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Bulletin For The Present before/after
Bulletin from the Present:
Well, I had my interview. Went well, about an hour.
I've had two of the big wigs I deal with call him to put in a good word for me prior to this. We'll see how it goes.
It was a good interview. Deep. He really wanted me to be the guy, but I wonder if I am the guy.
If I am, I'll spearhead a major project, that he will have a lot riding on, so to speak. So he may go with someone else.
Which, personally, I think is a bad decision. In hiring me, he ingratiates himself into a chunk of the power-structure, as well as getting me.
Not that I'm super-employee or anything. But when you get me fired up about something, I go and do, and do well. I find ways to win.
It was candid, honest. He's pretty cool, and would be a cool boss to have.
But I refuse to get my hopes up. Its safer that way. I would be soooo good at that job.
He actually gave me a compliment. "You're a pretty bright guy, aren't you."
Well, yeah, I try. All evidence to the contrary aside.
It would be soooo cool. Damn, I want that job.
In an aside, since they've fired me, they've continued to mount up the work for me, way beyond what I've been doing prior.
As well as offering a promotion and raise to the other classifieds in the department to do my job when I leave, rather than contract with me to do it.
So, I guess, if I don't get that job, I have to question how much work I will do from now until the end of September.
I did some this week, so that my project looked good for the interview, but that was more self-serving than anything.
It continues to impress me. Where is the connection not being made? You fired me=zero motivation to do anything for you.
How can you not make that connection? What are you going to do if I don't do the work you ask? Fire me again?
I've stopped reducing my illicit windows. Like if I'm reading someone's diary, and the Boss's watchdog (her secretary, or Operations Manager-long story) comes into my cube, I don't even bother.
It won't be long before they catch me playing Euchre on my laptop.
As a matter of fact, she just walked by while I was writing this.
What the fuck do I care?
I mean, should I just sit back, and let them, as mom put it, "milk me" until I leave, and leave the easy stuff for the schlep, who's pretended to be my friend this whole time, do the rest when I'm gone and get credit for it all?
Don't think so.
In fact, I'm deleting all the stuff on my computers before I leave. Fuck them. Figure it out for yourself.
I'll leave the stuff on the intra-net and external pages. That's all well and good, unless things get really acrimonious, and then it will get really funny.
I could change all the pages to have pictures of me, or whatever, or insulting the people responsible, subtly sabatoge the pages by including fifty megabyte movies of Chris Farley to the start of every page, or release a virus, if it gets to that point. Fair is fair. I passed up a lot waiting for a raise and a promotion that never came, and I've been a good boy, thinking that it will all end up well, if I deport myself well. Professionally.
But shit, man. Y'know?
Just...shit.
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