Someone’s Rocking My Dreamboat

May 1, 2012

I had my bi-weekly 1 on 1 meeting with my boss today.  I wasn’t expecting much from it; she usually yammers on about analytics, asks me if I’m checking them, asks me what’s on my to-do list, gives me more work, and then pokes and prods about how I am.  Today, though, she threw a curve ball.  When she asked how I am, I responded with my usual answer in my usual unenthusiastic tone about what I’m working on, trying to make it sound like more work than it really is because I don’t need/want her giving me more work.  She then looks at me, and says something like, “What’s wrong?  You don’t sound very happy”– almost like this is new to her.  It’s at this point in time that I think, “Ah shit, she’s gonna call me out of my negative Nancy ‘tude I’ve been giving her.”

She proceeds to talk some more and then asks me if I’m happy to be here, and whether or not I like what I do.  I take a second or two to gather my thoughts, consider the outcome of some things I could say, and then before I could answer, she says, “It’s alright if you don’t like what you do.  SomethingsomethingIforgotwhatshesaid you don’t have to make a career out of it.”  I then interjected with the acknowledgment that, yes, I’m not fond of what I do there.  And she re-asks me like she already knows what I’m going to say:  “Do you like being here?  Are you excited about coming to work every day?  To insertnameofthecompanyIworkat?  To the web department?”  Knowing that at least I can somewhat lie about this, I respond with, “Yeah!  Of course I like working here.  It’s just I don’t really like what I do.”  She goes on about how this place has tons of opportunities, and about how it’s just a matter of knowing what I want to do, and how it doesn’t even have to be in the department, provided the skill-set is there.

While this whole conversation is going down, my mind is darting back and forth calculating the outcome to everything I would/could say next.  So while she’s sitting there staring straight into my eyes like she’s trying to quash what little ounce of confidence and attitude I mustered up after she sprung this surprise conversation on me (and this bitch has got the crazy eyes) while simultaneously trying to brainwash me, I sat there in my chair responding with an emotionless expression feeding out generic filler responses like, “cool”, “yeah”, “no, I know.”  I suppose she got fed up with my poker face and just flat out said (to this degree), “You know, usually when I tell people these things, I can tell what they’re thinking.”  I can’t remember what she said after that, but it was certainly alluding to “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU THINKING IN THERE?”  She, of course, sugarcoated it and basically said, “I can’t help you take on new opportunities unless you tell me.”  I decided to take the route that would somewhat contradict what I had told her before, about my interest in design.  I told her, “See that’s the thing, I don’t really know for certain what other opportunity I want to pursue.  I don’t want to waste my time doing something I’m not sure about when that time could have been spent catching up or getting ahead of the work I have now.”  Or some bullshit like that.  In actuality, I know damn well what I want to do.  I just don’t want to do it here, not at this company, not in this shit hole department, and certainly not for the people that work here.

I can’t just tell them that though.  I can’t express my grievances because my grievances are about the people– and especially the person– that I would have to express my grievances to.  So I guess I’ll have to bottle up my disdain, as so many of my comrades have done– all, what, 60 some-odd people that left my department since I’ve been here.  It’s sad when I can’t even bottle up and hide my misery from everyone, and I’m fucking up big-time because of this.  I feel like, at any minute, I might get fired because it’s so damn obvious that I hate this place and a good amount of people that work here.  I suppose the stupid, pompous, immature part of me wouldn’t mind getting fired.  At least then I’d have more motivation to find a different job, and of course, I wouldn’t have to continue being a faker, trying to play nice with people I absolutely think are douche bags.

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