Except for the unexpected two and a half hour nap this afternoon, today was one of the fuller days I’ve had in over a week. I didn’t mean to sleep for that long, really, I didn’t. I finished watching part four of “The Invasion of the Daleks” and closed my eyes for what was only going to be ten minutes or so. Imagine my utter surprise when I woke up and it was almost half past six. Well, so much for today being the day to get back on my normal schedule.

I’m quite pleased with all I accomplished today, the two most important tasks being submitting paperwork for unemployment and making calls to people I knew through my former employer. It would be fair to say that across the board, everyone with whom I spoke was beyond puzzled about the turn of events and wondered if the company was up against more than just simple cutbacks. I sort of dished with one of them, the wife of a customer with whom I’ve always had a connection. Actually, she wanted to dish more than I did and so I did, but very cautiously, never forgetting what I said could get back to the factory. Not that I think she would do that, but strange things are known to happen with gossip. All in all, it was strangely uplifting, to speak with these guys I’ve known for almost four years, to hear their bewilderment, their total dismay I lost my job and in the process, lost the one person they could count on to get things done and done correctly the first time around, in most cases.

Inspiration struck me while talking with one of them: I very honestly told him the (wo) had taught me a lot in the time we had together and that we had a great run, but in the end, the universe was telling me in its own mysterious way that it was time for me to move on, because in the end, the universe and its plan for me, for you, for the guy down the street is much larger than any of us can begin to fathom. It’s so much more than a job, a relationship, how much money is in the bank. It’s more than all of us in the world combined.

Yeah, I know. It’s mumbo-jumbo, child of the universe crap and all that, but I sincerely believe it’s true, despite the cynical and more practical side I show to the public. And although I don’t think Max Ehrmann, the author of The Desiderata necessarily had in mind the picture I’ve used to accompany this post, but I really dig it much more than the frou-frou examples I found. This was found at 8images; click on the image for a larger version.

One of the guys actually asked me if I would be moving to be closer to Star and Bar and I answered him more honestly than I thought I would. My options are so open right now that it would be quite easy for me to pick up stakes and get out. As of tomorrow, I’m two years into my five year plan and time, she’s not slowin’ down. I’ll confab with the sister while I’m there and see what she thinks honestly about the pragmatics of the scheme, the express wish we lived closer notwithstanding. One of the big roadblocks is the real estate market and how fast I could unload my condo. Bettie P has suggested renting it out; the sister’s expressed the same idea. But with all the painting I’ve just done and finally liking the villa again, I’m not sure that’s the thing I want to be doing at the moment.

So, I’ll leave you with two lines from Glenn Frey’s song, “Part of Me, Part of You,” which I’m slightly obsessed with at the moment, sort of like when I heard it for the first time in “Thelma and Louise” and then a few years later, when it was, very briefly, the song that * and I considered ours.

We can never know about tomorrow
Still we have to choose which way to go

When I haven’t been rearranging my upcoming trip to see my Star and Bar, drinking coffee or Amaretto or Coke, cleaning off my hard drive and external drive, putting together packages for friends, tweaking SCS ad nauseum, downloading hitherto unknown KaTe music, reacquainting myself with the wonderfulness of the Bangles (thanks, Mike!), deciding this week’s favorite Doctor is William Hartnell, coming to grips with Barbara Wright not being as annoying a companion as I’d previously thought, thinking maybe Ian Chesteron was pretty hot in his own strange way (ditto Barbara on that), reconnecting with old friends and exes, creating accounts for what seems to be every instant messenger program under the sun…plus Twitter and Plaxo, and when those no longer entertained me, lying around doing not much of anything, there’s been a lot of activity going on betwixt my many-times-pierced ears about Friday’s turn of events and what may well have led up to my unceremonious dismissal.

My emm and I talked about the recent change to my fortunes a little on Saturday and I’ve come to the conclusion the events leading up to my rather sudden dismissal had little, if anything to do with fiscal concerns. Quite the contrary, actually…instead, I am more convinced than ever of Pussy Boy’s involvement in the entire thing. Case in point: he has systematically played a shadowy but healthy role in the drastic and heretofore unknown rate of turnover at the factory since he arrived. I know I’ve mentioned that before and I still hold to its veracity. When he felt challenged by someone, it wouldn’t be long before that someone was disappeared. It happened to the old punk, it happened to me, and I know it’s going to happen to someone else before too long.

The old punk told him to his face he didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about and questioned his knowledge in an after-hours meeting one afternoon.

Within two weeks, the old punk was gone, with the parting wisdom that I would be next. For the most part, he was right; I was definitely the next of the “inner sanctum” to be kicked to the curb.

There was no explanation given when the old punk was disappeared. There was no explanation given when The Usual Suspect preceded both of us in disappearing. I wonder if there’s been any explanation about my disappearing? Something tells me there hasn’t been, not to the boys and not to the customers, if my recent conversation with one of them can be counted as across-the-board. And boy, is he pissed about it.

In my case, I think it had more to do with the relationship I had with the customers that threatened him. There were some who would absolutely not speak to anyone but me when placing an order, even if they had to hold on the phone or wait for me to call them back or wait at the counter until I was available. That fact probably irked Pussy Boy to no end, especially when you consider he’s the one who had the practical knowledge of the business and I only had the knowledge of the customers and their trust. Well, when you count how many times I fucked things up and how many times he and the other fucked things up…well…the only way he saw clear to rid himself of the threat I posed was to convince the (wo) I was no longer needed, for financial reasons. Perhaps short-term, yes, that’s true, but in the long run, it’s going to cost more money with me gone than it would have to keep me.

Please. I wasn’t thrown off that goddamn turnip truck yesterday, folks. It dawned early on me the real reason my days were being split between front and back: it was a not-so-obvious way to acclimate the customers to my absence and to lessen the shock for them when I was really and truly gone. So, if my supposition is correct (and I do think it is, despite the paranoiac tone of it all), this had been in the pipe for at least the last month or so.

However, the bigger reason is this: I wasn’t going to kiss anyone’s ass for any reason and Pussy Boy knew it. I was never going to fit in to the new and improved run-by-Pussy Boy factory; oh, sure, I’d play along with the absurdity of it all, while at the same time reveling in a delightfully subversive attitude. I would continue to openly mock management (but not so openly as to be threateningly obvious, really; done in the right way, it’s not something anyone could have called me on). I would continue wearing my combat boots and S! J! S!-inspired sox and fun t-shirts. I would continue to innocently flirt with the shop boys. I would continue leaving for the day at four p.m. on the dot.

What it comes down to is this: I would continue being myself in an environment where, at one time, that was applauded and accepted, but where such audacity is no longer looked upon so favorably. So, it’s good to be freed of a place where it wouldn’t be long before I was forced to conform to the group and its groupthink.

That’s not something I’ve ever done well, anyhow.

With a glass of Amaretto, a frozen pizza in the oven, a terrible movie to watch…and no job on Monday morning.

I got the news at the end of the day: “I’ve had to make some extreme decisions in light of the company’s situation and I’m eliminating your position. Your responsibilities will be absorbed by the others.”

Despite this, I firmly believe it was not just a fiscal decision; I sense Pussy Boy’s hand in this all the way up to his elbow, as it’s been in every other instance of someone being let go since he arrived. And the sentiment on the Anne Taintor piece to the left is very indicative of what I believe was at the heart of my dismissal, and especially when those rules have to do with company ass-kissing.

There had been something funny in the air the last couple of weeks, and even more so today; some will claim I state that in hindsight, but I don’t. From what I was told by another (former) co-worker, she had no idea this was coming until yesterday…that if I just went back to the (wo)’s office and let her explain her reasoning…

Thanks just the same, but I’ll just throw my things into my lunch bag and get the hell out, if it’s all the same to you. And no, you can’t have my keychain. You can have your damn keys and credit cards back, but I’ll be goddamned if you get my keychain. And I’ll empty my little tin of paperclips all over what used to be my fucking desk just because I can.

I was pretty pissed off when I got the word and made no show of hiding it once I was out of the (wo)’s office. Poor Bettie didn’t believe me and so I responded, “Why would I joke about that? She fucking let me go!” quite loudly and not caring a whit Bettie’s desk is practically next to the (wo)’s office. I still don’t care. I did, for a minute when I was talking to BG1; I felt guilty because as much as it pissed me off, I know it was hard for her to do. The sister asked if I wasn’t just making myself feel better and I told her I know the (wo) well enough to see how difficult it was.

There were no tears. I picked my purse up, grabbed the paperwork I’d had with me and said, “Okay,” and walked out. No questions asked, no explanations allowed.

At any rate, I will no doubt pontificate on this at greater length in the near future, but for tonight, I’ve got that pizza to eat and that booze to drink and that movie to watch.

There is no limit to stupidity. Space itself is said to be bounded by its own curvature, but stupidity continues beyond infinity. — Gene Wolf

I don’t know where to begin…I’m trying very hard to not to discuss the factory so much these days; I spend almost half of any given 24-hour period there, five days a week, and I don’t see any need to hump home all the utter absurdity of my days. But sometimes, it even gets to me, this self-imposed lack of discussion regarding the fact my productivity has pretty much plummeted to an all-time low because my days are being split now between front and back; when I’m in the front, I cannot do the back-end work; when I’m in the back, I am officially excused from the front and all responsibilities therein in order to accomplish that back-end work. Unfortunately, the ratio of time allotted for each is a little skewed. Well, maybe it’s more than a little skewed. Front time is 7.5 hours, with an hour for lunch. Back time is 2.5 approved hours. Really, it should be the other way around, for I am falling farther and farther behind in the paperwork side of my job and can’t seem to even catch up with it in order to keep ahead of it.

Those 2.5 approved hours are just that; I suspect if the (wo) knew I was getting to work between 500am and 515am, she wouldn’t be very happy, although I haven’t determined if her unhappiness would be caused by the early hour or the situation. This has been going on for the better part of three weeks now and like I said earlier, it’s not even affording me the luxury of catching up to stay ahead. I’m barely barely barely keeping my head above water as it is and I’ve got seven more days of this trial period. This is the second trial period in the last four weeks; the first attempt was stymied by illnesses hitting my factory mates for multiple days in a row. This second attempt has been sickness-free on all fronts, but I’m still not getting anywhere.

There are some other forces playing into this; whether they are accurate or not I cannot say because I do not know. But I do know I’ve pretty much been moved from my main desk and relocated to two others (where I split my days); that my efficiency has been so reduced by the powers that be causes ugly and fearful thoughts to stream through my head when I allow them to take hold. I’m trying not to do that by losing myself in music during the back time and keeping my head low during the front time.

FEAR: Fuck everything and run.

FEAR: False evidence appearing real.

I think I see evidence of those other forces. I think I hear evidence of those other forces.

Or maybe I’m just fuckin’ paranoid. But something tells me I’m stupid not to be in this situation.

Some days, I pick door number one. Other days, I pick door number two.

Today I picked door number three and abruptly left a meeting at 430pm because I wanted to go home. Luckily it was almost over, anyway, but I didn’t want to sit around and bullshit with the others any longer than would be absolutely necessary.

This is what my dulce niño pequeño Ricardito said to me yesterday, but not in so many words. There’s a bit of a competition there at the factory between Dulce Nino and Casanova for my attention. Casanova fancies himself a ladies man and has always flirted with me terribly, ever since we met. Dulce Nino on the other hand, is terribly shy and has become even more so - something I didn’t think possible - in the last couple of weeks.

They work in two different areas at the factory, but are in plain view of each other throughout the day. When there’s something I need to discuss with Casanova, Dulce Nino watches quite intently and wags his finger at Casanova for standing too close to me. Of course, this is just what Casanova does because he knows he’ll get a reaction. The same holds true when I speak with Dulce Nino, but because he is so shy, he rarely dares to stand too close to me.

Yesterday, Dulce Nino called me over during his break time and asked me to have a taco he’d brought from home. Normally, I would have declined politely for no other reason than not wanting to take food from someone, offered or not. But he looked so hopeful that I couldn’t say anything but yes. It was a simple taco, just a tortilla and some beef, but honestly, it was one of the best tacos I’ve had. When I saw Dulce Nino later, he told me he’d made the taco meat especially for me.

Now, I’m not sure I believe that, but it was still awfully sweet to say.

I’ve taken to wearing fancy socks at the factory, much to the amusement of my factory-mates. These two screen caps illustrate where I got the inspiration, although I do draw the line at camouflage pants with tie-ties at the ankles. I’ll keep to the socks, thanks, and just…um…admire those who wear the camouflage pants with the tie-ties and the pink striped socks at the same time.

In all honesty, the socks themselves are not all that fancy; the fanciest pair is indeed a pair of pink striped socks, although the stripes are pink and white, not a lighter pink and a darker pink, as worn by Miss Smith. Although I eschew the camouflage pants, I do put my own slight military twist to the outfit by combining these lovely, girly socks with my beloved steel-toed combat boots and a pair of jeans with the cuffs rolled up just enough so the socks are just visible when standing, and more than visible when sitting.

Put that together with Leather Kate and a new preferred hairdo, it’s quite a look. Unfortunately, I’m unable to find a picture of that particular inspiration at the moment. I’ll have to search my files, for I think there’s one hiding somewhere.

This screen cap is simply and unabashedly gratuitous, although if you look closely enough, more of the ensemble is visible. But really? It’s only included here because it’s Sarah! Jane! Smith!.

This is the song that keeps me breathing
Under the water a distant light
From Monday morning to Friday night
–Black Box Recorder

I’ve made no mention of the factory in a long time and not because there’s nothing to say. There’s a lot to say and much of it would be sad. Then there’s a lot more to say and much of that would be happy.

First things first, I suppose: things are much better than they were even a month ago, at least for me. PB and I are getting along quite famously these days, which makes the eight hours a day we sit across from each other go that much quicker. I’d forgotten we share the same slightly left-of-center sense of humor; there is a lot of laughter these days, much different than the Buster Keaton I was pulling for a while, i.e. adopting the modern role as Old Stoneface, sans the pratfalls, flat hat, and slapshoes.

He’s taken me into his confidence a few times in the past couple of weeks and surprising to me was when we found some common ground to share when it comes to others’ actions at the factory. I’ve an idea of when and why this change came about and although I am loathe to admit it, my take on it is wrapped up in my (former) astute assistant and her subsequent dismissal.

To counter this is the state of the economy in general and how that is affecting us. It’s not a pretty site at all; there were fourteen employees let go on Friday - without getting into too much detail, the fourteen were not factory employees but part of the larger family. I’m scared there will be more across the larger family, again not the factory per se. Nonetheless, it’s still unnerving. The tension at the factory last week was palpable and I was thankful to have taken Friday off.

My goal is to keep complaining about the factory at an absolute minimum in the newest incarnation of Strange Cousin Susan; this decision is based not so much on fear, as it was one time, but because the constant bitching wasn’t helping a goddamn thing. It didn’t change anything in the least and frankly, it was tiring me out, the constant bad attitude and such. Naturally, there are still some things I find vexing, but in the grand scheme of things, these irritations are inconsequential.

Most things are, aren’t they?