Mr Un-nebulous: Sensitive Guy

My Beef This Week

I really can’t stand super-sensitive people. They can’t much stand me either; I’m like the insensitive bull in the emotional China shop.

Apparently, I somehow offended a man that I had a phone interview with. Now I’ve been replaying the interview over and over in my head and the only things that I can come up with as possible offenses are the following:

1. I asked him a question about his company’s product and he answered it. Then 2 sentences later, he contradicted that answer. I pointed this out and asked the question again, giving him the two possible answers. This time he answered the opposite way he had before. Embarrassing, I guess, since he should have known his product.

2. I used the word nebulous. He then proceeded to use the same word about 5 times. Then he used the word un-nebulous. I snickered since this is obviously not a REAL word. Embarrassing, I guess, since he not only sounded like a parrot, but also because he should be familiar with basic English.

So needless to say, I didn’t get asked in for a face-to-face interview. I thought about trying to patch things up and trying to talk my way into the interview because the job really interested me. But I can’t work for someone so sensitive, and this guy would have been my direct supervisor. Had I made these mistakes when I was interviewing someone, I would have laughed out loud at myself. This guy internalized, sulked, and then stamped my file “denied.”

Plus, it’s not my fault he’s an idiot. Snickering was not the politest thing to do, but that was reflexive. No matter how that played out, un-nebulous would have elicited some kind of giggle from me, so I can’t kick myself for that.

Now that I think about it, being a stupid super-sensitive guy must make life excruciatingly painful. People must constantly make fun of you, and you just go home and cry because you lack the ability to laugh at yourself.

Maybe I’m just being insensitive. But you know what? I lack the sensitivity (and the ability) to care.

The older I get, the more it becomes apparent that life is too short to dwell on that kind of bullshit. There’re only a handful of people whose opinions I care about enough for me to “dwell” on. I could give 2 shits what a stranger thinks about me. Mr. Un-nebulous apparently hasn’t learned that lesson yet, and probably never will.

So Mr. Un-nebulous, I hope you don’t cry yourself to sleep tonight because of me. Me? I’m going to rent myself a Steven Seagal flick and try to infuse myself with some sensitivity.

Yes, No, Yes, No, Yes, No.....maybe

My Beef This Week

I’m sorry this posting is a little late this week. My life is crazy right now. I have been dealing with spineless people for the last few weeks. This kills me. Make a fucking decision already…and quit worrying about what everyone else thinks.

People in management should be decision-makers, but too often aren’t. Unfortunately, the system works such that the person who pisses off the least people often gets the promotion. And to piss off the fewest people, you have to cater to the dominant assholes. It is the most inefficient system ever. No wonder nothing ever gets done in business.

Our current administration is a prime example of this: spineless president, many dominant assholes in the cabinet.

I’ve never understood what makes a weak decision-maker. Is it childhood trauma? Fear of being disliked? Fear of screwing up? And why does everyone always cater to the asshole of the group, no matter how wrong he is? So the asshole can take the fall? Maybe it’s biological. We have a family friend who, after a series of small strokes, has developed the inability to make the smallest of decisions. She will literally spend an hour agonizing over the red sweater or the blue sweater.

In my line of work, if the medical affairs management is wishy-washy, sales dominates because those guys are ALWAYS dominant personalities. And that makes for inappropriate bedfellows. As soon as sales dictates medical affairs in any form or fashion, the science goes straight out the window and then it’s all about spin.

I really miss my old boss. He was a bold decision-maker and he would tell sales to go and screw themselves. He understood where the line was and never asked us to compromise our integrity for the sake of the product. More and more I feel like I’m being asked to sell out. I’m fighting against it, but I’m paying a price because the director couldn’t make his own decision if his daughter’s life depended on it.

So I hope all of you out there make some good solid decisions this week. Me? I’m going to look for a new job.

Me and the DMV

My Beef This Week

So today I had to do something I have been putting off for over a year now. I had to go to the DMV. I moved from another state and have been sporting my out-of-state license hoping not to get caught. I decided after a year I was pressing my luck and needed to go.

Every time I have to do something like this (post office, court house, any government office), I am reminded of why I spent so long in school. No wonder the term "postal" was coined. Jesus. If I would have had a pocket knife I would have slit my wrists.

I waited 2 hours, TWO HOURS, in line. I sat next to an old Spanish woman who had cataracts that I could see from 2 feet away (which leads me to wonder why she was there to get a DRIVER'S LICENSE) and a middle-aged bald man that smelled bad and kept talking to my breasts.

After it was finally my turn in line I was told that I needed my Social Security Card. Now being the Girl Scout that I am, I had called ahead and inquired as to the paperwork I needed. I had to get my car inspected (done), get my car registered (done), and bring that paperwork, my old license, and ten bucks to the DMV. There was no mention of a Social Security Card.

I calmly explained that to the bored clerk behind the bench that would accommodate 10 people, but only held 2 workers. She told me I would have to come back.

I looked at the line that I had just stood in for an eternity. It was over twice as long as when I had come in. I thought about what items I had in my purse that could be used as weapons. I could throttle her with the cord from my iPOD headphones, but I thought the cop at the door would get to me before I could finish the job.

Luckily, I had gotten the name of the person on the phone that gave me the false information, we'll call her Jane to protect the innocent. She happened to be there, but was at lunch. I highly recommended we summon Jane to Bianca, the bored DMV worker. Bianca could apparently see in my eyes that I would likely maim her if she did not comply. Jane was summoned and told Bianca that it was true that I didn't need my Social Security Card since I had been a resident before and had shown it then. Bianca disagreed. Police officer at the door was called in for a tie breaker.

I batted my eyelashes. He voted for me.

Crisis averted. Bianca got to live.

People are always quoting statistics about people shooting up post offices or office buildings, and the shooters are predominantly male. Science thinks this is because of genetics and testosterone. I used to subscribe to that theory, but after today I have a new one. Maybe guys just don't get to flirt themselves out of situations before it gets postal. Because I'm telling you that Bianca was going down before Officer manly stepped in.

So everyone out there, make sure to bring a big book and all the proper paperwork next time you have to visit the DMV. Me? I've got to figure out how to hide all the weapons I need in my purse. I've got jury duty next week.

Fish odor, Cottage Cheese, and the Vagina Monologues

This has been an interesting week I must say. It started off where I had to do lectures on the penis and vagina to roomfuls of people I didn't know. A nice way to break the ice. Vaginal discharge was a large topic of discussion for several days. I don't know about you, but that's not a favorite topic of mine. When "fishy" odor and "cottage cheese" discharge kept coming up, I thought, "Why did I take this job again?"

This thought continued to circulate in my brain as other people there were talking about sick vaginas, healthy vaginas, and "the most beautiful vagina ever seen."

Don't get me wrong, these were nice people and I was grateful for the job, but it was all a little surreal. I think what was missing was the mascot. Valerie the Vagina. Tina the Twat. Harriet the Hoo-Ha.

However surreal the experience to me, the audience seemed engaged and riveted. I must have been able to pull from personal vaginal experience. Either that, or vaginas are just more enthralling than I suspect. Maybe it was my nervous humor. Somehow I doubt it was the subject matter since in the sterile fluorescent lighting of the conference room, it felt more like I was speaking to my gynecologist with my feet in the stirrups. That definitely would have been more entertaining for everyone, just probably illegal.

So all of you with vaginas reading this, take care of them, they'll be grateful. Me? I'm going to settle down with mine on the couch and watch a Netflix… "The Vagina Monologues."