|
|
4:53 p.m. - 2006-12-30 Just a Little Slice of Life�Puedo conseguir esto para mi Plee Stacion, porvavor, para mi Plee Stacion�..para mi Plee Stacion�.porfavor PaPa?� shouted the little, dark round faced boy as he galloped toward his father waiting in the long long New Years weekend line at Blockbuster Video with a Play Station game in his chubby fingers. The father said something in Spanish and the boy obediently galloped back to the rack of video games and returned the game. He galloped toward him again with two thick tubes of some kind of candy with a fan on the top of them, blowing the fan in his face, then at his sister. What will they invent next to attach to tube of candy. I thought. The boy let out a deep chuckle and I couldn�t help but smile. I work for ScroogeI wanted to write this before Christmas but in the spirit of not letting the asshat I work for live in my head rent free, particularly during a holiday week, I just decided to let my beautiful Jesus dream stay on the page for Christmas. Joe has been extra crabby lately and riding me hard. He seems to have it out for me this week and at first I took it personally until I decided that having done nothing particularly wrong, he must be having some personal problem that he is taking out on me. I am not going to go into him and how he treats us and all, after I get my bad eye fixed later this winter, I�m going to go look for another job and that will be that. What I wanted to write about though it that Charles Dickens was not being all that fictitious in his writing of A Christmas Carol. We had no Christmas party, no Christmas bonus, no little gift from the boss, no office Christmas tree or carols (we are forbidden to whistle or hum let alone play music). On Friday, the last of day of work before Christmas, when every other factory in the industrial park was long dark from letting the employees go home early, we worked silently and stolidly until 5PM. At 2 minutes to 5, he came to my desk with about 20 more minutes worth of work that HAD to be done before I left and a Federal Express Envelope for me to take with me, so I could drive all over the area and locate a Federal Express drop box so it could be mailed next day air with no hope of it getting anywhere until the next Tuesday because of the holiday. I believe he did this on purpose.
During the day, he did everything he could to squelch any kind of camaraderie that fellow employees usually have for each other before the Christmas break. There was no festive mood at my place of business the Friday before Christmas. I try hard not to let him affect my life and my mood. On my way out for the night, I yelled �Merry Christmas� to him. I did not hear a reply and looked down the hall to his office. He was shuffling papers with a frown on his face. There was no reply�.he chose to ignore my Christmas greeting. I left. When I got back in on Wednesday after Christmas, my email box was loaded with emails from him. (It is Joe�s habit to work late and all weekend to load everyone up as a giant kick in the ass on Mondays and holiday weekends as a quick sign to remind us all that we are indeed back in the salt mines and he holds the whip). The last email was from the Saturday before Christmas, when all of the rest of the daily workers in America were home enjoying their families. The time stamp on it was 8:45PM. My first inclination was even more hatred for this man, who not only can�t enjoy Christmas himself, but goes out of his way to make sure that no one else enjoys any holiday camaraderie during the time he Lords over us. My second inclination was to bow my head and pray for this poor soul who is somehow so warped and tortured that he can�t even enjoy his family, his life, or this wonderful holiday. I have to work for jerk for a living, and not everything in my life is pleasant, but I can enjoy little vignettes of humanity like chubby cheeked youngsters galloping around their parents with smiles on their faces, and for that insight and the ability to stand back and enjoy these little scenes I am thankful. P. I. Yarnsmth
|