Fuck Me With A Rusty Chainsaw.

It was recently decided at my work that I would be moved to accounting. Accounting? A girl that literally had a class in college for people with "math anxiety" that used dittos for homework (all the basketball players were in this class as well). Ok, cool. Whatever. This is basically a suburb of Detroit down here, so I should take whatever full time I can get til I find a job in Chicago, right? Uh... fucking wrong.

I went in there yesterday afternoon for 3 hours of training and I could just feel my quality of life plummeting. Have you ever seen that part in Runaway Bride where Julia Roberts is walking down the isle, loses eye contact with Richard Gere, and realizes "wait, what the fuck am I doing here? I'm a hot redhead and he's old as hell." and starts to back up fast while shaking her head and finger no? That's what I felt like. For 3 hours straight. Unless you count the 10 seconds I actually fell asleep while in training.

It's not just the fact that I find numbers sorta useless and boring and that everyone knows bean counting is monotonous and lame, I have liked most jobs I've had, even the ones that weren't supposed to be enjoyable. It's the atmosphere in there. Apparently, the lady CFO runs the place like a GD concentration camp. It is pretty much completely silent aside for the frantic tapping of keyboards and the occasional hushed talking which I imagine goes something like "Sharon, when I go out for the organized smoke break at 3:30, I'm going to test the fences again. I'll send word back as soon as I can if we found a weakness". Oh yeah, there's organized breaks. As in, the smokers go 15 minutes before the non-smokers and this happens twice a day. Um... I'm a grown ass woman. I'll just work through the day and when I need a snack, I'll get one. When I need a drink, I'll get one. When I want to use the restroom, I will. Apparently even glancing in the direction of a cell phone is punishable by a noon hangin'. Let's talk about the giant bowls of candy and cookies everywhere. I'm not sure if this is to stay awake or fill the void that's caused by lack of communication with 3 dimensional people for 8+ hours straight, but that is NOT the direction I plan to head (outward in the ass region).

This is a real emergency, people. I'm not saying I have a problem with authority like 80's Beastie Boys or anything, but I don't believe in being told when I can look up from my monitor long enough to take a piss either. Let's not even discuss the part where I go from an office to a cubicle where I will be doing the same job as the girl who is currently training me, but making less than her. That's just the cherry on the shit sundae. Do I understand that in these times it's awesome to have any job at all? Yes. I do. And I'm going to try to pull through and do my best at this one. It will look good on my resume. BUT, I don't believe in suffering 5 days a week for a paycheck that isn't really big enough. Uh uh. No. No. Hell no.

Maybe I'm just what these ladies need. I know I refuse to just sink into my eggshell cubicle and resign myself to the fact that "welp, this is what I do now". I'm not trying to go out in some blaze of glory, but I'll go all sorts of Norma Rae on their asses before I become one of these poor robots. Maybe I'll inspire them to put down the cupcake and stand up for being able to go up to the vending machine and get a granola bar whenever they damn well feel like it. (Not that cupcakes aren't fucking delicious, but the shouldn't be a food group as I suspect they are in this case) Maybe it's like The Shire. And whispers of my magic will waft through the cubicles like a glittery mist of hope! When it gets to the all-seeing eye of the CFO, there will be an epic battle for middle accounting! Orrrr I'll just find a new job in Chicago, give zero notice and split. That would be ideal.

Let's just hope this doesn't turn me into the crazy person I fear it will. Like those guys that work totally normal bank jobs and then are serial killers at night. Or English teachers you find stripping after hours. Yeah, that was Varsity Blues, but still. What if I work in accounting all day and then... like.... kick bunnies at night? Shit... this is serious.

I just knew that some sort of job related karma would catch up with me after getting paid for years and years to run around with rock stars and laugh and party all day and night. Well played, God. Well played.