The Way Things Are



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Here�s what I said
2005-10-25, 11:24 a.m.

Here�s what I said:

�I have this dream of going into the file room, and opening the file drawer and finding exactly whatever document I�m looking for. I get panicky when I desperately need something, and I can�t find it. If there is something I can do to help you accomplish this, I�ll help you out. We generate so much paper every day. I know it�s boring, but it�s so important.�

Here�s what I meant:

�Stop stockpiling the loads of paperwork I give you in that stack behind your desk, and file it in the proper files so that I can find what I need, dammit.�

Is it improper for me to expect the administrative assistant to keep track of the files? To take my finished paperwork from me, and file it? It was part of the interview process. We talked about it. It�s in the job description. Her first day on the job, I showed her the file room and asked if she was up to the task, and she blanched and said �This won�t do. I�d like to make it organized and pretty.�

She�s been revamping our file room from day one, but has lately stopped doing that because she�s getting other assignment from Peaches and me. But I believe she�s needing a fire lit under her ass to get EVERYTHING done, as we say in these parts. All of us here, we do EVERYTHING we need to do. We work fast, er, quickly.

I feel a little silly, like my sister-in-law�s Love and Logic strategy for making my nephew civilized enough for human interaction. �Oh, now I�m sad. I am very, very sad.�

But I�d rather do the passive-aggressive thing of being kind of wistful, rather than being the stern disciplinarian, �You are not keeping my shit filed properly. Do it.� That�s just not me. I�d rather express my disappointment in the situation, rather than disappointment in her specifically.

Argh.

I�m gassy, I�m constipated, I�m bloated, my emotions have been hijacked by estrogen or whatever it is that spikes during PMS, and now I�m sad about not being able to find a specific document in the file. I sat on the floor in her office, put the big-ass stack of stockpiled paper in my lap, and leafed through it until I found what I needed. This is why I don�t get emotionally attached to the staff. You never know what fresh hell awaits you each morning.

I have dragged all of the past-due IRS �misunderstandings� (we file about 20 different tax returns on properties each year, and sometimes those are late, and sometimes the IRS is an asshole) to the front of my desk, and I�m just writing checks made out to �United States Treasury�. One after the other. It does no good to question, no good to point out that you DID TOO send it, and just maybe the IRS didn�t file it in the proper file folder. Just write the check and get it off the desk.

In other financial news, since I don�t get child support these days, DW and I have worked out a new financial strategy. I still give him my paycheck, he deposits it into our joint account, and he takes care of the bills and what not. That part�s for the best � I�m a little more relaxed about that stuff than he is. What are they going to do if my Visa bill is 2 days late, take away my birthday? But I digress.

Here�s the new strategy: since I no longer have money being direct-deposited into my account by the Texas Attorney General, bless his heart, I now just tell DW how much money I need to pay bills to the school, the church, for field trips and Lil Guy-related whatnot, and he gives it to me! Isn�t that great? I haven�t asked a husband for money EVER in my entire life. Ever. I don�t think this is the strategy that we�re going to stick with.

Sometimes it�s hard to be a woman.

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