Wednesday, February 23, 2011
I Love the Smell of Regret in the Morning
I'm going into an office regularly the past few weeks. No, I don't have a job yet, but I'm working in Pup's office putting my education to work.
He's training me on a few things.
Have you been trained on anything by your husband? You have? Does he still have his nipples (Pup actually hides his when we're having a 'discussion' ala Doug from King of Queens).
I'm being trained on a simple, yet many stepped process. Involving so many steps. Damn! These accountant-types are so exacting! WTH? What's a few missed steps? (Witness Pup clutching not only his nipples, but his heart.)
A few of you have been in my brain. You know this can't be easy.
The first session went well. I only said he was mean four or five times and I should file a grievance with Human Resources because I don't think your boss is supposed to run into your office randomly to squeeze your boobies or exclaim, "Show me Felix"! But that's how we roll at The Firm.
In the first training, I diligently made notes. A few pages worth. He was throwing lots of terms and phrases at me. I'm sure talk like this was a panty-dropper in his past, but no panties were dropping. I'm all about working when I'm at The Firm.
At the second training session, I take out my notes to start the process and I draw a blank. The notes look like they were written in Latin. Or by a first grader. You pick. What the hell was I talking about?
I throw my hands in the air, "None of this makes sense"! I say. "I can't tell how to begin."
"What do you mean Sweetie? Let's start this payroll."
Pup looks at me over his reading glasses with a look in his eye. Could that be regret? Could it be the realization that I'm not really born to do this kind of work? Could it be he needs to wait a hot minute before thinking me totally goofusy?
The hardest thing about training someone is they aren't in your head understanding everything being done. I've trained people in the past. It's hard to not think them dumbasses.
Poor Pup. He wants help. He needs help. I'm available.
"Let's start writing procedures." I say in my corporate-voice. "I'm going to write every step down. Every step.
Again he looks at me. He can tell I mean it.
We go through the process once more. I'm writing every step down.
He looks at me over his glasses again. He has a look in his eye. Could that be hope?
It will be good. It's just hard to see the end when you're at the beginning.
Meanwhile, me and Felix close the door to our office and work.