Is this really only the 2nd or 3rd post about the Soul-Destroying Job? It's just that it feels like I've bitched about it for 936 straight days. And I feel like I have been there for 936 years.
I made the decision on Friday that you can't fight City Hall, and so I need to get the fuck out of this toxic, toxic waste dump of a company. Since the powers-that-be at this particular City Hall don't seem particularly inclined to do anything to change or improve the culture of "If You Don't Pee Standing Up, You Have No Value Here" Janey needs to stop attempting to grow a penis and move on to a place that has a more, um, how do you say, current attitude toward women.
I hate this place, so, so much. I have never, ever in my life been so unhappy at a job as this.
I just need to do a brain dump here, a list of a few recent transgressions:
My boss, one of those "I really need to feel like one of the guys and I will abdicate any managerial responsibilities in order to do that" types, allowed the farewell lunch of a departing co-worker in my department to be scheduled at a strip club. If that isn't retarded enough, they neglected to invite me along. So, not only have they chosen an inappropriate venue for said "farewell party," they also really, really hurt my feelings by excluding me.
He once called me "a good worker." I beg your fucking pardon? A GOOD WORKER? I am a BRILLIANT production manager, not some scarf-folder at Old Navy or a factory worker screwing in the same bolt all day long at General Motors.
At the same time, someone must have once given him a gift subscription to some middle-management newsletter, which he diligently reads while sitting on the can, so he can absorb and throw words and phrases like "teamwork" and "innovation" into his conversations at the office while diligently fostering a divide-and-conquer, mediocrity is king, all-fear-all-the-time mentality.
There's this one guy at the company, a real Staten Island guido type, with that dry-look Frankie Valli hairdo and chest-out machismo. Trust me, I've seen the calluses on his knuckles from where they drag on the ground. Because of this one person, FOUR, I repeat, FOUR female production managers before me have left the company. Now, I know this because my manager himself told me this. Strangely enough, all of this troglodyte's accounts have been assigned to little old Janey. The company managed to hire someone to replace the aforementioned departing co-worker (thereby proving my belief that you CAN convince people that you regularly walk into doors or fall down stairs because most people just aren't paying that much attention). I made a (what seemed to me) reasonable request that Johnny Baggadonuts' accounts be assigned to the new, MALE production manager. One would think El Jefe would make this connection:
1) Johnny Baggadonuts has been directly responsible for FOUR women leaving the company.
2) Currently Johnny Baggadonuts' accounts are assigned to Jane, who has complained vigorously and multiple times about the same gender-based issues that the other women had.
3) I have hired a new MALE production person.
4) I can save myself from having to find ANOTHER production person by transferring Johnny's accounts to the MALE production person.
Instead, the stupid motherfucker sticks me with the Troglodyte's accounts. While out the other side of his mouth, he is mouthing platitudes like "I have a daughter, and as a woman and a minority, I wouldn't want her to have to encounter attitudes like this."
Ladies and gentlemen, I have had it.
Janey is soooooo GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOONE.
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