Back to the Blech

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

 
Today was my first day back at work after a week and a day away.  The week and the day were as glorious as you might imagine when I tell you that they were really glorious, and the return was as miserable as you might imagine when I tell you to read any blog post I've ever posted.  I tried to think of a good metaphor for how my vacation was like work... The obnoxiously persistent mosquitoes as my immediate boss, the constant threat of sunburn as her frightening wrath.  When I reached the point, though, of suggesting something about the dead tarantula I saw on the ground outside a Belizean cave being like my hopes and dreams it seemed the metaphor was getting too thin.  Or depressing.  Either way.

So, after wishing unsuccessfully that I forgot how to get to my office and could call in lost and get everyone worried that I had gone totally loopy a la Kelly Bensimon on Real Housewives which I caught up on after too long away, I made it to work this morning and checked my work e-mail for the first time to find that our network celebrated a big anniversary during the week that my coworkers and I were away.  In the spirit of celebration, each day there was some treat for everyone in the building.  You know, the building I wasn't in for once.  Free coffee, free ice cream, free cake; my e-mail cataloged the delight of the day for each day that I was away.  As a small consolation, however, there was a red, plastic, network anniversary commemorative cup waiting for me on my desk this morning.  And another e-mail in the midst of the daily treats one that asked all employees building-wide to please stop watering/dumping out plants in the bathroom sinks.  So at least I know it wasn't all fun while I was away.  (Incidentally- Doesn't everyone just get succulents and then never water them and then say that they're surprised when the plants die?  I can't be alone in this charade.)

Then this afternoon we had a long meeting where we all heard about doing better at stuff.  Where's my job where the assignment that we all have to do better at is longing to be back on a beers-before-noon-style vacation?  That I'm very good at.  Very.

"You Better Belize It" Is a Bad Pun

From an unnamed production office for an undisclosed television show in an address-withheld building in LA where the elevators are shockingly slow...

Ten days from now, I'm going to Belize.  Belize!  The real place and not a frat infested LA club named that which, as far as I know, doesn't exist but I can totally picture that it would and there would be rum and "Rain Forest Wet T-Shirt" contests on Wednesdays or whatever, and if by chance someone dragged me there I would look critically at the other girls and call them ruins, like Mayan ruins, which is why it would be funny.  But no- I'm going to the real and glorious country of Belize where my boss can't even e-mail me if she really, really needs something because this underpaid worker is shutting off her cell phone and all e-mails with it when she goes because that international plan stuff is way too expensive to pay for when all I anticipate getting is my daily Groupon e-mail.   

The problem, however, about being so excited to go on vacation is that I am so excited to go on vacation!  Like, so excited that I'm not getting anything done all day except deciding which dresses to pack and reading about sandwiches I could be eating... Eating on a beach!  The other problem with being so excited about this impending delight is that I sit in a room all day with people who are not going to Belize and so are already done listening to me talk about Belize, and also they don't even know anything about Belize so what could I possibly want with them anyway?  They're doing things during our time off like going to visit their families or bravely hiking a difficult trail for a week... But guess what: There are families and walking in Belize, and also that's where Belize is!

So, from now until ten days from now, every assignment I half-ass, and every Scrabble letter I play aren't for nothing.  No.  They are getting me one half-assed assignment and one Scrabble letter closer to a relaxing vacation where I don't have those kinds of stresses.  Hallelujah.

Vacation, all I ever wanted

From an unnamed university in the greater San Francisco Bay Area...

My officemate always tells me not to check my email when I'm away from the office, but I always do it against my better judgment. 99% of the time, there is nothing that can't wait until I'm back in the office. And when there is an emergency, my time off is spoiled because I'm emailing/on the phone trying to solve whatever problem has arisen in my absence.

Today, when I checked my email, there were no unforseen problems, just run of the mill type inquiries that can definitely wait until I'm back, but my day is nonetheless spoiled by an email from a denied applicant's father, calling me a racist.

Apparently, there is no way his son could have been denied admission to our program unless there was a clerical error or blatant discrimination going on, and either way, that's my fault. He points out that his son got admitted to a program that is, in his eyes, superior to ours, proving once and for all that his son is perfect and we are jerks.

So though I am drafting a polite and professional response to send back, I will write to you what I would really like to say to this man.

Dear Mr. Jackass,

Your son is now considered an adult in the eyes of the US government, our university, and people who can sell pornography, if not alcohol. It is no longer appropriate to write letters on his behalf. I know you think your son is a beauitful and unique snowflake, but the truth is he's just not good enough for us. I'm glad he's good enough for other programs and I hope he does great there, because we took a nice, long look at his qualifications compared to those of other applicants and decided we didn't want him. Deal with it.

And finally, I don't actually think that you think we're racists, but instead think that you're trying to scare me into offering your son admission into program lest you decide to sue or otherwise "expose" us for our discriminatory practices, but the joke's on you asshole because Prop 209 doesn't allow us to take race into consideration when making admissions decisions. You say you hope we make our decisions based solely upon qualifications, well we do, and that's what kept your son from getting admitted. Sorry.

Get over yourself,
S