Alpha Grrrl Protects Her Turf

So our other class A has left the building. (I won't say why. That would be indelicate.) This leaves me with five other class C's. Yep. I'm alpha grrrrrrrrl. Of course, I was alpha from the day I arrived, but that, too, would be indelicate to crow over. (Besides, others might disagree. and be wrong.)

So they're advertising for another class A. Even interviewing in the brief days since listing the position, hoping to return us to full staff quickly.

Among the fav's, a driver with "lots of experience." Is it wrong that one part of me is happy with the idea of having a knowledgeable class A around, a mentor, as it were? But the larger, meaner part of me is digging in, thinking, "Mine." ...My turf, my seniority, my Mack, my alpha.

I've put on the metaphorical metal conical breasts protectors. Bring on the new guy.

The new career, flashing before my eyes

I'd rather be lucky than good, any day.

...and that's all I've got to say about that.

aka 'Just a Normal Day in the Warehouse'

Okay, now, this is important stuff.

Real important.

We gotta get this very important stuff figured out.

Problem-solve it.

Analyze it.

Synthesize it.

Evaluate it.

Come up with a solution for it.

Now, not tomorrow.

This real important stuff needs our absolute

     *Squirrel!*

This other stuff.

It's really important other stuff.

We'll need to put our heads together right away on this really important other stuff....

Don'Care Delight

Yesterday, the Soop told me I'd be shuttling two to three runs from one (small) warehouse to our (big, main) warehouse, daily for several days. Until the small warehouse is cleared out.

'Ahhh, logistics.' ... No, indeed.  'Ahhh, clear communication.' I'd take even half-assed communication.

First thing today, I had to empty yesterday's run into the big warehouse before taking the empty trailer to the small warehouse. I opened the rolling door and Wham! Two wooden headboard/footboard sets fell on my thigh, leaving a baseball-sized bruised knot-o-flesh. Cursed a blue streak at the useless bastards who put four two-foot-tall planks of wood upright on the end of a trailer.

The Soop's Soop, coming to take a look, said, roughly, "I didn't know they were sending this stuff. We've cleared out the outlet center for their other stuff."

I said, "Their other stuff is out there in a trailer in the back 40."


He said, "Huh?"


I said, "It's been there for days. I hear we're moving in a bunch of loads of this stuff before unloading that other stuff."


He began wondering why that might be, by golly, and speculating on communication failures.

And I said, "Don' care. I'll drive, load and unload whatever you tell me. Just tell me. Beyond that ... I. Don'. Care."

He said, "It's good to be the driver."

Indeed.


(I edited on this one a wee bit, just so's you know.)

Whim is My Copilot

I've been mighty active the past few weeks. Maybe I'm just finally getting into the rhythm of work. Or done grieving the opposite-hours schedule with the Sweet Babboo.

I think it's those things, plus more hours-o-daylight. I'm a sucker for sunshine. (Yep, I'm one of those evil Californians who moved to Seattle -- just to realize that Kurt Cobain's mopes made perfect sense. Every Starbucks should come equipped with a Prozac salt lick.)

Still, I think it's more than spring fever or emergence from the blues. I think I'm finding that sweet spot where my job is a job and my personal life is my own. Most days, I am relaxed and thinking of not much of anything as I drive to work ...and enjoying the return to the surface as I drive home from work. Weird.  ... and I know some of you totally get what I'm talking about.

I'm no techno-phobe luddite, but, damn, we've supercharged our lives and plugged our psyches into the 24/7 news cycle. We're the animal that never sleeps. Work invades our weekends, our commutes, our homes, our dreams. Down-time is something we schedule time for ... and approach with bizzarre intensity. Ironic? Uh, yah.

Not to mention our "I want it all and can have it" delusion. A student bitched me out once because I 'couldn't understand' her limitations, given that I was (then) single and childless, and therefore had an easy, uncompromised life. (Hah!) She was a wife and mother and employee and full time student, after all, so she couldn't possible be expected to be held to a standard I'd hold for other students.

Tip to the over-committed: You Cannot Have It All.

Sorry and thanks for playing.

You have only so many hours in the day, so many resources, and so much potential. (Gasp if you like, but I weren't never going to be Baryshnikov's dance partner. 'Oh say it ain't so, Missy! Why you can do anything you put your mind to!' ... See what I mean?)

But I digress.

If you're tuned in, hardwired to the grid and happy, then more power to you. I have lots of friends who are.

As your classic burn out, I'm just sayin', I love that I'm not out to have it all. That several hours of each day are driven by whim.

I also love that my new career has just enough challenge to keep me interested. But not so much that I'm taking it home with me. Home is for hubby nuzzles, dog adorations, slow cooker experiments (pulled pork bbq today!), apple butter canning, garage door installations, firewood stacking, phone calls with the Mothership, facebook boasts, 8 hours of sleep a night and the occasional blog post.