My boss: the Joan Collins of Facility Managers.

Work, as many of you are aware, is NOT the fun candy cane filled atmosphere that we expected after college. No one was waiting at the other end of the stage for me to walk across with my diploma in my hot little hand, and give me a fulfilling, high paying job. A job that would make me want to get up in the morning. Actually, I take that back. My father was waiting for me, and as he hugged me said, “welcome to the shit storm, Kid #2.”

Needless to say, and like many other English majors, I took the first job that came into my lap. Halfway through a workout at Curves–my mother wanted someone to go with–I was offered the job of a trainer at one of their many fine locations. In case you were wondering if you should go to Curves, chances are that you’d loose more weight if you started flushing hundreds down the toilet. Why, you ask? Because they hire people like me to be trainers there. That and if someone caught you flushing said $100’s down a toilet, you’d probably be set to an institution where–unless its celebrity rehab–I hear the food isn’t all that good.

After my disastrous first job, I went on to temp. This is a fabulous option for several reasons.

1. If you don’t like the place you can get a new assignment.
2. Need extra cash? Get $30/hour by signing people into “how to find real love/be assertive/get a raise/manage your money by giving me your money” seminars.
3. You can avoid the ‘real job’ monotony, because some Wednesdays, you just won’t have to get up for work. (Too many of those reprieve days, and you might not have a bed to sleep in… just saying.)
4. If you really are trying to find your niche, you can work at several different jobs, encompassing several different areas of work, until you find one that you like.

At my first job, I worked for–what I though then to be–the craziest lady in the world. This is the woman who is a licensed architect and designer, but who can’t forward and e-mail, and actually cut the cord off of her mouse to make it wireless. Oh yeah, and after entering 300+ contacts into her blackberry, would still use said phone to call me to get a number. (That, and it made a delightful paperweight while she was at the pool. )

Needless to say, when she offered me the job, I kindly declined. After she through a fit in the kitchen, I called my agency, and demanded to be transfered the next day. I was given two interviews, after a heavenly reprieve Wednesday, and managed to end up where I am today. Earning, to quote a classic, “minor duckets at a thankless job,” and working for a wonderful woman, who’s managerial style somewhat resembles Joan Collins’ maternal side.

To illustrate what I’m talking about, lets look over a conversation I had with the Gorgon not too long ago…

I walk into the front lobby of my office, and there she is, sitting at my desk. Again.
In her sanguine, pseudo-baby voice, she asks me, “Gnugs, do you happen to have anymore of the security stickers for the visitor badges?”

I smile and say, “No, Crazy Joan Collins impersonator, I do not. We ran out of them, and security told me that they would be ordering more.”

Again with the baby voice, “Ah… when did you ask for the new stickers?”

“About a week or two ago.”

“Don’t you think you should have followed up with security if its been that long?”

Here I pause and take a deep breath, because… well, I want to keep my job. Then I inform her that I will, from now on, make sure to ask for status updates on the ETA of the stupid, purple, time release badge stickers. Well, maybe not quite like that.

And who the hell says “ah…” This isn’t a who-done-it, crazy lady!

I did, kinda, stand up to her once. A co-worker and I were talking about the wonders of peppermint when we’re having panic attacks. Grendel overhears and asks me if she makes me anxious.

“Only enough for the blue Valium.”

She laughs.

I reach into my purse, and pull out the little orange bottle of happiness and shake it at her, before I step onto the elevator.

You know, I’m still kinda feeling good about that one.