roseembolism (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
roseembolism) wrote2008-06-02 06:13 pm
roseembolism) wrote2008-06-02 06:13 pm
Some weekends, you just keep moving.
I ended up taking a day off today, partially because of a minor ailment, but mainly due to my weekend. You see, my boss moved his business from our Cupertino location, to an isolated office that's half the size, out in the boonies of Central and San Tomas roads. Naturally, since my boss is a massively CHEAPSKATE PENNY PINCHING IDIIIOOOOOOT, instead of hiring movers, he had us, his workers do the job. With no overtime of course.
Oooooh, the nasty words I could come up with to describe my boss and this fiasco. Because my boss isn't so much malevolent, as an idiot. Here's how things went, in a loooong, loooong, post.
SUNDAY:
But the weekeed wasn't over: Sunday we got to relax: we had movies withpalecur and silverstreak (Indiana Jones: a wonderful end to the series, four thumbs up!), a british cooking show named Chef that was hilarious and very well acted, and some 80s geek flick I can't remember the name of. ;') It was a really nice way to cool down after the weekend.
Oooooh, the nasty words I could come up with to describe my boss and this fiasco. Because my boss isn't so much malevolent, as an idiot. Here's how things went, in a loooong, loooong, post.
The plan was for us to start moving at 9 AM, quit around 6:30, and then I would go enjoy a nice movie with some friends at 8:00. Instead, I found out that the U-Haul van (a big 26 footer) was to be picked up at 3:00, because my boss picked the same day all the college students head for home to move.
So my grouchy co-worker drives me over in his nice new car with sat-nav, and we find that the address, doesn't have the U-haul. A quick check reveals the address is South, not North El Camino. Co-worker gets grouchier. We pull into the correct place, and we wait, me in line, and the co-worker fretting over the nails, screws and other tire-killers in the lot. Eventually I tell him to go ahead, because the very slow people at U-Haul will take some time.
This was, what we in the moving business call, A MISTAKE.
After another fifteen minutes, the lovely people at U-Haul get to me, and tell me that "Oh yeah, the computer keeps screwing up and sending people to the Sunnyvale, not the Santa Clara lot where they're supposed to go". I get grumpy at this point, but the manager offers to drive me over. The clock keeps ticking...
I finally arrive at the proper U-haul place, and discover two things:
a) The huge van is a stick shift. It's been 10 years since I've driven a stick, and the van is huge, but hell, I'm the only remotely qualified person at the office. So I agree.
b) Do you notice that little line here? Where it says "Deposit may be required"? Make that "Depost is MOST DEFINITELY required, and it has to be done, in person.
So I called my boss, who was surprised, because he thought that he had completely paid for the van over the phone. The n of course, he did the predictable. Rather than making the trip over (no time! no time!) he asked me to pay the deposit, and he would cut me a check for the expense. I called Sandy, who said in her flat definite voice "No way are you using our account for the deposit. We have a car payment to make." Caught between a wife and a hard boss, I dithered. I tried to compromise. I searched through my wallet to see if I had a credit card of my own, or maybe a spare $100.00 bill floating around. I noticed that my old savings card had the magnetic strip wrinkled and town- naturally because I don't use it. I swiped the card. To my great unamazement and unsorrow, it got a "tilt" response . I called my boss.
"I'm sorry, Dr.(-----), but I tried my card and it wasn't accepted."
There was nothing for it but for Boss to drive down to the U-Haul, and pay for the deposit himself. After another long period of waiting, at last I get into the van, and start the engine, all the while my boss cautioning me to be careful. How nice, I think, until I remember he has the insurance, since he put HIS card on the deposit. I set out, and manage to nearly tip the thing over, while going around the first corner My phone rings: it's my boss, asking me how I am, and if I'm being careful.
"I'M FINE!" I shout over the roar of the diesel. "I'm Driving!"
This is in fact, my repeated line, every time my boss calls me over the next half hour. I miss turns. I end up going down streets too small for this craft, wrestling with a steering wheel that responds more like a ship than an automobile, peering out a side-mirror that's slowly being vibrated out of alignment. And every five minutes, my boss calls me to see how I'm doing. Every. Five. Minutes. No jury would convict me, I think.
Eventually I get the hang of things, and I pull into the lot in style. I even manage to back the monster into the right angle. And we get half an hour of loading before grumpy co-worker says he's leaving for the night. cute co-worker naturally has left already. I see my chances of a movie fading fast.
During the load-up an odd revelation happens- I'm the strongest person in the office. Or possibly I'm the best at leveraging my body weight to move things. But seriously, what does it say about my office that I'm the most fit?
Driving the loaded truck back to the new office ended up much smoother, in spite of missing the turn-off at San Tomas. It actually became a little fun, being the largest vehicle on the road, intimidating Ford Exploiter drivers by my very presence. In fact, it was fun enough, that I began to sing:
"Driving, a truck. Driving a big ol' truck
pedal to the metal, hope I don't run out of luck"
And that was Friday. No movie, but there was cake, and some good time spent with friends.
So my grouchy co-worker drives me over in his nice new car with sat-nav, and we find that the address, doesn't have the U-haul. A quick check reveals the address is South, not North El Camino. Co-worker gets grouchier. We pull into the correct place, and we wait, me in line, and the co-worker fretting over the nails, screws and other tire-killers in the lot. Eventually I tell him to go ahead, because the very slow people at U-Haul will take some time.
This was, what we in the moving business call, A MISTAKE.
After another fifteen minutes, the lovely people at U-Haul get to me, and tell me that "Oh yeah, the computer keeps screwing up and sending people to the Sunnyvale, not the Santa Clara lot where they're supposed to go". I get grumpy at this point, but the manager offers to drive me over. The clock keeps ticking...
I finally arrive at the proper U-haul place, and discover two things:
a) The huge van is a stick shift. It's been 10 years since I've driven a stick, and the van is huge, but hell, I'm the only remotely qualified person at the office. So I agree.
b) Do you notice that little line here? Where it says "Deposit may be required"? Make that "Depost is MOST DEFINITELY required, and it has to be done, in person.
So I called my boss, who was surprised, because he thought that he had completely paid for the van over the phone. The n of course, he did the predictable. Rather than making the trip over (no time! no time!) he asked me to pay the deposit, and he would cut me a check for the expense. I called Sandy, who said in her flat definite voice "No way are you using our account for the deposit. We have a car payment to make." Caught between a wife and a hard boss, I dithered. I tried to compromise. I searched through my wallet to see if I had a credit card of my own, or maybe a spare $100.00 bill floating around. I noticed that my old savings card had the magnetic strip wrinkled and town- naturally because I don't use it. I swiped the card. To my great unamazement and unsorrow, it got a "tilt" response . I called my boss.
"I'm sorry, Dr.(-----), but I tried my card and it wasn't accepted."
There was nothing for it but for Boss to drive down to the U-Haul, and pay for the deposit himself. After another long period of waiting, at last I get into the van, and start the engine, all the while my boss cautioning me to be careful. How nice, I think, until I remember he has the insurance, since he put HIS card on the deposit. I set out, and manage to nearly tip the thing over, while going around the first corner My phone rings: it's my boss, asking me how I am, and if I'm being careful.
"I'M FINE!" I shout over the roar of the diesel. "I'm Driving!"
This is in fact, my repeated line, every time my boss calls me over the next half hour. I miss turns. I end up going down streets too small for this craft, wrestling with a steering wheel that responds more like a ship than an automobile, peering out a side-mirror that's slowly being vibrated out of alignment. And every five minutes, my boss calls me to see how I'm doing. Every. Five. Minutes. No jury would convict me, I think.
Eventually I get the hang of things, and I pull into the lot in style. I even manage to back the monster into the right angle. And we get half an hour of loading before grumpy co-worker says he's leaving for the night. cute co-worker naturally has left already. I see my chances of a movie fading fast.
During the load-up an odd revelation happens- I'm the strongest person in the office. Or possibly I'm the best at leveraging my body weight to move things. But seriously, what does it say about my office that I'm the most fit?
Driving the loaded truck back to the new office ended up much smoother, in spite of missing the turn-off at San Tomas. It actually became a little fun, being the largest vehicle on the road, intimidating Ford Exploiter drivers by my very presence. In fact, it was fun enough, that I began to sing:
"Driving, a truck. Driving a big ol' truck
pedal to the metal, hope I don't run out of luck"
And that was Friday. No movie, but there was cake, and some good time spent with friends.
Due to the college students going home, we only had the van until 3:00 on Saturday. My Boss naturally wanted me to show up at 8:00 AM...fat chance. I stumbled out of bed, surprised vaguely that I wasn't more sore, and spent a good 45 minutes in the tub, trying both to wake up, and condition myself to the day. I managed to stumble into the office at 9:30, to find my boss had gone ahead and hired off the street two "Mexicans" (his term) to help. All of which was a blessing, because one of them turned out to have diesel truck driving experience. Valid license or insurance? Ah, who needs to check that? With limited time, we ended up cramming the entire contents of the office into one trip, which we surprisingly, managed to do; I had forgotten how much stuff a well-packed truck can carry. Highlights included six of us manhandling a huge marble-topped ironwood conference table down the stairs and into the truck, in a scene that was a cross between raising the flag on Iwo Jima and a slinky commercial. I took a 10-minute break, and found the office deserted, and the truck gone to the new office.
At the new office, The Boss informed us that "The Mexicans" felt that six hours for $50.00 (did I mention my boss was a cheapskate?) was enough, so he went off to scan the OSH parking lots to find more Mexicans. That's my boss, the politically sensitive type. He did leave me a sandwich, which I'm pretty sure is the cause of my current ugly intestinal ailment. I'm wondering if he got them at a sale a few months ago, and was keeping them for this occasion. The new pair turned out to be not quite as dedicated or helpful as the previous fellows (which I think is something of a natural law of hiring contract labor), but between all of us we actually managed to get the van emptied by the deadline. Upon coming back, I found that my Boss was temporarily gone, so I took the opportunity to whip up a quick gift of fortune cookies from one of our mail-order businesses for the anniversary party I was going to later, and left before he could come back and put me to work sorting things. In any case, the office was so crammed with desks that even with one accidentally destroyed (my fault, I'm not sad to say) it looked like a Tetris game.
I went home and took a hot bath, figuring I had plenty of time before the anniversary. It was only 3:30, and people were leaving as late as six. So I copuld just lie down on the bed and relax, pet our cats, close my eyes for a second, ...until the phone woke me up. It was 6:30, and Sandy was wondering where I was. I stumbled around muzzily, trying to find the place, grabbing a bite to eat, and managing to not set out until 8:00. That's why I didn't arrive at the party until far after I should have, mea culpa.
But on the plus side, the anniversary party forbritgeekgrrl and [Unknown site tag]dancingshaman was fantastic. Oddly enough, people liked the cookies and the corny "adult" messages ala the 1950s, and there was good alcohol, and snacks. And conversation. After a work day like that, I have to appreciate my friends more than ever. Heck, even the nice young traffic cop who stopped me on the way home was cool; he was looking for possible DUIs, and though I admit was tired, I suppose I didn't match the profile of a drunken prom-nighter. I'm glad he didn't flash his flashlight into the well behind the seats, where a 3/4 empty bottle of rum was lying. After that, staying awake on the drive home while both Sandy and I dealt with the emotional fallout of the weekend was a piece of cake.
At the new office, The Boss informed us that "The Mexicans" felt that six hours for $50.00 (did I mention my boss was a cheapskate?) was enough, so he went off to scan the OSH parking lots to find more Mexicans. That's my boss, the politically sensitive type. He did leave me a sandwich, which I'm pretty sure is the cause of my current ugly intestinal ailment. I'm wondering if he got them at a sale a few months ago, and was keeping them for this occasion. The new pair turned out to be not quite as dedicated or helpful as the previous fellows (which I think is something of a natural law of hiring contract labor), but between all of us we actually managed to get the van emptied by the deadline. Upon coming back, I found that my Boss was temporarily gone, so I took the opportunity to whip up a quick gift of fortune cookies from one of our mail-order businesses for the anniversary party I was going to later, and left before he could come back and put me to work sorting things. In any case, the office was so crammed with desks that even with one accidentally destroyed (my fault, I'm not sad to say) it looked like a Tetris game.
I went home and took a hot bath, figuring I had plenty of time before the anniversary. It was only 3:30, and people were leaving as late as six. So I copuld just lie down on the bed and relax, pet our cats, close my eyes for a second, ...until the phone woke me up. It was 6:30, and Sandy was wondering where I was. I stumbled around muzzily, trying to find the place, grabbing a bite to eat, and managing to not set out until 8:00. That's why I didn't arrive at the party until far after I should have, mea culpa.
But on the plus side, the anniversary party for
britgeekgrrl and [Unknown site tag]dancingshaman was fantastic. Oddly enough, people liked the cookies and the corny "adult" messages ala the 1950s, and there was good alcohol, and snacks. And conversation. After a work day like that, I have to appreciate my friends more than ever. Heck, even the nice young traffic cop who stopped me on the way home was cool; he was looking for possible DUIs, and though I admit was tired, I suppose I didn't match the profile of a drunken prom-nighter. I'm glad he didn't flash his flashlight into the well behind the seats, where a 3/4 empty bottle of rum was lying. After that, staying awake on the drive home while both Sandy and I dealt with the emotional fallout of the weekend was a piece of cake.SUNDAY:
But the weekeed wasn't over: Sunday we got to relax: we had movies with
palecur and silverstreak (Indiana Jones: a wonderful end to the series, four thumbs up!), a british cooking show named Chef that was hilarious and very well acted, and some 80s geek flick I can't remember the name of. ;') It was a really nice way to cool down after the weekend.
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Congrats on surviving that - it sounds like LOADS of fun. And I think corny 50s-era fortune cookies sound nifty.
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Best. Movie. Evar.
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And thanks- all in all, it was a good weekend, thqanks to my friends.