Curses, foiled again

I still have a job, dammit.

Back in the days of yore when I was young and naive, I would get all gussied up for my yearly performance review. I honestly believed that that day, more than any other day, would be the defining moment of my destiny. What I realized about four years ago is that it really didn't matter if I wore a suit and heels or sweatpants and sneakers that day - my fate had been decided days beforehand. Sometimes, it's better to be naive. Not to mention, flashing boobs at the office should be used in a crisis situation only - all of my bras have "Rip open in case of emergency" right on the back label. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

This is my tenth year of The Annual Dog and Pony Show. Last year, I was bitterly unhappy since two of my best friends had quit the company to go onto bigger and better things (one worked out, the other failed but since then has managed to pull things together) and I was just pissed. I felt like the company owed me something other than the occasional pilfered pen or pad of Post-Its. I wanted a real job. And I interviewed with a bigger, more prestigious company and was offered a real job. And turned it down. And after doing that, I was even more bitter and unhappy than ever. This would be around the time that I started listening to bitter and unhappy music again, but that's a whole other post in itself.

Things happen for a reason. I've always believed that. Like the time I had a horrible at-home waxing accident - sometimes, you need to have these things happen to realize that maybe things aren't as easy as they seem at the time. When my dad almost died and then within two months we came narrowly close to almost losing Monkey Man, suddenly having a real job wasn't so important anymore. I didn't care about the title, the pay, or any of that extraneous crap. What mattered was surrounding myself with people who actually gave a shit about me as a person and what was going on in my life. The people I work with are like family to me. A dysfunctional family, but they are mine warts and all.

I went into the review preparing to be disappointed. Last year I didn't even get a cost of living increase, and for several years I've gotten the whole "you're maxxed out salary-wise for your position" speech. I had also heard the office scuttlebutt that all everyone was getting was 3% max for raises if they even received one.

It was me, EPOD, and Boss of EPOD. And damn, I had to sit there for twenty minutes and listen to glowing praise and requests to help design flowcharts and procedural manuals, and then they gave me a nice little raise. More than the rumored 3%. I was shocked. And actually, a tad bit irritated because the bastards gave me nothing to kvetch about.

So I did what any normal person would do who just got a glowing review and a nice raise:

I took a long lunch.
I screwed around on the internet (so if you check your SiteMeter today and see that I clicked in like 28 times, sorry!)
G-Man and I emailed back and forth about music and the Harlem Globetrotters umpteen times
I left promptly at 4:00

A good, honest day's work. My dad would be so proud.

Now, a theoretical question. Let's say you were going to an Irish pub on St. Patrick's Day and didn't own anything green that you liked. Would you risk going "greenless" and be pinched all night, or wear the ugly green thing instead? Personally, at my age, a little pinchy-pinchy might be nice.