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farewell acronym company
Jan. 20th, 2004 01:45 amWhich is to say: My last day at the soul-sucking job at Acronym Company was Friday and ever since my soul (if not my hips) has felt twenty pounds lighter. I walked out of there Friday night over an hour late, but I had finished up all of the things I felt needed finishing, and had effecively cleaned up or hidden all the messes I'd created, so when I stepped into the wind-tunnel that was the company parking lot at that hour, I practically skipped and yelled for joy. And then I called Annie on my cell phone and bellowed into her ear for a few minutes, in a conversation that consisted mostly of the following:
Me: Annie!
Annie: Hello! What?
Me: It's Jess! I'm done with the evil job!
Annie: WHAT?? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!
Me: I'M DONE WITH ACRONYM COMPANY!
Annie: WHAT?? WHERE IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU CALLING FROM, A TURBINE?
Anyway, the important thing is, I'M DONE, and my poor successor will have to deal with the six customer service positions advertised in the newspaper this weekend. OMG, applications will be coming in through the WINDOWS and I will not have to sort/log/test/do ANYTHING with regard to them. This is so awesome.
On my last day they had a little luncheon in my honor, where they thanked me for my help, and asked me about my plans, and generally made me feel uncomfortable because (a) I hate being the center of attention, and (b) I hate being asked about my plans (mostly because I have none). It was nice but I generally like to slink out of office situations unnoticed. But S. my cubicle neighbor gave me a going-away gift of M&Ms and Candy Canes (she knows me SO WELL!), and she was a cool person I may keep in touch with, so, you know, happy ending there.
Also, I'M DONE!!! NO MORE PACKING UP FIRED EMPLOYEES' BELONGINGS! WHOOT WHOOT!
Now I just have to deal with the lack of cashflow. Whatev. I have no life, ergo, few expenses.
**This LJ entry is interrupted for the following news break**
It has just been brought to my attention that Justin Timberlake and Lionel Richie will be co-hosting 'Motown 45' - some kind of music clips show. Dude. LIONEL RICHIE AND JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE! This is CLEARLY a sign that one or both of them are trying to get my attention because, seriously? LIONEL RICHIE AND JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE! Of all of the music celebrities of past and present, Justin is going to co-host with the ONE MUSIC PERSONALITY OTHER THAN JC CHASEZ I HAVE AS AN LJ ICON!! Clearly this is a subtle signal to me, one that says, "Jessica, my darling, our time is almost here. Be prepared to move at a moment's notice. Cameron can be sent packing within the hour once I give my signal. The dog barks at midnight. And every time I sign Senorita, I *am* singing to you, my little Black Irish Temptress*."
*Hey, we Black Irish *are* theoretically of Spanish descent. Justin is merely reaching out to me in the language of my (possible) distant ancestors!
Or, you know, maybe their agents just got together and decided it would be a good way to cross generational boundaries or something.
**This concludes the news (and disturbing window into Jess's psyche) bulletin**
My brother went back to school today, and my father had to go down to the City for an arbitration, so he decided to just drop Jimmy back at college on the way. Which is, you know, a sensible plan, if you're not aware of the players involved. We have:
JIMMY JOE: Patriarch, fearless leader, wearer of boleros and velcro Wal-Mart sneakers.
JIMMY CY: Son, brewer, boy who still forgets to brush his teeth on occasion.
PEG: Long-suffering wife and mother.
JESS: Daughter, sister, innocent bystander.
Anyway! Because my mother thinks my brother and father (and, well, me, on occasion) have the observational and planning skills of a well-trained monkey, she spent the bulk of the day shouting, about how my father's stuff should be in the backseat and my brother's stuff in the trunk. Oh, and also telling us that my brother's stuff should be in the trunk and my father's stuff in the backseat. Oh, and my father's stuff? In the backseat, so that my brother's could be in the trunk.
Naturally, the two boys put one of my father's bags in the trunk, so that my brother, while unpacking the trunk, left it next to the car in the parking lot of his college, thinking that my father would see it before leaving for the city. Of course, he didn't. Neither did anyone else, save campus security two hours later, who arrived knocking on my brother's dorm room door with the bag in hand, after tracing it back to my brother due to the small nametag attached to it (by, of course, my mother).
My brother, naturally, called my mother and since my father recently narrowly cheated death after a brutal car accident, he began the conversation with, "Mom, I have some really bad news."
My mother, after recovering from the near-coronary, promptly flipped out at my brother for both the news he brought and the way he relayed it. Then followed about three hours of my mother desperately trying to get a hold of my father at his hotel, and planning some way for my father to get the bag before the next day because, this wasn't just any ole bag. This was the bag with my father's shoes, and ties, and underwear, and, oh yeah, MY LAPTOP which he had borrowed for the week.
I got on the phone with my brother when I arrived home to find my mother mid-freakout re: the whole situation, and thanked him for taking such care of my one worldly possession. Left it in a parking lot! For hours! My little laptop!
Anyway. We finally got a hold of my father at his hotel after about an hour and a half of trying, and getting to know the lady manning the phones at his hotel very well, only to have the following conversation:
Dad: (in his Most Annoyed Voice) HELLO!
Me: Dad, listen, Jimmy has –
Dad: I HAVE TO GO! I'LL CALL YOU BACK!
Me: Wait, it's about –
Dad: (click)
I hung up and stared at my mother, both of us realizing that at this point, (a) my father has realized the bag is lost, and (b) is angry about it, but (c) has not realized that he left it at my brother's. So I frantically called back, only to get no answer. I pictured my father tearing through the trunk and backseat of his car, frantic, only to realize I had seriously undersold my father's craziness, for when my mother finally got on the phone with him ten minutes later and told him my brother had the bag, there was this awful five-second pause before my father said, "Oh my God, I have to go, I accused the bellhop guy of losing it and I've got the entire hotel staff LOOKING FOR THIS BAG! I was about to THREATEN TO SUE! Call you back."
And then he disappeared again.
Anyway, my father smoothed over the ruffled feathers with the hotel staff, and after a few frantic phone calls it was arranged that my brother will go down to deliver the bag after his class tomorrow (my father will have to shop for underwear/razor/other assorted goodies in the hotel gift shop for tomorrow), and then the fearless Jim Squared Duo will go out to dinner. "To celebrate our stupidity," my father said. In our family, everything gets celebrated with a dinner out, from birthdays to surviving the workweek to forgetting important pieces of luggage. A nice tradition, I think.
Me: Annie!
Annie: Hello! What?
Me: It's Jess! I'm done with the evil job!
Annie: WHAT?? I CAN'T HEAR YOU!!
Me: I'M DONE WITH ACRONYM COMPANY!
Annie: WHAT?? WHERE IN GOD'S NAME ARE YOU CALLING FROM, A TURBINE?
Anyway, the important thing is, I'M DONE, and my poor successor will have to deal with the six customer service positions advertised in the newspaper this weekend. OMG, applications will be coming in through the WINDOWS and I will not have to sort/log/test/do ANYTHING with regard to them. This is so awesome.
On my last day they had a little luncheon in my honor, where they thanked me for my help, and asked me about my plans, and generally made me feel uncomfortable because (a) I hate being the center of attention, and (b) I hate being asked about my plans (mostly because I have none). It was nice but I generally like to slink out of office situations unnoticed. But S. my cubicle neighbor gave me a going-away gift of M&Ms and Candy Canes (she knows me SO WELL!), and she was a cool person I may keep in touch with, so, you know, happy ending there.
Also, I'M DONE!!! NO MORE PACKING UP FIRED EMPLOYEES' BELONGINGS! WHOOT WHOOT!
Now I just have to deal with the lack of cashflow. Whatev. I have no life, ergo, few expenses.
It has just been brought to my attention that Justin Timberlake and Lionel Richie will be co-hosting 'Motown 45' - some kind of music clips show. Dude. LIONEL RICHIE AND JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE! This is CLEARLY a sign that one or both of them are trying to get my attention because, seriously? LIONEL RICHIE AND JUSTIN TIMBERLAKE! Of all of the music celebrities of past and present, Justin is going to co-host with the ONE MUSIC PERSONALITY OTHER THAN JC CHASEZ I HAVE AS AN LJ ICON!! Clearly this is a subtle signal to me, one that says, "Jessica, my darling, our time is almost here. Be prepared to move at a moment's notice. Cameron can be sent packing within the hour once I give my signal. The dog barks at midnight. And every time I sign Senorita, I *am* singing to you, my little Black Irish Temptress*."
*Hey, we Black Irish *are* theoretically of Spanish descent. Justin is merely reaching out to me in the language of my (possible) distant ancestors!
Or, you know, maybe their agents just got together and decided it would be a good way to cross generational boundaries or something.
My brother went back to school today, and my father had to go down to the City for an arbitration, so he decided to just drop Jimmy back at college on the way. Which is, you know, a sensible plan, if you're not aware of the players involved. We have:
JIMMY JOE: Patriarch, fearless leader, wearer of boleros and velcro Wal-Mart sneakers.
JIMMY CY: Son, brewer, boy who still forgets to brush his teeth on occasion.
PEG: Long-suffering wife and mother.
JESS: Daughter, sister, innocent bystander.
Anyway! Because my mother thinks my brother and father (and, well, me, on occasion) have the observational and planning skills of a well-trained monkey, she spent the bulk of the day shouting, about how my father's stuff should be in the backseat and my brother's stuff in the trunk. Oh, and also telling us that my brother's stuff should be in the trunk and my father's stuff in the backseat. Oh, and my father's stuff? In the backseat, so that my brother's could be in the trunk.
Naturally, the two boys put one of my father's bags in the trunk, so that my brother, while unpacking the trunk, left it next to the car in the parking lot of his college, thinking that my father would see it before leaving for the city. Of course, he didn't. Neither did anyone else, save campus security two hours later, who arrived knocking on my brother's dorm room door with the bag in hand, after tracing it back to my brother due to the small nametag attached to it (by, of course, my mother).
My brother, naturally, called my mother and since my father recently narrowly cheated death after a brutal car accident, he began the conversation with, "Mom, I have some really bad news."
My mother, after recovering from the near-coronary, promptly flipped out at my brother for both the news he brought and the way he relayed it. Then followed about three hours of my mother desperately trying to get a hold of my father at his hotel, and planning some way for my father to get the bag before the next day because, this wasn't just any ole bag. This was the bag with my father's shoes, and ties, and underwear, and, oh yeah, MY LAPTOP which he had borrowed for the week.
I got on the phone with my brother when I arrived home to find my mother mid-freakout re: the whole situation, and thanked him for taking such care of my one worldly possession. Left it in a parking lot! For hours! My little laptop!
Anyway. We finally got a hold of my father at his hotel after about an hour and a half of trying, and getting to know the lady manning the phones at his hotel very well, only to have the following conversation:
Dad: (in his Most Annoyed Voice) HELLO!
Me: Dad, listen, Jimmy has –
Dad: I HAVE TO GO! I'LL CALL YOU BACK!
Me: Wait, it's about –
Dad: (click)
I hung up and stared at my mother, both of us realizing that at this point, (a) my father has realized the bag is lost, and (b) is angry about it, but (c) has not realized that he left it at my brother's. So I frantically called back, only to get no answer. I pictured my father tearing through the trunk and backseat of his car, frantic, only to realize I had seriously undersold my father's craziness, for when my mother finally got on the phone with him ten minutes later and told him my brother had the bag, there was this awful five-second pause before my father said, "Oh my God, I have to go, I accused the bellhop guy of losing it and I've got the entire hotel staff LOOKING FOR THIS BAG! I was about to THREATEN TO SUE! Call you back."
And then he disappeared again.
Anyway, my father smoothed over the ruffled feathers with the hotel staff, and after a few frantic phone calls it was arranged that my brother will go down to deliver the bag after his class tomorrow (my father will have to shop for underwear/razor/other assorted goodies in the hotel gift shop for tomorrow), and then the fearless Jim Squared Duo will go out to dinner. "To celebrate our stupidity," my father said. In our family, everything gets celebrated with a dinner out, from birthdays to surviving the workweek to forgetting important pieces of luggage. A nice tradition, I think.
