You ever have one of those days where you feel like you spent it in a dream, watching terrible things happen to other people while you stood there stone-faced and powerless to stop it?
The Reaper made an appearance yesterday at work, and I feel as though he still hovers. And that's probably a poor choice of words, given the tragedy that's taken place over the last two months - the plane crash, and then -
Hold the phone. I didn't tell you about the replacement, did I?
The company searched and recruited and scoured and interviewed and hired, and they brought on someone named Greg to replace Mark, who as you may recall, passed away in August. (See post titled "Dave and Mark," somewhere below this one.)
Greg moved into Mark's old office and started assuming Mark's duties. And he was there for a week - and then during the ensuing weekend, had a heart attack.
And died.
!!!
!!!
And yeah, it's just a stupid coincidence, I'm certain, but still.
It's the utmost in tastelessness when, a week after that took place, one of the managers asked me and Nemesis, "So, either of you want to move into Mark's old office?"
And it was the utmost in professional behavior when I immediately replied, "Fuck no." Wait, what's the opposite of utmost?
Anyway.
As I was saying, The Reaper made an appearance yesterday at work. It's an inappropriate choice of words, yeah, but how else do you explain this gnawing feeling that he still hovers? Although I feel safe, I'm reasonably certain that the guy who lost his job today felt the same.
Joe Corduroy* came to us when we were hiring a bunch of folks from a local auto-parts plant that shut down. By "a bunch of folks," I mean 2. We hired the first one, Ozzy**, to be our group's lead, and then he recommended Joe Corduroy for an opening in FP&A (financial planning and analysis).
* - "Joe Corduroy" because I don't use real names here and he happened to wear corduroy on more than one occasion.
** - "Ozzy" because I don't use real names here and his last name was similar to "Osbourne" and because it's an ironic nickname, much like you'd call a fat guy Slim or a clumsy girl Grace.
Ozzy lasted about 9 months or so in his position as our lead before deciding he wasn't cut out for it, and he moved over to Contracts. He spent about 4 or 5 months there before deciding he wasn't cut out for *that*, and moved to another company just last week to do something in accounting.
Me? I was still terribly aggravated by Ozzy's handling of one particular episode early on in his tenure as our lead, and I don't suppose I ever really got over it, seeing as how I contributed zero point shit to his farewell breakfast and only consumed a couple of donuts at my desk, not socializing or wishing him fair winds and following seas and all that good-time-touchy-feely crap that goes on at these things. (And wow that was a long sentence.)
(Full disclosure to undercut my wordy badassness: I did send Ozzy an e-mail upon learning of his pending departure. Said something about keeping my name out of the book that he was sure to write about his time in our company, but he could use Nemesis' name, and best wishes and all that. He didn't reply.)
Although this did happen: Before I arrived that morning, however, I did leave a voicemail on my own phone and then forwarded it to a select handful of people who I would trust with such a thing. The gist of it was this: I impersonated Ozzy wishing me well as he embarks on his new career as a cashier at the Super Weenie Hut in his town. ("They have a real good lunch crowd," "he" said.)
We've gotten some mileage out of that one in the last week, Nemesis and I.
Anyway, I was standing in the accountant's office late Thursday afternoon when Joe Corduroy came in behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. Announced to the accountant and me that he wouldn't be attending tomorrow's financial meeting because he was leaving the company.
I thought he was joking, riffing on his friend Ozzy who just left the company.
Ultimately, he wasn't joking, although his departure is less than voluntary, if you catch my meaning. He claims that it was performance-based, and deep down, I really wish he was looking at midget porn at work or something instead. I'll tell you why.
The fact that even though he had an entirely different chain of command than I do doesn't make the appearance of The Reaper's sickle any easier to stomach. We still worked very closely together, and the fact that other people keep their jobs in spite of their raging incompetence - and Joe Corduroy wasn't incompetent, just sort of a doofus - makes me feel a lot less secure than I did at this time yesterday. If someone who was mildly competent could get the ax while all of these Reverse King Midases who I work closely with (and often have to clean up after) still get to keep their jobs, then something is terribly upside down, and so it goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway) that I didn't sleep very well last night.
The Reaper made an appearance yesterday at work, and I feel as though he still hovers. And that's probably a poor choice of words, given the tragedy that's taken place over the last two months - the plane crash, and then -
Hold the phone. I didn't tell you about the replacement, did I?
The company searched and recruited and scoured and interviewed and hired, and they brought on someone named Greg to replace Mark, who as you may recall, passed away in August. (See post titled "Dave and Mark," somewhere below this one.)
Greg moved into Mark's old office and started assuming Mark's duties. And he was there for a week - and then during the ensuing weekend, had a heart attack.
And died.
!!!
!!!
And yeah, it's just a stupid coincidence, I'm certain, but still.
It's the utmost in tastelessness when, a week after that took place, one of the managers asked me and Nemesis, "So, either of you want to move into Mark's old office?"
And it was the utmost in professional behavior when I immediately replied, "Fuck no." Wait, what's the opposite of utmost?
Anyway.
As I was saying, The Reaper made an appearance yesterday at work. It's an inappropriate choice of words, yeah, but how else do you explain this gnawing feeling that he still hovers? Although I feel safe, I'm reasonably certain that the guy who lost his job today felt the same.
Joe Corduroy* came to us when we were hiring a bunch of folks from a local auto-parts plant that shut down. By "a bunch of folks," I mean 2. We hired the first one, Ozzy**, to be our group's lead, and then he recommended Joe Corduroy for an opening in FP&A (financial planning and analysis).
* - "Joe Corduroy" because I don't use real names here and he happened to wear corduroy on more than one occasion.
** - "Ozzy" because I don't use real names here and his last name was similar to "Osbourne" and because it's an ironic nickname, much like you'd call a fat guy Slim or a clumsy girl Grace.
Ozzy lasted about 9 months or so in his position as our lead before deciding he wasn't cut out for it, and he moved over to Contracts. He spent about 4 or 5 months there before deciding he wasn't cut out for *that*, and moved to another company just last week to do something in accounting.
Me? I was still terribly aggravated by Ozzy's handling of one particular episode early on in his tenure as our lead, and I don't suppose I ever really got over it, seeing as how I contributed zero point shit to his farewell breakfast and only consumed a couple of donuts at my desk, not socializing or wishing him fair winds and following seas and all that good-time-touchy-feely crap that goes on at these things. (And wow that was a long sentence.)
(Full disclosure to undercut my wordy badassness: I did send Ozzy an e-mail upon learning of his pending departure. Said something about keeping my name out of the book that he was sure to write about his time in our company, but he could use Nemesis' name, and best wishes and all that. He didn't reply.)
Although this did happen: Before I arrived that morning, however, I did leave a voicemail on my own phone and then forwarded it to a select handful of people who I would trust with such a thing. The gist of it was this: I impersonated Ozzy wishing me well as he embarks on his new career as a cashier at the Super Weenie Hut in his town. ("They have a real good lunch crowd," "he" said.)
We've gotten some mileage out of that one in the last week, Nemesis and I.
Anyway, I was standing in the accountant's office late Thursday afternoon when Joe Corduroy came in behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. Announced to the accountant and me that he wouldn't be attending tomorrow's financial meeting because he was leaving the company.
I thought he was joking, riffing on his friend Ozzy who just left the company.
Ultimately, he wasn't joking, although his departure is less than voluntary, if you catch my meaning. He claims that it was performance-based, and deep down, I really wish he was looking at midget porn at work or something instead. I'll tell you why.
The fact that even though he had an entirely different chain of command than I do doesn't make the appearance of The Reaper's sickle any easier to stomach. We still worked very closely together, and the fact that other people keep their jobs in spite of their raging incompetence - and Joe Corduroy wasn't incompetent, just sort of a doofus - makes me feel a lot less secure than I did at this time yesterday. If someone who was mildly competent could get the ax while all of these Reverse King Midases who I work closely with (and often have to clean up after) still get to keep their jobs, then something is terribly upside down, and so it goes without saying (but I'll say it anyway) that I didn't sleep very well last night.
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