Name That Boss!

It's official. I am over having a crush on Gay Crush/Boss. It's evolved into a nice sibling-like relationship. With a really hot brother. We take turns bringing over the mail that's mis-delivered to our firm to the company next door full of hot British guys.

I've had positions before that involve only working for one attorney, but never one where there's only one other person. When you're only dealing with one other person all day, everything becomes very intense. I'm not that internally sensitive, but very sensitive to other people's moods, to the point that I have to remind myself not to absorb their feelings.

Gay Crush/Boss has been very stressed for the last couple of weeks. One of the things I really like about him is that he's so mentally stable. Not like Turkey, who craved drama to the point of creating it. GC's version of stressed is to say to you, "I'm so stressed. Okay, back to work!"

Seems easy, right? And it is. Truly. Though I could feel the stress rolling off GC in waves. I put off ordering some supplies we need. Didn't mention how close he is to bumping up against his credit limit on the company credit card. Made sure to search for promo codes before any purchases.

Then on Thursday, there was a glimmer of hope. The glimmer was supposed to arrive at 5pm. The time my workday ends. I was hanging around the office though, and told GC in no uncertain terms that I wanted to be there for this, but he shouldn't pay me overtime. What good is hiring a friend if they won't help you out sometimes, right? Besides, GC created summer hours, which means from Memorial Day through Labor Day, the firm closes at 3pm on Fridays. So if I "give back" those two hours one week, it's not a big deal.

As if Thursday wasn't enough, on Friday that glimmer turned into ... more than a glimmer. The veil of stress has distinctly lifted. I have a list of things to propose we order. This is such a relief.

You know what else is a big relief? That this is how work problems go now. It's as if we're rational adults who are capable of handling any problems that come up. I never feel like I'm working around GC, like I was with Turkey. There's no manipulation. It's beautiful.

*Whoever comes up with a good name for Gay Crush will win my appreciation, a mention on the blog, plus I'll link to any good cause you like.

Menches Shake Hands

*There is no word for female menches.

A hundred years ago I was at the library we used in New York, when I witnessed a fight. A couple was there, an old man had done something to upset the woman, and the husband was screaming at the old man. It upset me, and apparently, stayed with me. I love the library, and I want everyone to be in their happy place when they're in my happy place. These were grown adults! And the younger guy was threatening to beat up the old man! How could it be that adults couldn't resolve whatever the problem was, verbally? 

On Saturday I went to Trader Joe's after volunteering. I was standing near the strawberries when I became aware of a man with a little girl around the age of five standing behind me. Another man had gone up to him, and there was a weird tension in the air, which I think is what made me notice them.

Apparently the father cut the other guy off in the parking lot, and the response the father got was a finger and some screaming. The guy had come over to apologize. Except that in the midst of apologizing he tried to justify why he'd done what he had. The father tried to thank the guy for apologizing while also defending what he'd done too.

It could have dissolved at that point. Magically, they somehow managed to come back around to the fact that one guy walked over to apologize, and the father was able to appreciate this and even apologized for his part, and they shook hands. I was pleased.

While at work today I called the leasing office to inquire after my sink, and mentioned to the guy how upsetting it was to be accused of having caused the problem. He assured me they knew I hadn't caused it, and in fact had figured out what went wrong and how to fix it. He apologized that I'd been accused, and I thanked him for that.

Tonight I got home from work to find that my bathroom was fixed. The pipe had been repaired. The floor was cleaned of sludge. They even noticed loose tiles in my shower and repaired those. Grossly, they'd put the basket of tampons and makeup bags that had gotten sludge on them back into the cabinet under the sink. But. Still. The sludge was gone. I wet-Swiftered the floor, and cleaned the sink with my cleaning stuff.

A little after 8 p.m. there was a knock at my door. It was Ole' Nudey. He told me he was here to apologize that he'd made me feel like he thought I'd caused the pipe to burst. That he knew I hadn't. Ole' Nudey looked nervous. I thanked him for saying that, and added that emotions were running high yesterday, from being surprised with such a big, unexpected mess, and I was sorry too, if I'd taken out my frustration on him. Ole' Nudey thanked me back, and reiterated his sorries. I thought of the Trader Joe's guys, and promptly realized I should offer to shake Ole' Nudey's hand. He's like 70, and very old school, so exactly the type of guy who would see significant meaning in a hand shake. I stuck my hand out and smiled. We shook hands, and I wished him a good night. He wished me a good night. Then Ole' Nudey walked off, towards his apartment, where I assume he got naked.

The Church of Later Day Saints and banks always do commercials about paying kindnesses forward. Nobody's ever done a commercial about apologizing, or accepting an apology. They should. The Trader Joe's guys helped me.

Hi. Can I Come Over?

... to use your bathroom? I came home from work today and thought nothing of it when I heard what sounded like the people who live above me taking a shower.

The sound of rushing water sounded a little different, but I remembered my bathroom window was still open from my shower this morning (my attempt to combat mold since there's no bathroom fan), and figured maybe the upstairs neighbors had their window open too. That could be why the water sound was different, right?

Wrong. I glanced into my bathroom and saw, well, what you see to the right. It's all over the floor. I promptly freaked out, called my landlord, listened to the outgoing voice mail message to get the phone number for the nudist handyman who lives in the building, and called him. It was about 6:15 in the evening.

Ole' Nudey was not pleased to be interrupted. But I begged and implored him! My bathroom is unusable! That won't do. Plus, this is exactly the type of thing you're supposed to call him about. I wasn't calling to say a light bulb was out, or that my neighbors were being annoying. I was calling to say there's a flood of sludge all over my bathroom floor and I can't tell where it's coming from (and I have to pee)!

So Ole' Nudey puts down his blunt, puts on his clothes (maybe that happened in the opposite order; I wasn't there) and comes up to my apartment. He peaks into the bathroom after I point towards it, and asks me, "What happened?"

"I have no idea! I just came home from work and saw this and then promptly called you." Ole' Nudey proceeded to repeatedly accuse me of tampering with the piping underneath the sink. Bitch, please. I fucking wash my hands for 30 seconds any time I accidentally bump my hand against the pipes getting anything. I would never purposely touch pipes! Can he not SEE how prissy I am? Why on earth would I futz around with pipes? That's just utter and complete crazy-talk!

This is the same guy who kept accusing me of flushing tampons down my toilet (never) when the real problem was there wasn't enough water pressure when I first moved here. I don't know if it's me, or Ole' Nudey is this accusatory with everyone, but it infuriates me. Any time I have to interact with this guy he accuses me of causing the problem. 

Ole' Nudey's solution to my bathroom problem was to go to the apartment below and next to me to tell my neighbors not to use their bathroom sink until tomorrow. Oh, and to tell me he'll have somebody come by tomorrow to fix my sink. So I should just not use my bathroom at all until after it's all been fixed tomorrow. Because I have no problem going more than 12 hours without peeing. Ole' Nudey suggested I just use my kitchen sink instead of my bathroom sink. If there are guys peeing into their sinks, I don't want to know about it. I'll just take this moment to let you know that I have never in my life peed into any sink of any kind. Once, I went to this girl Juliet's house and we went to a nearby playground. I needed to pee and she tried to tell me to go in the bushes but I wouldn't, and she got angry at having to bring me back to her house.

My friend came over and calmed me down. She then bravely stepped INTO THE SLUDGE (and as she pointed out, let's all appreciate that as gross as it is, at least it's sink sludge and not toilet sludge) to lay down about half a dozen plastic garbage bags so I can at least step into the bathroom on top of the bags to use my toilet until I get to work tomorrow. In the top picture you can see the bags along the bottom third of it.

The second picture is a makeup bag formerly kept in a basket formerly kept under the sink, that now has sink sludge all over it. It will all be thrown out. As will the bathmat which got sink sludge in it too. As horrible as this is, I am so relieved to be in a place financially where throwing out something doesn't make me cry, and having to replace something doesn't cause a panic.

Okay. So. If you need me, I'll be rocking back and forth in my chair and trying not to scratch the hives that have popped up on the insides of my wrists. To think these fuckers are raising my rent in July.

Four

Last week I got together with the Wasp lawyer for lunch.  Wasp told me Turkey is on his fourth secretary since me. So in four months, he's gone through four people. What is there to say about that except that the problem working for Turkey wasn't me?

Wasp also shared that as crazy as Turkey was when I was working with him, he's even more crazy now. When he owned his own law firm, nobody ever really went up against him, because he could fire them. Turkey loved that. He thrives on drama, and always pushed things as far as possible, just to watch and see how people would go crazy trying to fix his mistakes or his intentional throwing of them under the bus.

Apparently a few weeks ago, Turkey told his new (third?) secretary at the new firm that he needed some original document from our building manager, and he needed it urgently. I guarantee you that what happened is that two months prior, Turkey's insurance company or someone let him know they needed this thing, and he chose to wait until the day after the deadline before announcing his need to the secretary. Urgently, because that's his favorite word.

The secretary called our building manager and asked, "Would you walk it over?" Turkey's new law firm is about a half mile from his old one. The building manager laughed and answered, "No. Either you can come pick it up today, or I will put it in the mail to you today." It was soon after that day that she announced her refusal to work for Turkey anymore.

Four months, four people. And yes, when I came back from that lunch I went straight into GC/Boss's office to tell him the news, and thanked him again for hiring me.