Do you by any chance shop at PetCo?...

I get into the office at 9:20 am on Monday. "Where have you been?!" My boss asks, frantically. "My bus gets in at 9:19," I explain. "And it takes me about a minute to walk over here from there. What's up? How was your weekend?"

"Horrible!" He exclaims. "I lost my wallet!"

Very nearly out of breath, he tells me how he had his bookkeeper call all of his credit card companies to see if there had been any activity on them--there hadn't but he's sure he's going to have to cancel all of them and what about his drivers license? He's supposed to go in for a driving test next Wednesday and how's he going to take the test if he doesn't have his license? He's required to bring it!

After a little more freaking out, I come back into my office. As I walk in, I see a stack of books that he angrily put on my desk about a week and a half ago ("I don't want these on my desk anymore!"). As I go over to move them, I see what can only be described as a George Costanza wallet. It's probably about 2 inches thick, I'd guess it took about a half of a cow to make this thing. I pick it up and go back into his office. "Is this what you're looking for?" I ask. His eyes light up. "Oh, I could kiss you!" He takes the wallet. "I can't believe, all this time it was on your desk! I should've looked in there, first, but..." as he goes to put it in his jacket pocket, his face changes. Confused, he lifts his hand out. Dangling from his fingers is a keyring with a Volkswagon key, a PetCo card and a few extra keys hanging from it. "Whose are these?"

"Um, sir, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?!"

We argued about this for a while, how I could possibly not know whose keys were mysteriously in his jacket pocket and whose they might be (every suggestion I made was met with "NO!"). Then, at the end of the day around 3:00 in the afternoon, the school's vice president's secretary came down to my office. She introduced herself and then, almost sheepishly, asked "do you by any chance know where the governor is?"

"He should be in his office," I said. "Why?"

"Oh, I just lent him my keys this morning so he could get into his office," she explained. "I thought he was going to return them, but..."

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "Do you by any chance drive a Volkswagon and shop at PetCo?"

"Yes..." Confused look. "How did you know?"

"Never mind. I'll go get your keys."

Josh? Chris? China? What?

So, my boyfriend is moving to China. But that's not the story. The story is, Tuesday afternoon, my boss's wife called me (he was at home for the day) and asked if I could pick up his mail. Sure. So, my boyfriend and I get in the car and drive over the bridge to his house. Knowing full well that his wife is under the impression that I am dating my friend Josh (a story for another time), the moment we were let in the front door, I said "this is my boyfriend, Curtis," hoping to pre-empt any awkward situations. Enter a very confused former Governor's wife. "Is he the one who wanted to be a driver? What about Josh? Curtis, have we met before?" No, I don't know about Josh, and no, but anyway. "He'd like you to come see him, follow me," she says, and into their bedroom we go.

And so began an hour and a half long discussion about China. Why is he going? Where? For how long? The Governor probably told him ten times to be sure to get me his emergency contact information because "you never know when you might need it, and if you need it, it's probably too late to get it to someone who can help." We heard countless stories of people who have given him emergency contact information (interestingly enough, though, not one story about a time when it came in handy), and suddenly it turned into "be sure to get US your contact information, if we have to bail you out ever, we'll need it." We? When did this turn into a "we" thing? But I suppose that's nice, having the leader of the free world (in his own mind) looking out for you while you're in the orient.

This is still, however, not the point of this story. The point is, they talked for over an hour about the trip, he asked every question imaginable, and when we finally left I knew more about the trip than Curtis' parents probably know. But the next morning, in true form, the Governor asked me why I wasn't coming in the following day. "What? Why aren't you coming in? What's happening to you?"

"Well, sir, I have to take Curtis to the airport."

"Who's Curtis?"

"...My boyfriend?"

"Why's he going to China?"

"For school!"

"Oh. ...What happened to Josh?"







Oh, and by the way, the day after bringing him to the airport, that being a week ago today, he comes into my office. "Did he make it ok?" He asks.

"Who?"

"Chris!"

"Who's Chris?" I ask.

"Your boyfriend!"

"Oh," I laugh. "No. CURTIS."

"Huh?" He replies. "Who's Curtis?"

That's E as in Equestrian...

This happened a little while ago but I have a half an hour to kill and it's one of my favorite stories from working here.

The Governor just got a new car a few months ago. With his car came a three month free trial of XM Satellitte Radio. Now, just putting out there that he is a grandfather and also can barely hear when you yell, I'm going to go with, he doesn't exactly listen to this particular radio. But that's just my thought on the subject.

Regardless, when a notice came in the mail asking whether he wanted to start paying for the XM radio, the Governor wasted no time in berating me for not doing so sooner and demanding that I renew his radio immediately. "Do you actually USE it?" I ask, and get a very dirty look and "do you actually USE it?" immitated back to me. Neat.

I call the company and get a very friendly but VERY over the top woman who wants me to spell everything. "What town does he live in, and can you spell it?" "Jamestown, it's J-A-M-E-S-T-O-W-N." And then, no word of a lie, she says back "that's J as in Joseph, A as in Apple, M as in Mister, E as in Equestrian..." For every word I tell her, she asks me to spell it, and for every word I spell, she repeats it back to me in such a way, giving me an example for every single letter. And the thing is, she uses the same word for every letter. For example, I had to tell her the letter "Q" a few times, at least twice. And both of those times, she repeated back "Q as in Quebec." What? Quebec? Not Quiet, Quail, Quote, Quixote? Quebec. Ok, lady.

Following all of the spelling, she asks me what I'd like to pay for. I tell her, as little as I possibly can, and she proceeds to tell me every single package the company offers, for every imaginable period of time. I listen patiently and finally tell her I'd like to sign him up for three more months. Slightly annoyed, she asks "why would you sign up for only three months at $39.99 when you could sign up for four years at [whatever the price was], saving [roughly a gagillion dollars]?"

"Honestly?" I say, having had it just about up to whatever "here" is. "Because the man I am doing this for fought in World War II, and flew bomber jets. In other words, he's too old to know how to work an XM Satellite Radio, and he's too deaf to hear it anyway. So when you send me the reminder that his three months are almost up, I'm going to accidently lose it, and stop wasting his money."

"Oh," she said. "So...can you spell his name for me, again?"

And so it goes...

Sarah: 1, Sean: 0

Obviously at 11:30 in the morning I am finally eating my breakfast (which, for the record, is a terribly healthy bag of famous amos chocolate chip cookies). The lateness of this typical early-morning routine stems from the fact that I have the dumbest job possibly ever (although Sean and I have spent the morning arguing about whose job is worse, and while I will conceed and call it a tie, no WAY is anyone's job more obnoxious than mine). While I am finishing up my last cookie, G-Sun walks in and hands me a piece of paper. When I take it, he picks up the (empty) bag of cookies and looks into it. Upon realizing there are no more cookies in the bag, he says "what!" and throws it back down on the table. I point to the bowl of candy on the bookshelf in front of my desk, and he walks over to it, takes a piece of chocolate, says "hot damn!" and walks out of the room.

I'm sorry, Sean, but I think I win this round of ri-goddamn-diculous.

true story!

My best friend Beth is another one who's always around to chat about the crazy things that happen at work. By "always around to chat," I mean, she has possibly the most stressful job ever and works insane hours and gets paid dirt...but anyway. Here is a conversation we had this morning:

me: so how are things? any better than last week?
Beth: Yah I just am so stressed out with work
me: yeah i bet
me: ps the governor was just talking to me in his office and he kept farting
me: like pretty loud
Beth: Ahahahahaha
me: and it was soooo hard not to laugh
Beth: That's amazing
me: he can't hear it but seriously, i mean how old do you have to be to not be aware that you're farting?
me: maybe he just thinks if he can't hear it, i can't hear it
Beth: Hahahahaha
Beth: Poor guy
Beth: He prob has no idea its happening
me: it's just sooooo awkward
Beth: Do you think he wears depends?
Beth: Perhaps he's lost control of what happens down there
me: hahaha i don't think he does but i guess i really just don't know


ps: another true story: while typing this, the Governor called me into his office. Apparently the dictaphone he uses to dictate his letters and pages of his book to me randomly came on and started playing something I recorded back in June. He now believes it is possessed. I honestly cannot wait to find out where this goes.

breakdown

I can't fathom how the governor could possibly need this much help.

Example: I have to print out a calendar for him and keep it updated. I do it with this program called Now & Up-To-Date; every day I print him out that day's schedule and tape it to his desk, then update the week calendar he has--one page with the entire month on it, stapled to one weeks' worth of day schedules with everything I know about written into them. This is a huge waste because things change so quickly around here, and far be it from anybody to just use a pen and write in new events. Nope, everything has to be re-printed. And the best part is, he never looks at it! He freaks out if he doesn't have it, which is usually because he took it out of his bag and left it on his desk or something. He schedules himself appointments during other appointments, which, if he looked at his damn calendar, are clearly scheduled. And then he doesn't tell me he's done this. It is a common occurrance around here to have to re-schedule appointments he's made on his own, during appointments I've already scheduled and told him about, and having to apologize for my mistakes.

He's also one of the most forgetful perfectionists I've ever met or even heard of. All last week, he kept having me write letters to people, accusing them of not sending things that they said they'd send him...the thing is, they were all things he already has, that have been in his in-box for at least a week. He somehow remembers that Linda from the driving school owes him an evaluation, and he decides to write her a letter on Wednesday accusing her of never sending his evaluation. Intersting points:

(1) He already wrote her a letter accusing her of this
(2) He also made me call her
(3) During this phone call, I found out that she'd already sent his evaluation to his home address--the one he lived in three years ago. Whose fault is that?
(4) She told me if I didn't recieve the one she was sending here, to his office, by this past Friday, to call her and she'd personally deliver the evaluation
(5) The evaluation came in on Tuesday--stamped and placed in his in-box, right on top because it seemed most important.
(6) "I'm doing what she said--if I didn't get her evaluation, I should write to her and tell her!" (note: this was Wednesday.)

One of the letters I had to write on Thursday was actually apologizing for my screwing things up! Someone invited him to something about a month ago. I put the invitation on his desk, and he returned it to me with a post-it note on it saying "find out their last name." I found it out and told him, asked him if he wanted to go and he said no, that his wife had a prior engagement and to please call and leave his regrets. There was a note on said invitation saying their last name, that I called with regrets, and the reason for them. And yet, on Thursday morning, I found myself writing a letter that was dictated to me explaining that he had to figure out all on his own who these people were and he realizes now that his new secretary didn't know what she was doing and, as such, never managed to RSVP to the invitation.

Or, he left a card on my desk that he got on July 3rd. I remember opening it, I remember stamping it, I remember putting it on his desk. I've been moving it around on his desk for a month; every time I clean it (probably three times a week, to no avail) I move this letter to the top of a pile and every time it gets lost in the shuffle all over again. Friday morning, he put it on my desk with a note that says "did we ever get her last name?"

Well, no.

Because he never asked me what it was.

I swear I could save about 7 acres of rain forest trees per day if I just stopped doing everything the governor asks.

i don't know what i'd do at work every day if it wasn't for my friend sean. sean and i met freshman year of college living in the same hallway. now we both sit at our desks 5 days a week and talk on AIM about how ridiculous our jobs are.

excerpt from an AIM conversation, 8/2/07:

(note: i am writing this while at work, because it is 9:36 am and my boss is still not here)

me: see, i don't really eat at work
me: i have a drawer full of newtons, luna bars and cookies
me: but i almost never get to eat any of it
sean: haha
sean: why not
me: because i'm always busy
me: today i got here at like 9
me: and opened a little bag of cookies, because i took insulin at home so i need to eat somthing
me: and i ended up running all over the office all morning
me: i had to copy a stack of things--simple, right?
me: i mean all you have to do is place the stack into the top of the copy machine and hit "start" and it copies the entire stack, one by one
me: but every time i'd go to the copy machine, my phone would ring
me: this seriously happened at least 10 times
me: i go over to the copy machine, turn it on, phone rings
me: run back to my office, answer the phone, its the governor, updating me on where he is now, asking questions he knows the answers to, same old
me: we chat, hang up
me: i wait a minute, nothing happens, so i go back to the copy machine
me: pick up the papers
me: ...phone rings
sean: no
me: YES.
me: this time, he hangs up on me
me: and i wait, probably for five minutes, for him to realize his mistake and call me back, but he doesn't
me: so i get up, start to walk to the copy machine, pause...wait for it to ring, but it doesn't, so i keep going
me: get to the machine, pick up my papers...
sean: phone rings
me: phone rings
me: this literally happened all morning
me: so, 9 am i opened the bag, i don't think i actually ate anything in it until at least 11:45
me: and then i put one cookie in my mouth and the phone rang
me: i didn't even get to start copying until about 11 and then it took me about a year to get those copies OUT of the machine and onto his desk
me: haha
me: i think he has sensors or something
me: he just knows when calling me would be the most inconvenient thing, and he does it then
sean: tru
sean: i need a hair cut
sean: and a nap
sean: and a sandwich
sean: and a beer
sean: and a clear mind
sean: haha
me: me too
me: all of the above


ps: i'd like to direct anyone reading this to sean's blog, which he writes with several of his friends, which can be found in the links section of this blog (please everyone shut up). particularly the post titled "the 40 hour work week - a dangling carrot or a myth to keep us going?" because i think it fits with this blog.

excerpt from conversation with Curtis:

curtis: how's the gov this morning?
me: ugh
me: i got here and he was freaking out
me: he was in my office calling someone
me: and hands me the calendar i printed out for him yesterday and was like "this doesn't help me at all-it doesn't have anything on it"
me: so i said "that's because you don't have anything scheduled today"
me: and he said "i have a funeral to go to!"
me: so i said "ok, you didn't tell me that. if you don't tell me these things, i can't put them on your schedule"
me: and he says "no time for that! where is the funeral?"
me: i say "whose funeral?" and he goes "AAGGHHHHH! Joe's mother's funeral!"
me: so i go to find the obituary on his desk but of course it's a mess even though i cleaned it yesterday
me: i come in here and print it out and show him and he's like "where the hell is that?"
me: i go to get him directions and he's like "i can't believe you were late TODAY."
me: i said "i almost didn't COME IN today but i did so i'm here so what do you need?"
me: and he gets mad, and says "i'll call you from the car for the directions, bye."
me: and so when he called he was a little nicer and he finally asked why i was late again and i explained that i was sick last night and i was thinking about not coming in today but i decided i had to, and he was like "you keep getting sick, why do you keep getting sick?" and i said "well i'm diabetic" and he was like "ohhhhh i didn't know that, you need to tell me these things."
me: so that was a little better, i guess
me: but i'm sure he's forgotten by now
curtis: yeah
curtis: crazy freaking man

a labor of love

To catch you up to speed, I feel like I ought to throw in there that I really do adore my boss, he is a lovely man and sort of a grandfatherly figure who cares a lot about everybody in his life, but tries very hard to cover that up with a gruff attitude. He really is of a different era--an era where one writes letters to his friends to celebrate achievements and mourn losses, wears double breasted suits to work every day and speaks slowly and clearly to avoid using the word "um."

To clarify, this blog is intended to be a labor of love. And frustration and boredom...but mostly love.

the beginning

On June 14th, 2007, I wrote an e-mail to a former RI Governor.* I was writing to ask a favor. The Governor (affectionately known as G-Sun...but only really to me and my friend Josh) had been my professor for PSC 305, a class about Rhode Island politics, and I was writing to inquire as to whether I could use him as a possible reference on my resume as I began the big job hunt at the end of my college career.

On June 15th, I got my response:

Dear Sarah,

[The Governor] asked me to see if you have the skills to provide
bookkeeping and secretarial help to him. My position with him is over
on 6/22/07, and he is looking for someone to help with secretarial and
bookkeping capabilities. I have attached a general description of the
position.

Cecelia

After writing e-mails back and forth all day on the 15th, Cecelia and I agreed that I would come in between 1 and 1:30 that Monday, the 18th of June, and talk to Cecelia, who had worked for the Governor for the last 12 years, about her job and whether I'd be able to take the position. We talked, she explained, I listened, and by the end of the day it was understood: I would work with Cecelia for her last week and she would train me. At the end of the week, if things worked out, I would take over her job and G-Sun's Professional Administrative Assistant.

PROFESSIONAL ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT (n): a fancy word for "secretary."

...Little did I know what I was getting myself into.






*For my own personal protection, I have removed the Governor's name from my posts, to avoid a google-related fiasco.