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Entry tags:
NaNoWriMo 2019, Day 2
Daily wordcount: 1846
Total wordcount: 1846
On/Off target: -1488
Actually did some writing, but still woefully behind. I'm not sure what I think of this start...
This is the point at which I normally give up. One mistake, one missed goal, and my brain dives into the all or nothing thinking of "well, hell, it's already gone to shit, why even both trying anymore?". And that's fine - well, not fine, but workable - when you're talking about a new crochet stitch or a terribly ambitious new recipe, but not okay when it comes to work.
So I did what I always do in these situations. Procrastinated. Maybe if I just didn't think about the problem, the numbers would magically fix themselves and all the problems would go away. And next time, I swore, I would not get into this bind. If it's my fault for not knowing what I was supposed to do, then I would ... let's be honest, I'd probably be just as timid and lazy and the same thing would happen all over again. And hope I could hold out the six years I have until retirement, and move on to something more suited to me. Like working in a craft shop, or a bakery, or anything else where I didn't have to think, and got to accomplish set tasks.
Because if I'm going to be honest, and I feel I should be here, I'm not the kind of person who's terribly driven. Sure, I like to challenge myself with my hobbies, but if I'm not interested in something, I don't have that spark. And let's be completely honest - who in their right mind would be super-into contracts? Besides Mindy, my fanatic coworker, who lives, sleeps, and breathes contract law. Also, the bane of my, and most of the other contract lawyer's, existence. But I swear I did not wish anything worse than stepping on a Lego on her, and certainly not what ended up happening. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We were talking about my mistake.
It happened, as things tend to do, on a Friday. Because why should the shit hit the fan on a Monday and ruin your week at work when instead, it can fuck up your whole weekend? That's the universe for you. Turns out, the bosses had decided to roll out a few tweaks to the standard merger contract, which makes up a small but very important part of our business. Without telling us. Or updating it in the blanks folder. Apparently, we were all supposed to be mind-readers or psychic and just know. And, or course, somehow, Mindy did, and that made the fact that they found that I had used an outdated contract while she had not all the worse. I still don't know how she knew, but she's always had a way of knowing things. Susan jokes that she has the boss's office bugged, and I'm starting to wonder if that's not such a far-fetched theory.
So now I'm stuck having to backtrack, and re-do something that no one wants to bother with, because the companies don't really see the difference and don't care but it's a huge fucking deal to the big bosses. And I'm in trouble. Again. And I get it. I'm not as motivated as I should be. I'm not on top of things. I have a terrible memory and things slip through the cracks. But I also have a serious lack of training and support, so, your move, bosses. I didn't really want to be promoted into this position, I was happy and comfortable doing what I was hired to do. And let's be honest, it wasn't really a promotion, you just dumped a whole new set of responsibilities on me and changed my duties without actually changing my job. But I put up with it, because I'm lazy and unmotivated, and, to be honest, the pay is pretty good. But I was on the brink of starting to look for other possibilities, because money is only worth so much stress. Well, money, good benefits, and a very easy commute. See? There are reasons I stay despite my bitching.
So there I was, late on a Friday afternoon, having had my ass handed to me and feeling at an all-time low, when I made the seriously stupid decision to be somewhat motivated. And go back to what I was actually good at - single-minded tasks and deep research. You give me a single problem that requires digging through copious paper or electronic files, and I'm your girl. I live for that. Why anyone thought I should be in charge of managing anything is beyond me. If you have to suggest assertiveness training, well, maybe that's not the right person for the job. But I digress.
At three in the afternoon, when I should have been winding down for the day and goofing off until quitting time (those levels of Candy Crush aren't going to play themselves!) I wandered back into the back store room to search through the boxes of files we'd been given from Cainin and Burke when they sold out to Birch and Tanner. You might think that an antique store being folded into book store would be fascinating stuff, especially for someone who both liked antiques and adored reading, but this wasn't the fun stuff. I wasn't going to get to sort through stacks of old handkerchiefs or leaf through ancient books, this was paperwork on building rent, utilities, and shipping costs. And I had to did through it to find at least five year's worth of costs to plug into the new sheet in the contract to show growth potential and/or declining business to bolster the position of the buying company's sales offer, despite the fact that the bloody money had already been paid and it was a done deal and both parties were happy, because that's what the bosses wanted. Because... I have no idea.
And thus I was sitting on a cold floor in the back of the store room, meticulously listing figures on my notepad for a deal that had already gone through to put on a contract that I was unlikely to get anyone to re-sign that might cost me my job when the lights went out. It was quitting time, and I was only three years back on the records. It's usually against my policy to work extra, because there is no overtime and they don't pay me that well, but I did not have plans for tonight and I just wanted to get the work done. But not on this cold floor in this depressing space. I figured I only had to wait about fifteen minutes for the building to clear out, and then I could sneak the boxes out of the office, pop them into my car, and finish this in the comfort of my home in warm jammies and with a very large glass of wine.
We weren't technically allowed to remove files from the office, because chain of custody or something, but people did it. The bosses did it all the time. And, like I said, this was a done deal and no one was ever going to care. The files hadn't even been properly stored or labeled, and probably would have been sent to the shredder in the next shipment. Anything important had already been scanned by the admin staff, at least, it should have been. It shouldn't be my fault if they missed anything, but it probably would be, so I decided to wait out the office clearing by taking a look through the digital file to reassure myself that the important things were there. And then I could just scan in the documents I'd used to create the spreadsheet I was putting together, and the rest could be burned in a bonfire if I was too lazy to bring it back. Which I almost assuredly would be.
Yes, I know, this all seems very shady and illegal, but I think this also shows that I have a habit of making rather poor decisions and will go a long way to explaining what happened next. Because if I had been Mindy, I would have done everything perfectly the first time, and I wouldn't have to resort to sneaking files out of the office so I could work on stupid tasks that no one cares about while at least getting to be drunk and enjoying a ridiculously bad monster movie. Which should also go a long way to explaining my actions and lack of good life decisions.
As suspected, the folder in the computer contained exactly three documents scanned in, the minimum of what was required. Far be it for anyone to go above and beyond the line of duty, especially when it was so easy as to sort a stack of papers, set them in the copier hopper, hit a button, and then rename the file that was emailed to your computer as you saved it to the appropriate folder. And if that sound bitter, well, it is. Because that's one of the things I started out doing. And if you go back fifteen years, the files are full of so much documentation from when I would meticulously save everything. Probably a little too much saved, I almost didn't live down the series of napkin doodles I scanned in that were in a box given to us by a restaurant that was expanding... until it turned out the owner had written down the safe combination on one of them, and when he died, it was a lot easier for his children to get into the safe because we still had it and I remembered about it. So, to be fair, the teasing probably helped me remember it, but I was the one who figure that it was better to be safe than sorry and save everything.
And, okay, I see the point that digital clutter is a thing and it's not the best policy to save everything. I should be able to let some things go, and I'm working on that. I have recipes I know I will never make, and despite the fact that I could probably just Google them again if I ever did decide to make them, I can't bring myself to relegate them to the digital trash can on my desktop, to be dispersed into electronic bits the next time it gets full and I have to empty it. I have patterns I've printed off that I made for one specific person or occasion that I will never make again. Do I thrown them away? Of course not. If it wasn't for the fact that my house is passable and I don't keep actual trash and I very much enjoying giving things to people, I would probably be considered a hoarder. At the very least, I have tendencies.
This may seem like a wild tangent, but this goes to explain why, for whatever reason, I loaded all eight boxes of files into the trunk of my car, despite being fairly sure all the information I needed would be contained in just two of them.
Total wordcount: 1846
On/Off target: -1488
Actually did some writing, but still woefully behind. I'm not sure what I think of this start...
This is the point at which I normally give up. One mistake, one missed goal, and my brain dives into the all or nothing thinking of "well, hell, it's already gone to shit, why even both trying anymore?". And that's fine - well, not fine, but workable - when you're talking about a new crochet stitch or a terribly ambitious new recipe, but not okay when it comes to work.
So I did what I always do in these situations. Procrastinated. Maybe if I just didn't think about the problem, the numbers would magically fix themselves and all the problems would go away. And next time, I swore, I would not get into this bind. If it's my fault for not knowing what I was supposed to do, then I would ... let's be honest, I'd probably be just as timid and lazy and the same thing would happen all over again. And hope I could hold out the six years I have until retirement, and move on to something more suited to me. Like working in a craft shop, or a bakery, or anything else where I didn't have to think, and got to accomplish set tasks.
Because if I'm going to be honest, and I feel I should be here, I'm not the kind of person who's terribly driven. Sure, I like to challenge myself with my hobbies, but if I'm not interested in something, I don't have that spark. And let's be completely honest - who in their right mind would be super-into contracts? Besides Mindy, my fanatic coworker, who lives, sleeps, and breathes contract law. Also, the bane of my, and most of the other contract lawyer's, existence. But I swear I did not wish anything worse than stepping on a Lego on her, and certainly not what ended up happening. But I'm getting ahead of myself. We were talking about my mistake.
It happened, as things tend to do, on a Friday. Because why should the shit hit the fan on a Monday and ruin your week at work when instead, it can fuck up your whole weekend? That's the universe for you. Turns out, the bosses had decided to roll out a few tweaks to the standard merger contract, which makes up a small but very important part of our business. Without telling us. Or updating it in the blanks folder. Apparently, we were all supposed to be mind-readers or psychic and just know. And, or course, somehow, Mindy did, and that made the fact that they found that I had used an outdated contract while she had not all the worse. I still don't know how she knew, but she's always had a way of knowing things. Susan jokes that she has the boss's office bugged, and I'm starting to wonder if that's not such a far-fetched theory.
So now I'm stuck having to backtrack, and re-do something that no one wants to bother with, because the companies don't really see the difference and don't care but it's a huge fucking deal to the big bosses. And I'm in trouble. Again. And I get it. I'm not as motivated as I should be. I'm not on top of things. I have a terrible memory and things slip through the cracks. But I also have a serious lack of training and support, so, your move, bosses. I didn't really want to be promoted into this position, I was happy and comfortable doing what I was hired to do. And let's be honest, it wasn't really a promotion, you just dumped a whole new set of responsibilities on me and changed my duties without actually changing my job. But I put up with it, because I'm lazy and unmotivated, and, to be honest, the pay is pretty good. But I was on the brink of starting to look for other possibilities, because money is only worth so much stress. Well, money, good benefits, and a very easy commute. See? There are reasons I stay despite my bitching.
So there I was, late on a Friday afternoon, having had my ass handed to me and feeling at an all-time low, when I made the seriously stupid decision to be somewhat motivated. And go back to what I was actually good at - single-minded tasks and deep research. You give me a single problem that requires digging through copious paper or electronic files, and I'm your girl. I live for that. Why anyone thought I should be in charge of managing anything is beyond me. If you have to suggest assertiveness training, well, maybe that's not the right person for the job. But I digress.
At three in the afternoon, when I should have been winding down for the day and goofing off until quitting time (those levels of Candy Crush aren't going to play themselves!) I wandered back into the back store room to search through the boxes of files we'd been given from Cainin and Burke when they sold out to Birch and Tanner. You might think that an antique store being folded into book store would be fascinating stuff, especially for someone who both liked antiques and adored reading, but this wasn't the fun stuff. I wasn't going to get to sort through stacks of old handkerchiefs or leaf through ancient books, this was paperwork on building rent, utilities, and shipping costs. And I had to did through it to find at least five year's worth of costs to plug into the new sheet in the contract to show growth potential and/or declining business to bolster the position of the buying company's sales offer, despite the fact that the bloody money had already been paid and it was a done deal and both parties were happy, because that's what the bosses wanted. Because... I have no idea.
And thus I was sitting on a cold floor in the back of the store room, meticulously listing figures on my notepad for a deal that had already gone through to put on a contract that I was unlikely to get anyone to re-sign that might cost me my job when the lights went out. It was quitting time, and I was only three years back on the records. It's usually against my policy to work extra, because there is no overtime and they don't pay me that well, but I did not have plans for tonight and I just wanted to get the work done. But not on this cold floor in this depressing space. I figured I only had to wait about fifteen minutes for the building to clear out, and then I could sneak the boxes out of the office, pop them into my car, and finish this in the comfort of my home in warm jammies and with a very large glass of wine.
We weren't technically allowed to remove files from the office, because chain of custody or something, but people did it. The bosses did it all the time. And, like I said, this was a done deal and no one was ever going to care. The files hadn't even been properly stored or labeled, and probably would have been sent to the shredder in the next shipment. Anything important had already been scanned by the admin staff, at least, it should have been. It shouldn't be my fault if they missed anything, but it probably would be, so I decided to wait out the office clearing by taking a look through the digital file to reassure myself that the important things were there. And then I could just scan in the documents I'd used to create the spreadsheet I was putting together, and the rest could be burned in a bonfire if I was too lazy to bring it back. Which I almost assuredly would be.
Yes, I know, this all seems very shady and illegal, but I think this also shows that I have a habit of making rather poor decisions and will go a long way to explaining what happened next. Because if I had been Mindy, I would have done everything perfectly the first time, and I wouldn't have to resort to sneaking files out of the office so I could work on stupid tasks that no one cares about while at least getting to be drunk and enjoying a ridiculously bad monster movie. Which should also go a long way to explaining my actions and lack of good life decisions.
As suspected, the folder in the computer contained exactly three documents scanned in, the minimum of what was required. Far be it for anyone to go above and beyond the line of duty, especially when it was so easy as to sort a stack of papers, set them in the copier hopper, hit a button, and then rename the file that was emailed to your computer as you saved it to the appropriate folder. And if that sound bitter, well, it is. Because that's one of the things I started out doing. And if you go back fifteen years, the files are full of so much documentation from when I would meticulously save everything. Probably a little too much saved, I almost didn't live down the series of napkin doodles I scanned in that were in a box given to us by a restaurant that was expanding... until it turned out the owner had written down the safe combination on one of them, and when he died, it was a lot easier for his children to get into the safe because we still had it and I remembered about it. So, to be fair, the teasing probably helped me remember it, but I was the one who figure that it was better to be safe than sorry and save everything.
And, okay, I see the point that digital clutter is a thing and it's not the best policy to save everything. I should be able to let some things go, and I'm working on that. I have recipes I know I will never make, and despite the fact that I could probably just Google them again if I ever did decide to make them, I can't bring myself to relegate them to the digital trash can on my desktop, to be dispersed into electronic bits the next time it gets full and I have to empty it. I have patterns I've printed off that I made for one specific person or occasion that I will never make again. Do I thrown them away? Of course not. If it wasn't for the fact that my house is passable and I don't keep actual trash and I very much enjoying giving things to people, I would probably be considered a hoarder. At the very least, I have tendencies.
This may seem like a wild tangent, but this goes to explain why, for whatever reason, I loaded all eight boxes of files into the trunk of my car, despite being fairly sure all the information I needed would be contained in just two of them.