The blog sits untended for weeks, so of course, I decide to write something for it the night I’ve taken a couple of Nyquil liquid-filled capsules and my mind is beginning to play tricks on me. Nyquil gives me lucid dreams, ones that don’t always end when I finally haul my sorry, drugged ass out of bed.
My job is going to kill me. Just last week, I was hit so hard a couple times, it took me a moment to collect myself (and the body parts that got slapped right off my sorry carcass). Telling the office manager that I’m currently on a scavenger hunt for my nose is getting old. Filling out those damn incident forms is even less fun, although she’s making it easier by filling out the important stuff that never changes.
Especially the part that says, “forgot to duck.”
Then there’s the part where parents send in their sick kids, kids who will never master the art of not coughing into other people’s faces. Yeah, my job can kind of suck the gross factor on a rather regular basis.
But, all in all, work isn’t bad, and I’m not exactly at liberty to discuss much of it, and we all know how dangerous it can be to even mention it, but you know, there are some things that just need venting and there’s enough Nyquil in my system to make that bad idea go straight to the page.
What is it about some people who just can’t say a single nice thing about those co-workers who are out of earshot? I mean seriously, the minute we are out of the room on a breakfast run, she’s blasting OUR co-workers with nasty words and cutting comments, and while not everything she says is untrue or exaggerated, I’m getting tired of hearing it. Especially since I’m pretty sure she’s saying the same kind of thing about me when I’m out of the room. Mind you, I don’t give a rip about her opinion of me.
I’m not too crazy about the one who hangs out on the computer most of the day, shopping. Not for the classroom, but for herself or her family. Hey, we have a room full of high maintenance kids, we need all the help we can get. And the look she gives anyone who asks her to help…? Wow, more scars to add to my collection of work-related boo-boos.
Then there’s the loud one. Loud and opinionated, and while those two traits on their own can be difficult to handle, when they’re together? Oh, man… she has no idea that the things she says are heard by people who really don’t need to hear them. Like the big boss. Wow, that was an awkward moment.
But there are some nice gals there, ones I enjoy working with, although they’re not perfect, they’re decent to each and every other person there.
Then there’s the one who loves to give presents, but that means we all “get” to chip in a “small amount.” While 5 dollars may not seem like a lot to most people, when the paycheck is finished before the bills are, five dollars is a LOT. Yet, she cannot understand why I’m not all giddy about joining in the festivities. Sorry, babe, I’m poor. I don’t expect anything from them on my birthday, in fact, I’d rather they NOT do anything for my birthday except wish me a happy one. I don’t need anything (well, except maybe some home improvement help, but that’s not going to happen). But the majority (or the vocal minority, I’m not sure exactly how this happens to line up) gets their knickers in a knot if we don’t all play the game.
“It’s a hardship on the rest of us, when people don’t pitch in.”
Yeah, well, hello, it’s a hardship on this end of the spectrum, too, so STFU. Besides, the ones who are the poutiest about the gifts are the ones who are married to men with good jobs and their paychecks earned while working in the classroom goes to pay for fun stuff, vacations, new gadgets, and the upgrades on the vehicles.
These constant requests for money really stress me out and I tend to get a little cranky. This crankiness was commented on by someone in the room (I’m sure I can guess who) and I got called on the carpet for it.
I held my annoyance in check and apologized, promising to do better to keep a more positive attitude.
But, I’m still not handing over any money for gifts. I have to buy more icepacks for the bruises I’m busy collecting when I forget to duck.