I ain't Happy, that's for sure.

First off: anyone need a Madonna ticket or two? I've got two singles for opening night at the Forum that are barely above face value (seriously, factor in Ticketmaster's charges and I might make $10 bucks on my ticket...) And just for the curious, the reason I'm not going is because the Princess and I got tickets to a different night that actually have us sitting together. Alright, alright - my job as a salesman is officially over. Seriously, though, tell a friend - I don't want to haveta venture down to Inglewood and be arrested for scalping. Solictation on Santa Monica Blvd. is a much less embarassing offense, after all.

OK, onto business...literally. I'm going to do the oh-so-rare Bitch-About-Work-Blog tonight. Naive fucker that I can be sometimes, I really thought that the end of my former manager's reign would bring about some sort of Utopia in my department. But in the absence of our despotic Alpha dog, the rest of the pack seems to be scrambling. Oh, nevermind that we've already got a new manager who's got some great ideas about how to improve the way we do things. What some folks seem to be really concerned about is how much they can get away with during the transition, i.e. making long personal calls every time management isn't around or passing off work because you're "too busy" and then taking an hour and a half lunch to rub it in. Thing is, I know better than to get on management's bad side this early in the game. After all, previous management got on my bad side even earlier than this just last year, and she's been canned - need I say more? This worker bee is buzzing away loudly in his corner of the hive until told otherwise.

I've long contended that in the workplace, assets become weaknesses in the blink of an eye. In fact, before the recent coup, I told my manager straight out the following: "Competency has become a liability around here. To be dependable, intelligent, and willing these days is to be abused and exploited while other folks get away with flying under the radar, doing nothing but make more work for people like me." (How Norma Rae of me. And I wonder why she hated me so...) Still, there's no way around it -the bulk of departmental CYA work tends to fall on me - the only man-boy in my area, the mouthy kid with "distracting" blond hair (funny story - I'll blog it another time), the punk who has been with the company less than three years and out of of high school less than most of my co-workers have been with the company. Maybe I give off an air of confidence and intelligence (at least I hope that's it - I have been eating a lot of broccoli lately...) Maybe it's my "can-do"attitude. (Doubtful, as I'm more apt of make a sarcastic, though hilarious barb than to encourage a co-worker under stress...). Or maybe I have "SUCKER" written on my forehead because of that damn Catholic guilt my currently agnostic ass still can't seem to shake completely. (Bingo!)

Bottom line: I know I'm capable of doing my job and doing it well. By no means, do I think I'm smarter than everyone else. I just think I work harder than a lot of folks. Why? The cynic in me says it's because I haven't had the wind knocked out of my optimism. The optimist in me says. "What the hell are you talking about? You've never been optimistic. Shut up and be cynical about it already." The little boy who pushes all the button and feeds the hamster on the wheel in my head says, "Voices in J.'s head are fun."

On the plus side, my new manager is looking at having my labor grade updated because I act like a senior employee so I should be titled and paid like one. Nothing like a little cha-ching carrot dangling to make the day end on a sweeter note.

Still, I was stressed out enough by the end of today that I actually ditched out on plans to hit an *open* (that's right, free) bar because I knew I needed to sweat the stress out more than I needed to drink it away. I'll gladly pay for drinks another night. Tonight, I was tearing muscle and imagining the sands of Bora Bora. Also, I was watching San Antonio get trounced by Miami in the playoffs. I'll always vote for the guy with Superman tattoos over a wife beater.

See ya Thursday!
-J.

This post was sponsored by the Which Dwarf Am I? Committee