Membership to Club Wed

I am engaged.  Yes, it’s true.  You heard it here…approximately five months after the fact.  I’m nothing, if not timely.

Planning a wedding is quite possibly the most irritating adventure thus far in my life.  That’s saying something!  I’ve dressed as a pirate for charity, I’ve been locked in and out of offices, I’ve worked in a deserted basement.  I’ve been managed by a religious zealot, I’ve worked alongside…um, no one; I’ve laughed in the face of overly cheerful temp agency managers.  I thought all these things prepared me for madness, chaos, and insanity.  But life always has a way of surprising me!

The engagement started off with my mother pulling out a dessert plate and coffee mug decorated with wacky little stick figures dressed as a bride and groom, with “WE’RE ENGAGED!” written in a child’s handwriting along the top.  She’d apparently been hoarding these novelty items and pining for an engagement for YEARS.  I guess when she saw the tacky ceramic duo at the discount store she couldn’t help herself.  She bought them and held onto them in the crazy hope that one day The BF and I would actually make things official.

When she shoved them in front of me, mere seconds after our announcement, I made a face.  You know, that face!  That face that says, “What the hell is that!?”  My mother was finally having her moment–the moment she’d pinned all her hopes and dreams upon–and I was ruining it with that face.  I should have known that this exchange foreshadowed all the moments to come.

I have made the–what I’ll now refer to as the WTH Face–repeatedly over the past few months.  WTH Face appeared when my dad insisted that he be allowed to wear a tuxedo, when my mother cursed the internet because I’d dared to look at dresses without her, when my father crashed my appointment with the defenseless florist, when my mother heralded the invaluable talent of DJs to “set the pacing of the wedding.”

Those moments don’t compare, however, to the email my mom sent asking, “What exactly are YOU compromising?”  Gee Mom, I thought I was the bride!  My friends and I had a good laugh about that as I imitated my WTH Face repeatedly.  My mother’s soundness of mind was questioned, my ability to hold my tongue was praised, good times were had!

But now it’s clear that my mom does, in fact, recognize that I am the bride to be.  She’s so hyper-aware that I’ll soon be on display, that she gave me a gym membership for my twenty-ninth birthday.

I have been in a state of shock for seven days, but perhaps naively so.  Because really, what should I have expected?  This is a woman who watches Gilmore Girls and believes we are just like Lorelai and Rory, but cannot see that she competes with Emily Gilmore for the Personality of the Year award.  This is a woman who is so passive aggressive that she shocks even the most forgiving and patient of all human beings–The BF.  This is a woman who bought a dessert plate and coffee mug with little stick figures getting hitched and hid them in her china cabinet for five years.  I really should have expected no less.

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I’ll take honey, thanks

I am off to a very odd morning.  It’s like I live in opposite land and everything that happens is the exact opposite of what one would wish.

First this this morning when I came into the office I was verbally accosted by one of my coworkers.  She was irritated that her office has computers in it.  We provided her office (it’s set up for four people but only two use it currently) with computers but when she and the other visiting scholar arrived they dismantled them and shoved them onto one desk.  So she seems to be upset that now her office looks like a storage space for older model computers.  In our defense, we are public institution so we don’t have the funds to buy new computers all the time.  Yes, we have some computers that are older than three years old.  We even have CRT monitors.  But we think it’s nice to provide a computer for any of our visitors.  It’s their fault the room looks crappy because they dismantled the computers and shoved them aside.  She then proceeded to tell me that she’s embarrassed of the way her office looks and doesn’t want students to see it like that, that it makes her angry and in a bad mood when she’s at work, and like we don’t make her feel welcome in the department.

I have never felt so insulted in my professional life.  The very last thing I would think anyone would accuse me or my department of is being “unwelcoming.”  I seethed with anger and politely said that if she took such issue she should bring it up with my supervisor.  I then told her I was sorry she didn’t feel welcome.  I walked away calmly and just reeled.  I don’t want to make broad stroke statements

No one else is here today except one other professor so I talked to her about the situation.  She was flabbergasted.  She listened to me and let me vent.  We talked about the rampant sense of entitlement in academia–with graduate students especially.  Although I see it as a pattern that only gets worse when they are full fledged professors.  My friends and I call it the Poof Effect.  They ask/announce/demand something to happen and “poof” it gets done, almost always because a staff person does it for them…

Anyway, back to the point…it’s not a nice way to start the day with complaints.  My lesson as of late has been to not be filled with rage, but to instead be amused when these types of situations arise.  Some people go through life thinking that others should bend to their will, thinking that they are so special and simple manners are beneath them.  But the joke, in the end, is on them.  They alone live in bizzaro world and I live in a normal, if somewhat ideal world, where honey catches more flies than vinegar.

Part deux occured while trying to type this post…  I had another run it with this visiting scholar and she somewhat apologized.  She said she was sorry for taking out her frustration on me, but then we somehow got back into the disagreement and it was entirely awkward.  We may have had the same discussion, but I learned new lesson.  Petty disagreements are feuled by insecurity.  I will probably never reslove this woman’s issues because her angst is not really about the extra computers in her office.  She is insecure because she doesn’t know what she is doing and feels powerless.

Now, if I was paid for my skills in psychoanalysis then I’d make a fortune.  But since I don’t, I guess I’ll have to live off the feeling of being smugly confident in who I am and what I do.

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Minor Interruptions, Major Destruction

My supervisor has a terrible habit of interrupting constantly with inane questions.  Here is a summary of a conversation we had Monday many times this week.  (My thoughts are in parentheses.)

supervisor from hell:  WHERE IS THE SAMPLE ADMISSIONS LETTER YOU CAME UP WITH?

me:  IN THE FILE SHARE IN THE ADMISSIONS FOLDER (why does she even need to know this?!  she has done nothing regarding admissions)

supervisor from hell:  I CAN’T FIND IT.

me:  IT’S IN THE ADMISSIONS FOLDER, RIGHT–HERE–JUST, HOLD ON, I’LL JUST EMAIL IT TO YOU. (why do you even need this!?  why are you bugging me?)

supervisor from hell:  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?  (standing in my door way)

me:  (not looking at her, working at my computer)  I’M TRYING TO SEND THE ADMIT LETTERS BEFORE THE END OF THE DAY.  I’M FORMATTING THE LETTERS AND THEN CONVERTING THEM TO PDF–

supervisor from hell:  –YOU SHOULD REALLY CONVERT THEM TO PDF.  THAT’S WHAT THEY DO IN THE OTHER DEPARTMENTS–

me:  –I KNOW.  I AM.  I SENT THAT FILE YOU ASKED FOR.  IT SHOULD BE IN YOUR EMAIL INBOX NOW.  (get out of my office.  why are you bugging me!!?)

supervisor from hell:  OH YOU ARE SO SMART.  SEE, I DON’T EVEN HAVE TO TELL YOU.  I DON’T KNOW WHY I COULDN’T FIND THAT FILE BEFORE.  THANKS.  HOW WEIRD.  DO YOU NEED HELP?

me:  (it’s 4:47.  i have worked all day and all of Monday trying to accomplish this stuff.  not once have you asked if i needed help.  this is just like that time you asked me if i needed help on a friday at 6:45 pm and i’d been staying late every day that week.)  I’M FINE.  I’M ALMOST DONE.

supervisor from hell:  YOU’RE AMAZING.  I TOLD THE WHOLE STAFF.  IT’S LIKE YOU’RE A PRO.  (yes, you sent out a thank you email to me and then decided to send it to everyone so you resent it to show everyone what an amazing supervisor you are and how kind you are to bestow your gratitude.)

me:  (looking at the clock.)  I’M DONE.  I WANT TO GO HOME NOW.

supervisor from hell:  YOU SHOULD GO HOME.  YOU’VE BEEN WORKING SO HARD.  LET’S WALK TO THE PARKING LOT TOGETHER.

me:  (great…)

I don’t know what other tactics I can employ to get my supervisor to leave me alone so I can do my work.  Even if I close my office door she’ll just knock on it and let herself in.  It’s so aggravating.  Suggestions?

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