- M and I have this problem with wearing the similar-styled clothing, although when the bulk of the clothing that the both of you own are screenprinted tee-shirts and jeans, matching is unavoidable. He didn’t have to wear the blue and yellow though. The other person in the mailroom didn’t get the memo, so nobody had to say “awwwww, triplets!” instead of the “awwwwwwwww twins!” thing we got every time somebody saw us together. It didn’t even matter if I wore my jacket over the shirt, because my jacket was black like his shoes so that when standing together, we looked even more like a bad his-and-hers collection at the preteen section at Sears. It’s a little bit ridiculous when this is the third time something like this has occurred so the both of us were more “aw, fuck” than “cuuuuuute” like the first time.
- I hate working in the mailroom. I’ve never hated my job more than when I was stuck working in the mailroom on end. I think my boss, who is otherwise very nice and fair to me when I’m working in the copy room, just hates everybody on the other side of the wall. Like maybe if I jumped to the other side for a second while she lectured, maybe it wouldn’t sound as harsh and eyeroll-inducing.
- My ass hurts. My arms hurt. And I tripped over the boxes camping lying around the floor twice, both times in front of Asshole Cowoker who just smirked at me because he knows how much I hate working in the mailroom. Except its not much better working in the copy room when he just makes everything difficult. So I laughed it off like a pro. Plus, I’d laugh at myself if I saw somebody like me trying to keep her balance after tripping over the same box twice too. I looked pretty silly. Furthermore, my twin was right behind me tossing the mail, so it’s kind of like watching somebody’s reflection in the mirror and the reflection is a total clutz.
- I’m working there now because: a) there was an issue with the mailroom being one person short at all time (the budget problem makes it so that no new employees can be hired), b) one of them has been out for about a month because she’s ancient, sick, and lives on a diet of bacon, cigarettes, and generic brand Code Red soda (not like it matters, since she just creates problems and slows everybody else down), c) somebody messed up and two people out of the remaining four went on vacation. Meaning that out of a full staff of six plus a student, only two remained for the whole week.
- I probably have no right to complain, since I was only there twice out of the whole week, where the other two were on their own for the entirety of the time.
- My supervisor doesn’t help much either. She panics when things look a little complicated and goes into her full out, supervisor-tron mode. Only she doesn’t exactly trust the three of us to do the work properly, when her method of doing work jut confuses the hell out of everybody. Plus, it’s incredibly frustrating when we’re trying to get our work done and she’s asking all sorts of irrelevant questions to “help” us. Uuuuuugh. She doesn’t do this when I’m on the other side of the wall, home in the copy room, no. In the copy room, she doesn’t get in our way and helps us when we’re having issues with the supplies, time constraints, or stuck up secretaries. And sadly, I think its because nobody but the employees of the copy room knows how to work the machines. However in the mailroom . . . the rest of the staff have screwed up so many times and have gotten in so many petty arguments (not the two that were with me) that my boss does need to treat them like children. It’s not her fault. I just don’t like being treated like a child when I’ve demonstrated numerous times that I can handle things both in the copy room and in the mailroom. I’m young and I dress like my 38-year-old coworker, but that shouldn’t be my downfall.
- The worst thing? Things won’t pick up when the other employees get back. It will be back to the arguments over who-fucked-up-because-they-weren’t-paying-attention, finger pointing, and yelling. Point gun at the jugular. Pull the trigger. But hopefully by then, work picks up in the copy room so I can go back. Despite the fact that I enjoy the My Bloody Valentine coming from M’s speakers more than I enjoy the crappy elevator jazz on the other side of the wall, I would much rather listen to that for the remainder of my time at the DOJ than be forced to work in the mailroom for longer than I have to.
- By the way, I’m so fucking out of it that I dated the picture above “August 14, 2008″ without even realizing it, but since it looks like a 9, I’m not going to bother changing it.