the history of these endeavors, my co-workers have always made the job, no matter how mundane, interesting and worthwhile.  They understood the fact that we were all in this together.  They joked, they laughed, and they didn’t mind when I launched the random stress ball over opaque and foreboding cubicle fortress walls.

They were good times.

But apparently, times are a-changin’.

At the risk of someone discovering me and subsequently finding myself dooced, I have to say — things at my new job are not so easygoing.  Imagine 3 women working together in a 6′ x 6′ closet, trying to be productive and answering phone calls and pretending to be tech savvy, all while the big boss is away for an extended stint in the Reserves.  Then imagine that 2 of those women can’t stand each other, and the third — that would be me — was only just brought in as extra help and currently feels like the knotted sock her dogs like to pull taut between them with clamped and barred teeth.

Only more uncomfortable.

On the one hand, we have the fiercely strong and independent Alpha Female, who territorially stands her forged piece of ground, the boarders carved deep into the earth with her constant pacing and panting and paranoia.  Judge her as we might, the pack can’t help but admire the Alpha for her undying loyalty and self-assurance.

Drawing by: Beeju

On the other hand, we have the timid-yet-determined Under Dog, the one who knows she was brought in to be the boss, knows she has to strategically yet tactfully put the Alpha in her place, and knows that in any good plot line, the underdog wins.  The pack likes the Under Dog.  We know she can bring good things to us.  But we’re afraid to show our faltering faith in the Alpha.

Drawing by: Beeju

And then there’s me.  What role do I play in this little saga?

So far, all I can figure is I’m just the one who cleans up their shit.

And for right now, I’m thinking that’s the best place to be.

Happy Monday!

Because I’m Just a Waitress

Have you ever noticed that when television shows or Hollywood movies want to make you feel sorry for a female character, they usually cast her as a waitress?

I mean, really, the biggest thing that makes waiting tables a crappy job (besides the minimal pay, odd hours, and cleaning up other people’s messes) is that obnoxious woman who, as I tell her our specials or bring her another wine spritzer, lets herself think that she’s better than me.

It doesn’t happen often, but I can tell which ones they are.  There’s this expression of relief that washes over her face as she makes the conscious decision to not say thank you and instead, turns to her dining partners (who, more often than not, look embarrassed to be seen with her), so she can regale them with stories of her own personal intelligence, wit, and charm.

Because she, after all, did not end up a food server.

(Is that the same blonde actress giving our leading lady the evil eye in both movies?  If there’s anything worse than being the waitress we feel sorry for, it’s being the waitress we don’t even think about.)

But I’m here to tell you, friends, that you should never make that mistake.  Not only do you portray yourself as a repugnant, judgmental ass, but it’s just plain not nice.

Believe it or not, I actually have a bachelor of science in environmental geoscience with a minor in geology.

I even took a class called Geomorphology.

I could go to grad school, if I felt that would make me any happier.

I’ve worked for both the U.S. Air Force and the Army, as well as a private environmental consulting company – a job that, may I remind you, was not easy to get.

Does this make me better than you?  Of course not.

It just makes me better than you think.

In fact, some of the most intelligent people I’ve known have worked in the food service industry at one time or another.  A girl with whom I work right now is an RN.  So, snobby waitress-hater at my table, the good news is she can save you if one day you choke on your snide-laced pride.

Whether they’re doing it for the social aspect, as a transitional phase, or because it was the only thing preventing them from knocking over cubicle walls or beating the crap out of copy machines, it doesn’t really matter.

More often than not, it’s the catch-all career for those who, while pursuing all of the “shoulds” in their lives, realized they lost sight of the “wants” and decided to try again.

Is that really so degrading?

They’re impulsive.

They’re driven.

They’re biding their time until the next big thing.

But, most important, they bring you your food.

And if you’re as smart as you think you are, disparaging woman at my table, then you already know that you should never, ever bite the hand that feeds you.

See you tonight!

xo,

Katie

 

Because Words Are Lazy, Useless Slackers.

After spending the last two weeks of my life negotiating, bargaining, pleading, and possibly even making thinly-veiled threats against a coworkers’ family in a vain effort to hash out this one teeny-tiny, cosmically insignificant newsletter article on health care program management (yes, the same one I mentioned way back  here), I have come to the conclusion that words are primitive, ineffectual communication tools.  

Much like the homeless guy in Baker Park who mutters and makes borderline lewd gestures at the birds, you know language is trying to accomplish something, you just can’t quite tell what.  (True story, by the way.  Frederick homeless people, you so crazy.)

As such, I will no longer be wasting my time with it.  I am so over words. 

From now on, friends, my main mode of communication will be through bar graphs and pie charts — and the occasional Venn Diagram to keep things sassy.

So, I could devote the next 30-45 minutes on this post trying to relay to you how I’m feeling this morning… or I could just sum things up in five minutes with a handy-dandy pie chart. 

Hmm, what to do?

Voila!  Such is the awe-inspiring magic of Microsoft Office Excel 2007.  Bask in its glory. 

Seriously, I said bask.

And since that felt oh so good, I believe I’ll do another one.

I think I feel a bar graph coming on…  Yep, here it comes…

Nice, right?  It’s easy, gets to the point, leaves no room for misinterpretation.

I don’t want to brag, but I think I’m revolutionizing communication here, people.

Spread the word.