There’s a large empty cardboard box on my desk at the Space Station. I wonder if they’re eager to get rid of me? Heh. At any rate, I’m playing along and packing up my desk. Heaven forbid the station have any kind personality – once I’m gone, not a single desk will have any pictures or toys or anything that is not a computer. I suppose it makes perfect business sense though; nothing says “we’re an internet software company” like a bleak and sterile work environment.

The box really bothers me, though. Yes, at the moment I’m hormonal and over-sensitive, but it all just feels like a huge slap in the face. It’s been fun, guys. See you on the flip side – sucks for you that I’m not actually leaving and just working from home, but you know. Take your joy where you can find it.

Am I ever going to find a place where I’m an appreciated, valued member of the team? This place started out so well, and quickly went to shit. I routinely get in trouble for trying to do my job – for example, the VP is pissed at me for “yelling” at him, except I wasn’t so much yelling as I was trying to get his attention to ask him not to hold his extremely loud conversation with Talkie Guy right in front of my desk while I was on the phone with a client. I’m just so disheartened by it all – in addition to the big cardboard hint on my desk, I found that I’ve been removed from all the pertinent email accounts that I use for my job. It honestly doesn’t feel so much like I’m being moved to other work as it does I’m being REmoved. It’s not a good feeling.

Back to packing, then.

I am naively, unreliably, cautimistic.

We finally have Words From Above regarding our impending Real Boy Status. August 1st is the big day, the day when our little Space Station worker bees graduate from mere puppets to real life flesh boys.

Except for me. Oh, didn’t I mention that part?

There are some people in our station who will be designated as Consultants, and I am one of them. What does this mean?

• I lose my desk – as of next week, I work from home
• I lose my computer, too – the laptop stays here
• Still no benefits, vacation time or sick days
• .. but I get a 20% increase in pay
• I am being moved to project work for real this time
• I no longer report to the Space President or even the Space Vice President; I report to the guy with the money
• This change is being made because of “personality conflicts”
• The large ass marble from my previous post is moot, because Lucrezia will more than likely be moved back from her fancy role into my support job as I take on more projects
• Snerk
• I got a significant bonus that is going to buy toys

I’ve known about the bonus for a while, but given my history of naively believing the things people tell me, I didn’t want to do a dance for fear of jinxing it. I was handed the cheque today (along with my paycheque), so I think it is safe to spill the beans – and spill I will. Bonus! Yay, bonus! Frivolous spending, here I come!

So, I’m cautiously optimistic. Maybe this will work out? I do enjoy random money, and I will enjoy more money as well. Working from home will be interesting, and the random people who marble my ass will be mere MSN pop ups on a screen. I don’t know what’s going to happen, but I’ll stick around for the ride. After all, they just gave me free money. Sweeeeeeet.

I will use some of it to buy myself some lunch!

I saw the Transformers movie again last night, this time with Josh and Shan. I almost enjoyed it more this time, as this viewing had two things the first sorely lacked: popcorn, and a small child doing somersaults. She was wee and she was bored, so after she had her fill of skipping up and down the aisle she started doing somersaults, one after another. It was hilarious – as an epic battle between good and evil waged on the big screen, a tiny girl was repeatedly rolling down the aisle next to me. All movies should have this feature!

Once again I am amazed and more than a little disgusted with my job. It seems a huge project we have going is finally at the stage where more hands are needed. People were assigned roles on Monday, and all is going smoothly. I don’t have a role, of course. It seems that because I was out of the office on Monday – I worked from home as part of my pre-approved, one-day vacation – I am no longer working on the project. It was one of the things dangled in front of me during the Unpleasantness of April, as a promise that things would improve for me if I didn’t jump ship. Gotcha! Apparently, I have once again naively and unreliably believed what the Vice President of Space told me to my face. Shameful! It doesn’t matter that I was working my ass off at home, my corporal body was not in the office and therefore I am off the project. Yippee! Let’s let people with a fraction of the knowledge I have regarding this very subject take over! Why? Well, they were in the office and I was not! It makes perfect business sense!

Also up my ass: one of the senior space partners comes in each day and greets everyone with hugs, kisses, handshakes, warm hellos, high fives, manly claps on the back, and some “how are you my dear?”s thrown in for good measure. Everyone, of course, except me. I don’t even get a cold hello. I don’t particularly want hugs or kisses or physical contact, but a hello would be nice. It stings a little knowing that he has to literally walk past me multiple times in order to greet everyone else when he makes the morning rounds.

My least favourite client is about two emails away from installing a tracking device around my neck so he knows where I am at all times in case he has questions.

I am a sad astronaut.

I wasn’t always a renegade astronaut working to bring down the Space Man from the inside. Long before I became the cynical, jaded husk you all know and love, I was a fresh-faced and apple-cheeked go-getter with a sparkling outlook on life. Delicious Juice Dot Com was not yet a glimmer of a twinkle in my eye, so there was no need for a sneaky code name for my job – it just was what it was.

I used to work for Procter and Gamble, manufacturing overlord of all things that go in or on your body. I started out as a maternity replacement for the Executive Assistant, and quickly became indispensable and also permanent – the lady didn’t want her job back, and who was I to argue. I enjoyed my job, but even then my abundant sass was bubbling up and over my good girl persona. P&G was and always has been a very conservative company, and the bright pink streaks and nose ring I sported were just not suitable for an Executive Assistant to the president of P&G West. My admittedly awesome technical skills had not gone unnoticed though, and soon I found myself promoted to not only a full-time real employee but one who was responsible for all things technical west of Ontario. Not too shabby, as I don’t have the paperwork to back up my genius (or a high school diploma, if you want to get snarky about it).

Years passed, and my title changed almost quarterly. My duties changed a lot too – by the end of my tenure there, I was not only responsible for the technological well-being of about 200 people; I was also the Facilities Manager for our three offices (we moved a lot). I was busy. My title was “Workplace Services Coordinator”. I had an office and a pager and ass marbles the size of our warehouse from trying to keep everything running smoothly.

We had moved from our downtown office to a spacious area out past the airport. However, after a year there we learned that more than half our staff was being let go due to that awesome bitch, Corporate Downsizing. Our office was way, way too big for our remaining suckers, so we looked for a new home. Luckily, we were in a very newly developed area that was owned by one company – they let us choose a smaller space in a new building that was still under construction. I had a great deal of fun playing with office layouts and figuring out everything that was needed, and I frankly did a great job of it. I may not necessarily like what I do, but I *am* awfully good at it – lucky me.

So, what happened? I laughed a little too long and hard at something – given the circumstances – that was completely and utterly inappropriate, but was just so funny I couldn’t help myself. In retrospect, I really should have tried to help myself, or at the very least save my helpless peals of laughter for when I *wasn’t* on a conference call with some very high higher ups.

Almost everyone knows about Procter & Gamble and the whole “we support the Church of Satan!” story (which, for the record, is not true – don’t sue me). It might seem obvious to those with any sort of common sense, but there is an unfortunately large portion of the population who believe everything they’re told – and as such, really believe that P&G and Satan are BFF because Aunt Martha’s hairdresser’s boy’s friend from two towns over saw the president of P&G on Oprah or Donahue (never happened) hailing Satan and why would he lie about such a thing? Look at the FACTS! It was on TV! There are STARS on their LOGO! I’m never buying any of their 900+ products ever again, lordy lordy!

While you and I know the whole thing is just one big stupid urban legend, there are a lot of people who think otherwise – and as such, P&G is very concerned about their image, wanting to avoid any more bullshit and lawsuits (they successfully sued Amway for many many moneys because their agents were spreading the gospel as truth to the gullible). For example, Cover Girl will never launch a line of goth makeup; Sunny D isn’t about to come out with Blood Red Berry Burst; you’ll never see an ad campaign about on how well Tide with Bleach gets those pesky sacrificial blood stains out of your altar cloth; and Secret might very well be strong enough for the Prince of Darkness himself but it really is made for women. There are people in P&G who take care of this kind of thing. It is Serious Business.

So, when I found out that our new office address was going to be 7666 Middle-of-Nowhere Lane, my reaction probably *shouldn’t* have been to laugh so hard I damn near wet myself. Nope, not at all. Restraint, I’ve heard, can be used outside the bedroom too.

To be fair, 7666 isn’t the reason I left P&G – I too was a victim of Corporate Downsizing – but I did get quite the talking to afterwards. I don’t really see why – I was the one who brought it to their attention well in advance so they could petition the city for a new building number. If anything, I’m a hero. Where’s my shiny gold star and lifetime supply of Old Spice? Some people just don’t appreciate my brilliance.

It *was* funny, though.