The Morning Commute

"Oh, honey, it's 8:16!"

Though my brain didn't immediately connect that I was supposed to be at work in 14 minutes, I knew I was in trouble and replied with the appropriate "F*ck." I then snuggled back down for a second, let out a sigh and realized that I had to unwrap myself from D's arms, get out of the incredibly comfortable bed, and dash off to my dead-end job.

After another gentle urge from D my feet fell out of the bed, then my legs, hips, torso, and finally (after a little more rest on the pillow) my head. I wandered over, pulled on my clothes, slapped on some make-up haphazardly and rehearsed in my head what my message to my boss would be. I decided being straight-up truthful and adding an ETA would be best. D packed me a bag of fruit for breakfast, made sure all my things were in my bags and I finally dashed out the door.

I called my boss and explained I'd overslept, was on my way, would be in a little before, or at, 9. It was smooth sailing for the first five minutes of my drive until I came upon a truck that had ice on top of it. At every bend, turn, and curve large chunks of said ice would fly off the top of the truck and come at my windshield with terrifying speed and force. I desperately wanted to pass this guy. Images of a large chunk of ice sailing through my windshield, hitting me in the face and causing a huge accident kept flashing through my mind (I am terrified of driving) as I cursed the asshole Acura in front of me for not speeding up just a few mph (he was driving flush with the front of terrifying truck) so I could pass this death trap.

Finally I made it around the life-hazard of a truck only to run smack into the only traffic around this morning. I crawled for a mile, once again cursing all of those in front of me for not driving like I do. I made it into work, feeling utterly disheveled and slightly disoriented. I didn't have my tea, I'm fairly certain my hair is a mess (I've not really looked at a mirror), I'm wearing what I've dubbed my "grandma sweater," my head is pounding, and I've not a thing to do but sit and worry about LSATs. The irony of it is that, although I have absolutely NOTHING going on, I cannot pull out my LSAT book and practice because I'm expected to be working. If I am on the computer it kind of looks like I'm doing something (and I am, I'm blogging!). A giant book open to a page with a problem about which people can play what positions on the basketball team looks much less like my work. *Sigh* Saturday February 2nd will be a day to celebrate (done with LSATs).

I walked into work in the middle of our "Monday morning meeting." This usually consists of our boss just saying a few things about any special promotions we have going on and need to sell, asking if we have any problems, and that's about it. Today I walked into a veritable hornet's nest as my coworker, Pearl, was "fighting" with my boss about some web thing we have to do. Pearl, and most of the other ladies with whom I work, is a widow, probably in her 60s or 70s. Internet is a confusing beast for these women. I spend lots of time trying to show them how to use certain web pages. A typical interaction goes a little something like this:

"Faye, I need your help."

"Alright, what can I do for you?"

"How do I find ____?"

"Well, first go to our website [I tell them the web address, watch them type it incorrectly, gently correct them, watch them type it incorrectly again, correct them again, they give up and I type it]. Then you have to scroll down to where you see the ___ icon."

"Scroll down? What do you mean "scroll down?" Where is that? How do I do that?"

Eye roll, big internal sigh, "See that bar on the right side of the page? No, no. The far right. Yes, that's it! Put your cursor on that, click and hold and then pull your mouse down towards you. Yes! That's it! Ok. Now, click the ____ icon..."

"Huh? What? Icon? Click?"

Sharp, long inhale, "That picture on the right hand side? That's the icon. You want to click on it and then wait until you're transferred to the page..."

"Huh?"

"Just click it!" I'm always pretty proud that it takes me this long to snap.

Click. "It's just white now! What do I do?!"

"You wait. It will come up...there! See? Ok, now you want to enter the information into the indicated fields..."

"Huh?"

"Where it says "phone number" you type in the phone number. Where it says "first name" you type in the first name, etc."

"Oh! Oh I see! [insert coworker's name here] did you see that? I know how to do this now! Oh you're so smart, Faye. Thanks hun!"

I slink back to my own computer.

Fin

So Pearl is fighting with my boss about having to sell an internet ad space as well as space in the paper. Apparently this is too complicated. My boss goes on to give a speech about how if we do not "get with the times" and start utilizing the internet more efficiently/effectively the entire paper will fold, we'll all be laid off, the world will come crashing to a firey end, etc. This is typical of our Monday morning meetings. Every week we get to hear about how if we don't sell ad space the whole paper will come tumbling down around us and we'll all be fired. We're reminded that we'll be fired on an almost daily basis. And it's not just my boss. Many times the other advertising director will saunter over and give us another doom and gloom speech. It's really great for morale.

Is it any wonder I'm looking for another job?