Thursday, January 6, 2011

I Either AM a Secretary, Or I Ain't. If I AM, You Assholes Better Not Make Me Stay Behind for the Admin Assistants Day Lunch This Year.

I am very, very grouchy this week (no, it's not hormones. yes, I'm sure, and thanks for asking because that always helps so much!). People outside of my house have discovered my special ability to find things and I am now the fucking Nancy Drew of the file room.

Here is an example of an almost verbatim request for me to find something:

"So, like 10 or 15 years ago I think we did some kind of job somewhere for somebody that I don't remember." Please note the use of the word VERBATIM above. I'm not kidding, this is all the information I get.

There are several problems with this.

1. You cannot search the database with any of those clues.
2. Even if you could search the database with those clues, it is probably not IN the database because my company did not believe in computers until sometime after the year 2003. And even then they were a little...hit or what was documented on the computer system.
3. I'm not a fucking secretary. Or at least, that's what they keep telling me right before asking me to locate files, re-file files, copy things, scan things, print things, and schedule things.
4. If it's not in the database, then it's in the warehouse. Otherwise known as The Place Where All Your Joy Dies (Now With Rabid Spiders!) Actually, the spiders are not nearly as bad as the fact that the boxes out there weight 8 tons a piece, are stacked at least 3 deep (often on shelves over my head) and are in absolutely no discernible order. Also there's no heat or air in the warehouse. One day I am going to hang a sign over the door that reads, "Abandon All Hope, Ye Who Enter Here" or maybe just "That Way Be Monsters".
5. These requests are never made by people to whom it would be appropriate to respond, "HA!Hahaahahahaahahaahaahaaa! Good luck and godspeed on your quest, there, Sparky!"

And yet, I manage to find whatever obscure document from the past every single time, which only makes it worse, because they think I'm made of magic now and they'll never stop asking. I generally try to be positive about this (Job security! At least you're employed! A lot of people would very much like to be employed doing anthing right now!). Sometimes I really do pretend I'm in a lost Nancy Drew story (Nancy Drew and the Case of the Missing Site Access Agreement!) and if I have to go out to the warehouse I pretend I'm an archeologist on an important dig (I have just uncovered evidence of primitive life! Carbon paper! Pages of paper typed on a typewriter! Dot Matrix paper!).

But today I'm grouchy and unhappy about it. I have a lot of respect for secretaries, but I didn't spend 3 years in grad school so I could be a secretary. Not to mention that more than 75% of my pissed offedness about this is directly related to answering the motherfucking phones on admin assistants day while every secretary in the office gets taken somewhere nice for a free lunch. And then being asked to file and copy things when they all get back.

Whine. Whine whine whine. Whine whine whinewhinewhinewhinewhine.

In conclusion: whine!

ETA: I just noticed in my stats that someone found my site by googling "I'm wearing boxer shorts and I know how to use them" which is awesome on so many levels I will be entertained by it FOR DAYS. Bad mood gone! Thank you, person who wanted to brag about your ability to utilize boxer shorts. I sort of love you a little bit.


  1. This makes sort of infuriated in empathy, because this: "And yet, I manage to find whatever obscure document from the past every single time, which only makes it worse, because they think I'm made of magic now and they'll never stop asking."

    I totally could have written that. Seriously. I am that person for my main client. And 85% of the time it seems like people just are too lazy to look for themselves.

    They're all like, "Hey, she can do it! So I don't have to." Blech.

  2. ugh. the part about the boxes weighing 8 tons a piece and being 3 boxes deep is giving me a hernia just reading about it. i hate that shit.

    but you know what i hate even more??? MISSING OUT ON FREE FOOD. i would be spitting venom left and right if i were you.

  3. Omg, I love this post so much I want to snuggle with it and maybe touch it inappropriately. Consentually, of course.

    Firstly: Maybe you ARE magic.

    Secondly: You shouldn't have let them know about your skill. With great power comes great responsibility, etc.

    Thirdly: On Point 4, please made signs. And hang them. And share pictures. This would bring so much joy into my life, you don't even know.

    Fourthly: Eh, I thought I had more, but there's just too much brilliance in here to call out specifically.

    Fifthly: I love you. Please don't stab anyone. If you go to jail, who will I consult with all my weird life issues? :o

  4. I just entered the boxer shorts line into google and while I didnt find your site, I did find the following thread on the forum:

    Underwear for daily use? - big thighs

  5. This post is hilarous. I mean, I empathize with you, but I agree with Kelly, you should make signs and hang them. And share pictures.

    My problem is slightly different than yours, in that at home I am completely unable to find ANYTHING. But at work, I remember every little detail from projects that were forever ago.

  6. Dot matrix paper! I bet you could sell that on the black market for a pretty penny, my friend.

    My family seems to think that I'm an electronics whisperer and every time some TV, computer, DVD player, etc. stops working, I'm supposed to fix it, even though all I really do is turn the thing off and then on again. Anyway, I sort of feel your pain...although I'm not getting paid to help them out...I'm just getting love, which pales in comparison to money. In conclusion, I love money.

  7. The secretary at my company will update a paper copy of a document, scan it in, email it to me and tell me I need to update the electronic copy for her.

    It makes no sense, but yet it happens.

    I hate that bitch.