There are these three men at work, keeping in mind that all the men there are dominant by nature and all quite vanilla - I think, but the other day Tom said something that surprised the hell out of me and for future reference I'll just call these quotes from "
Then today our newly promoted to Vice-Pres Boss hauls everyone into the conference room (¹the subject is something I want to bring up later) so we're all sitting around, bull-shitting and Jessie walks in, eyes the leather chair and immediately claims it. Tom says "so you like that leather chair eh?", Jessie replies "Oh I love leather, I'd be dripping in it if I could".
What can I say huh? Nothing because the non-vanilla response would probaly have my ass fired for sexual harassment. So I have to keep my mouth shut and smile because I ain't got nuthin' better to do. AWWW COME ON GODDESS GIVE ME A BREAK,
Well, work has been hell lately. I showed up dripping wet from the rain 15 minutes late because the bus I usually take didn't show up this morning. I sat down and did my job for four hours and convinced one person to post date a check with me. This is not good sign because I need at least 4.8 checks a day just to make check goal by the end of the month but usually have four checks by lunchtime. Things perked up later in the afternoon and I ended the day with convincing 8 people to work our system and do what is necessary to keep us happy but god this job stresses me out. I never considered myself a sales person at all. Just imagining those greasy car salesmen lurking around hungry for a deal makes me want to cringe but after careful thought I figured out what this job is not collections but sales. We are selling them the right to be late with a promise; the catch is the promise is secured with a routing number and account number. The stressful part is convincing them to do something they don't want to do and there are a few occasions where I feel guilty. Like when I'm calling Grandma, disturbing her cooking-baking-time to ask where her mortgage payment is. The conversation usually goes something like this.. "oh dear, I didn't realize I was late, I've been so forgetful since Joseph passed away. Can you hold a moment while I get my checkbook? I want to die. Oh yea, like today this is exactly what happened. I called this woman at home about her car payment being due. She too had forgotten and is trying to stay organized yet grieve at the same time. What am I supposed to say, "damn I'm sorry to hear about your loss, I hope things look up for you soon and by the way what’s that routing number?" I hate HAVING to be a cold hearted bitch, HATE IT, HATE IT, HATE IT. I don’t fucking care that I get paid a shit load of money I hate how I feel at the end of the day. I cannot wait until I get to a point in my life that I don’t have to work for a corporation anymore. At that very opportunity I’m going to wear a strap-on into work, walk up to Mr. Assistant Vice-Pres, tell him where to shove his dress code policy, suck my cock and quit. *thank you, I got that out, I feel so much better* I much prefer being a cold hearted bitch when and how I want to, speaking of which......
¹ Speaking of lead pipes to the head, the Boss called a meeting to basically let us know that we need to work twice as hard to reduce our delinquency to their desired level in 6 business days. Even tho I ranked 2nd best on my team for lowest delinquency I couldn’t help but comment out loud “oh I’m depressed”. The Boss looked at me and asked why. Being the quick thinker that I am I said that I hadn’t met the goal yet. He mumbled under his breath something about not worrying about that, to let them worry about that; mumble, mumble. But in my head I’m already calculating how many widowed grandmothers I need brow-beat for a payment. There is a silver lining to this cloud in that I’m getting some much needed bitch training. Trust me I need this.
² The day I started to like Jessie was when he showed up for work a week straight almost bent over double in back pain. It took him twice as long to walk anywhere, even to the bathroom; because every step was like a knife see-sawing excruciatingly slow through red and tender flesh. It was painful to even watch him walk and I offered to give him a ride to his car. He said no, of course, pride goeth before pain for a dominant, but I kept prodding and prodding. The next day I asked to give him a ride and still the answer was no. Ever since that day we’ve been cool with each other.