(no subject)
Apr. 1st, 2004 07:28 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
hafoc
I'm not good at asking for things. I don't know why. It's stupid, but it's me.
For some weird reason I never got around to asking for a simple promotion, to senior worker, I could have asked for after I'd worked here three years. I guess I figured I had enough money to do what I wanted. And after all, I was going to sell my masterpiece novels (HAH! to both parts, the sell and the masterpiece). It wasn't like I was going to stay in this place for my whole working life.
But after I'd seen about three generations of coworkers come, have me tell them how to do the job, and then leave-- and THEY got the promotion-- I started to think maybe I deserved it too. Finally I asked.
They said no. I couldn't believe it.
I can't go into the reason why without either getting personal or going into real-world details about my workplace, which I don't want to do here. The reason I was given was a bureaucratic one, a procedural one, another of these "nothing personal" things that just drives me MAD.
Let me point out right now that nobody I work with in person was against me in this. In fact, they did all they could to help me. With much whining on my part and much help on theirs, my organization approved this promition (and the attendant raise). Just in time for me to take a pay cut, as everyone here did, due to budget problems.
I'm not good at things, but I'm even worse at being broke. Not that I am, compared to many of the half dozen who will read this. But I'm supposed to be settled, working at a Real Job, and I have an establishment to match-- a house, such as it is, to take care of, car payments, the usual slew of taxes and utility bills and everybody in the world coming to you with their hands out to ding you for a buck here, ten bucks there. And a ten percent pay cut. I've been hanging on without having to sell anything, but it's taken everything I had for the past half a year. I've even had to accept charity from my friends. THAT is bitter. It's OK for someone who is trying to get set up in life, but dammit, I HAD my years of needing everyone else's help. I'm supposed to be doing the helping, now, and I can't.
But the wheels grind on. Six months ago my people sent the formal paperwork to our head office. Three months ago it went to Silly Service.
Today I got an email that Silly Service has approved the request. I'm promoted retroactively as of a couple months ago, which means that after being broke for that long I have a lump of back pay coming. Maybe enough to pay my heating bills, even.
On April 1. The High Holy Day of Papa Coyote.
On the way home today I stopped for a few groceries. I grabbed a bottle of wine off the shelves at random-- it turned out to be Bella Serra Merlot-- and took it home.
It was a clear evening. My patio table, slightly but not irrevocably bent by the weight of snow and ice that buried it this winter, was clear-- in fact the snow is pretty much gone on the flats, although the snowbanks along the roads are still high.
I uncorked the wine and poured the first glass. Then I walked to the edge of the woods, lifted it to the sun-- the ruby color was more beautiful than any gem I've ever seen. I said a little prayer of thanks and poured it out, a libation to the God who rules my life, and to my protectors-- and destroyers.
Then I walked back, brushed the winter's pine needles from the white plastic chair beside the slightly bent glass-topped patio table, and poured a smaller drink of the wine for myself.
It is very good wine.
For some weird reason I never got around to asking for a simple promotion, to senior worker, I could have asked for after I'd worked here three years. I guess I figured I had enough money to do what I wanted. And after all, I was going to sell my masterpiece novels (HAH! to both parts, the sell and the masterpiece). It wasn't like I was going to stay in this place for my whole working life.
But after I'd seen about three generations of coworkers come, have me tell them how to do the job, and then leave-- and THEY got the promotion-- I started to think maybe I deserved it too. Finally I asked.
They said no. I couldn't believe it.
I can't go into the reason why without either getting personal or going into real-world details about my workplace, which I don't want to do here. The reason I was given was a bureaucratic one, a procedural one, another of these "nothing personal" things that just drives me MAD.
Let me point out right now that nobody I work with in person was against me in this. In fact, they did all they could to help me. With much whining on my part and much help on theirs, my organization approved this promition (and the attendant raise). Just in time for me to take a pay cut, as everyone here did, due to budget problems.
I'm not good at things, but I'm even worse at being broke. Not that I am, compared to many of the half dozen who will read this. But I'm supposed to be settled, working at a Real Job, and I have an establishment to match-- a house, such as it is, to take care of, car payments, the usual slew of taxes and utility bills and everybody in the world coming to you with their hands out to ding you for a buck here, ten bucks there. And a ten percent pay cut. I've been hanging on without having to sell anything, but it's taken everything I had for the past half a year. I've even had to accept charity from my friends. THAT is bitter. It's OK for someone who is trying to get set up in life, but dammit, I HAD my years of needing everyone else's help. I'm supposed to be doing the helping, now, and I can't.
But the wheels grind on. Six months ago my people sent the formal paperwork to our head office. Three months ago it went to Silly Service.
Today I got an email that Silly Service has approved the request. I'm promoted retroactively as of a couple months ago, which means that after being broke for that long I have a lump of back pay coming. Maybe enough to pay my heating bills, even.
On April 1. The High Holy Day of Papa Coyote.
On the way home today I stopped for a few groceries. I grabbed a bottle of wine off the shelves at random-- it turned out to be Bella Serra Merlot-- and took it home.
It was a clear evening. My patio table, slightly but not irrevocably bent by the weight of snow and ice that buried it this winter, was clear-- in fact the snow is pretty much gone on the flats, although the snowbanks along the roads are still high.
I uncorked the wine and poured the first glass. Then I walked to the edge of the woods, lifted it to the sun-- the ruby color was more beautiful than any gem I've ever seen. I said a little prayer of thanks and poured it out, a libation to the God who rules my life, and to my protectors-- and destroyers.
Then I walked back, brushed the winter's pine needles from the white plastic chair beside the slightly bent glass-topped patio table, and poured a smaller drink of the wine for myself.
It is very good wine.
