June 5, 2000
Letter to Franz

 


 
Dear Franz:

Don't fudk with me today. I mean it.

Don't dump a buttload of long-winded voicemail messages all about grade crossing protection gear into my voicemailbox, requesting that I "type them up ASAP" and distribute copies to each and every Totem Pole Company employee. (News flash for you: we throw your memos away without reading them. Those of us who don't own birdcages, anyway.)

Don't suddenly decide that everyone in the Denver and Salt Lake City offices needs to be here for the 4 p.m. staff meeting this afternoon. Don't hand me a 43,897,621 page double-sided APTA Membership Directory at 11:57 a.m. and announce that you need 15 copies before lunch. Don't agree to serve as Chairman of the Golden Gate Chapter of the National Q-Tip Safety Awareness Board. Don't order me to walk over to Sears and buy a goddamned REFRIGERATOR for the Accounting Department during my lunch hour. Don't ask me to call Mrs. Franz and cancel dinner. Especially don't ask me to lie to her and say you're "writing a report" or "having an internal meeting" or "conferencing with staff," when you're actually standing in the hallway talking about beer-making with the junior engineers.

I'm not kidding.

I am dangerously premenstrual today. The usual *72 Hours From Hell* this month have, so far, stretched into 120 hours ... and counting. I am a walking/talking/ticking/tocking hormonal time bomb. My daughter is sick, and I am not able to fly the 1,000 miles to sit at her hospital bedside today. David is in huge emotional turmoil over his job. They've raised our rent. My glasses are broken again.

I am absolutely NOT in the mood for any of your patented brand of blustering, blathering, stubbornly disorganized, absurdly self-serving "Just because I made the flight reservations doesn't mean I actually have to get on the airplane"  nonsense.

Stay away from the office today, if at all possible. It should be easy: just take a look at all the appointments I have neatly pencilled into your Dayrunner ... and then blow them off, per usual. If you do feel compelled to break your long-standing tradition and come into the office before 2 p.m. on a Monday, stay as far away from me as you can.  (I hear the Accounting Department has a new refrigerator. Maybe you can hang out there.)

Do not follow me down the hallway to the Ladies Room, asking me if I've rescheduled your appointment with the shoulder doctor.

Do not have me paged to come to your office when I am standing fifty feet away from you, discussing your medical insurance with the Human Resources Director Person.

Do not leave little Post-It notes on my chair, reminding me to reschedule your appointment with the shoulder doctor.

Trust me on this. It will be safer for BOTH of us if you maintain as much physical and psychic distance from me as possible today.

I do not say these things to you out of disrespect, or dissatisfaction, or disgust over your incredibly screwed-up view of how an "employer/employee relationship" should operate. Neither do I say them out of any sense of genuine caring. 

I just don't want your blood on my hands. It messes up my fingernails.

If you cut me some slack and give me plenty of emotional space today, I won't turn in my resignation letter at the end of the day. Or stab you in the foot with the pointy heel of my incredibly uncomfortable shoe.

Or simply turn around and walk out the door and never ever come back.

Deal?





P.S. My daughter is the ONLY thing I care about today. The rest of it is just background noise.



one year ago today


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