My past experience in customer service has introduced me to a variety of people–from pleasant to drunken fool to downright ignoramus.  But Mr. W’s former employer takes the cake when it comes to bottom of the barrel humanity.  I never mentioned him when Mr. W worked for him, but now that he doesn’t [thankyou!thankyou!thankyou!] it is open season.

I had the fine pleasure of sharing a 45-minute car ride with the man once.  He talked the entire time and it pretty much went like this:

Bossman: “My opinions are superior to your own.  I hate black people.  Black people are stupid.  I am so smart and so proud of how smart I am.  Let me tell you about the time a black person… [cut short for brevity].  Look at that Shaniqua [all black women are referred to as Shaniqua] over there!  Her boobs are huge.  I like to sit and watch black people because they are so stupid and this is funny to me.  Let me ask you a question I don’t really care about the answer to–it’s just my lead-in to share my own fantastic opinion.  Black people, black people, black people.”

Oh, except replace “black people” with the n-word.  And then repeat that little dialogue over and over for 45 minutes.  [I know that I can exaggerate from time to time, but I assure you that if I am doing anything here, it is understating.]  He is, hands down, the smallest-minded bigot I have ever met.  In addition to bigotry, he has terrible management skills.

Mr. W: “We need to do something for this client or something bad could happen.”
Bossman: “I will handle that because I am smarter than you and more capable.  I hate black people.”
[Days pass.  The "something" doesn't get done and things break and now the client is angry.]
Bossman: “Mr. W, how could you let this happen?  You are so incompetent!”
Mr. W: “You said you were going to handle it.”
Bossman: [sticks fingers in his ears] “Lalalala-I can’t hear you-lalalala!  I hate black people!”

Joke’s on Bossman, however, because now that Mr. W has left Bossman will have to do actual work.  It’s been a while, and I’m not sure he remembers how to do this.  Work for him has basically consisted on the following:

1. Give employees crap
2. Hire new employees as others leave
3. Repeat

CHICAGO, IL — Area woman known as Teri turned in her two weeks’ notice today after two arduous years of employment.   The reason for this sudden action?  She’s been offered a new job, during “normal working-people hours.”

“I just couldn’t work third shift anymore,” Teri explained.  “Just between you and me, only crazy people work third shift.”

Her new job in the wonderful world of finance begins September 10th, provided she is able to pass both criminal background and credit checks.  This paper has it on reliable intel that these checks should indeed go through without a hitch. 

“The background check just looks for convictions, so everything will be A-OK,” Teri joked.  (We think.)

No word as of yet on the hotel’s response to this employment upheaval, but we will keep you posted on all breaking developments.  A counteroffer is expected and will be promptly turned down.  For now, Teri is going to celebrate, crazy monkey-style.

“What is that exactly?  Do I have to fling poo or something?  Maybe I’ll just go out with some friends for pizza.”

In theory, I have a job interview.  Just as soon as the lady calls me back to finalize the day and time.  We’ve been playing phone tag, thanks to my irregular sleeping habits.  This job would be weekdays.  And it would pay more.  Cross your fingers for me, will you?  

Come September I will have been at my current job for two years.  I found out yesterday that at that time I will receive 10 whole days of vacation time.  Well gaww-ly!  I’m not gonna know what to do with myself.  I guess that’s a lie–I know exactly what to do with myself.  Not come in to work, that’s what.  Anything in addition to that is gravy.

In housing news, Tim and I have begun our apartment search.  We’re looking in a couple different areas of Chicago, one at which Paige is also looking.  That would be awesome to get an apartment in close proximity to her.  Obviously, seeing as we’re looking at Chicago apartments, we decided not to move forward with San Diego.  At least, not right now.  We’re thinking we’ll give Chicago one more year, and then try somewhere new.  Possibly San Diego.  Possibly somewhere else.  Lately we’ve both been feeling that we aren’t really doing anything here.  Working jobs that we, at best, feel blah about.  Tim needs to move eventually to work in his chosen field, while I basically just want an adventure.  I’ll admit it.

In a chat regarding the pros of living in San Diego…
Teri: “Plus there are tons of military men there.  Teri likey the military men.”
Steph: “You’ll always know where you stand with them.”
Teri: “Yep.  No defining needed.  And if they don’t call after a date, I can just tell myself they were deployed.”

“Some days are easy, like licking icing off a spoon.  Today was more like stapling Jello to a brick.”

Tomorrow will be better (and I’m ignoring the fact that I’ll have to work when I say this).  Some friends are coming over for pizza and zombie-movie goodness.  Two friends at work hadn’t seen 28 Days Later.  I was shocked and will be correcting the situation tomorrow evening.  I am also excited to see 28 Weeks Later when it comes out on May 11th.

So I never actually had Interview Number Two on Monday.  Since last weekend I’ve been feeling, well, generally bummed out.  I was never really sure about this job because I’ve had an administrative assistant position before.  I worked quickly and efficiently, making their lives a little easier, and worked myself right out of a job.  So to me, admin assistant = job insecurity. 

So I woke up Monday (a little late) and I forced myself to get ready.  Despite being bummed out and despite being scared to have a secretary job.  I kept telling myself that even if I didn’t want this position, they might remember me for future ones.   I bandaged my feet because the dress shoes I don’t wear very often hurt my feet last week at the other interview..  So I was kinda limping.  And I was still getting ready ten full minutes after I should have left the apartment to walk seven or eight blocks to the interview.  I despise being late.

I get into the elevator, press the button, and nothing.  You may all remember the last time I posted about the elevator and it’s mind games, so I waited in the elevator, thinking after a few times of the door opening and closing it would eventually descend.  Well, it didn’t.  After a minute or so the door just opened and stayed open.  It wasn’t going anywhere.  I started crying in the elevator and walked back to my apartment.

Tim took one look at me and helpfully said, “I’m glad I’m not a girl.”