...one year later.

happy anniversary!

two days late, i thought it might be a good idea to post on this, the one year anniversary of my quitting my job working for the brooks brothers wearing devil himself. and what a year it has been! i've since completed almost one full year at my new (ish) job in providence, which has been such a welcome change--at the beginning, my new boss had to remind me from time to time that i wasn't working for the governor anymore, and that she wouldn't yell at me if i did anything wrong, but it's been a little while since we've had that conversation.

when i interviewed here, it made me feel like i was doing something horribly wrong--lying to make an excuse to not be in the office, and then getting the karmic kick in the ass from a dead car battery. it took from my interview on december 22nd until the very end of january for them to offer me the job--this time including several emails in which i tried to figure out if somebody else had been hired for the job, and one response in which the HR rep, peter, basically told me he couldn't give me a "yes" or "no" answer, but warned me against looking for another job--and i started on february 11th, just in time for valentines day.

the 11th was always going to be my first day, here, but the 4th was never supposed to be my last day with the governor--it happened that day when, already cranky from a patriots superbowl loss, he instigated an argument with me, which concluded with him yelling "you can just leave, you know," and me yelling back "fine, maybe i will," taking my bag, and replying to his "where do you think you're going?" with "i'm leaving, i just quit."

"you did not quit," he spat back at me.

"oh. ok," i replied, rolled my eyes to myself, and made my way around my desk.

as i reached the doorway of the office, the phone on my desk rang. i looked down at it, smiled to myself, and thought i'll never have to answer that again.

"excuse me. the phone is ringing. EXCUSE ME," the governor called after me. i ignored him. mentally, i turned up the triumphant music i imagined would be playing in the background if my life were a movie, and took the last steps to walk out of the room.

i went out to my car before it occurred to me to stop into my old office and tell the ladies there that i wouldn't be back. they provided me with another afternoon of wonderful support, bringing me to the top of campus for lunch, letting me cry--a mix of latent shock, and the typical reaction to being yelled at by a scary old man--and coming with me while i snuck back into my office, gathered together my things, and finally, handed in my key to sharon, the assistant to the vice president of administration. "i'm not coming back," i explained as i handed it to her, and she smiled. "god bless you for staying with him for so long," she said, rolling her eyes. i had to laugh. "thank you."

days later, nancy, one of my old office suite-mates called me to make sure i hadn't made the mistake of going back to work for him--this was not our first big fight, and i had been known to take a day off and return. i assured her that i was taking the week off before starting here, and she paused for a minute before adding "you know, he's telling people he fired you."

"what?!" i exclaimed. "he didn't--i--"

"sarah." she replied slowly, calmly, with a hint of a smile in her voice. "everybody knows quit. everybody heard you quit."

i had to laugh. it was true. and i'm sure he did it so that he wouldn't have to admit that another assistant had left him after finding a better job.

in the end, i find myself feeling sorry for him. he is a once great man who will always be remembered as a crazy old person who couldn't let go of his former quasi-celebrity. he's got a new secretary, now--we only spoke once, a few days after i left, when she called to ask how to sign into the computer. and from what i've heard, she's had the same complaints and concerns that i had--and i find myself smiling, a little, remembering all of the times i called people and wrote emails, insisting that somebody had to tell his wife that he needed to not come into the office anymore, that he should be supervised by a trained professional, that i wasn't the person who should have been hired to take care of him--and all of the times that those i spoke to reminded me that it wasn't really my place to make those statements.

when i finally left campus that day, i called my new boss, maria. when she'd offered me the job, she asked when i could start. "i'd like to be able to give him two weeks," i explained, "but it wouldn't surprise me if he just says, why don't you just leave now."

"well, sarah," maria said, "you have a job here, now. i'll give you two weeks, but you call me if things go wrong. you can start here whenever you want."

"maria, it's sarah s******," i said, searching for an explaination for why i was calling. "um...things didn't end...so well...with the governor."

"sarah." she said in a very serious voice, "was he fresh with you?"

"a little," i had to laugh. "but, i was wondering..."

"why don't you come in on monday," she suggested. "take the rest of the week off."

and i did. and it was wonderful.

and i am so, so happy to still be in a job where the people are nice, the pay isn't shady at best, and the work isn't totally, totally insane.

when i posted on my facebook account today that it had been one year since i quit my job working for the governor, my old boss, mark, made a suggestion:

"You should honor him by calling some important person late, late at night for some insane reason-ex: "the guv needs to know where the two of you ate lunch in New Mexico in '74 that one time, and he needs to know NOW"."

it's...funny because it actually could've happened.

the end, dear friends, is near.

well, that's a lie. the end has come and gone. i write today from my new desk at my new job at a different university, working for someone considerably less crazy (which, while that is not saying much, is definitely an understatement; i love my new boss).

things with the governor ended in, what i can only describe as, "a blaze of glory." it involved yelling (his and mine), desk-punching (his--i'm a little too dainty to do that), threats (again, not mine--you really think i'm going to threaten an 88 year old former governor/lawyer??), and general craziness (i'll take the blame for that, but i mean, he's crazy because he can't help it. i'm crazy because i think it's funny. so, maybe i'll only take partial blame.). luckily, it also ended a mere 4 and a half working days before i was set to start at my new job, at which i am currently settling in quite well.

i left that position prematurely and took with me countless (completely ridiculous) stories which i will probably tell for the rest of my life. and from time to time, i might post one in here if i remember something particularly funny that i've failed to mention.

i guess what i'm saying is: sayonara, blogosphere.


...for now.

(dun dun dunnnnnn!)

but seriously. adios. it's been real.

"that machine of yours"

gov: "any reason you're handwriting all of these checks, now?"

me: "we don't have a typewriter anymore."

*gov points to computer*

me: ...."that's a computer."

gov: "no it's not."

...

i just don't--

i can't--

it doesn't--

...i have nothing to say.

interlude

all right. i've been silent long enough.

it's time you people met my friend sean.

by "you people" i mean any eligible girls. seriously, friends, i don't get what your deal is.

sean: bro what happened to me
sean: i can't get a girl, with diamonds on the floor and a net hanging over it
me: hahahaha
sean: my roommates are pullin hunnies
sean: and i am, umm, talking about my laptop

interesting gender confusion aside (bro?), we find ourselves at case and point 1: he's funny! AND computer savvy. what more could a woman want? i mean, really?

sean: the thing is, girls i know say, "sean, you're my favorite because you're the most fun. I have friends coming up and i want to hook you up."

case and point 2: the fun one! who doesn't love the fun one? ps, i have an in with this particular apartment (as i have BEEN in this particular apartment) and i can categorically say it is one of the funnest apartments ever. and, incidentally, maybe the cleanest. due to a lot of aaroning* (by all three roommates).

sean: i am not a great first impression guy
sean: i don't know if it is my height or what. but a girl needs to meet me like 3 times to start feeling me
me: yeah?
sean: yeah because on first meeting 50% of girls think i am cute, 70% think i am nice, 45% think i am fun, 30% think i am funny and 80% think i am weird
sean: but that all balances out when they start to understand my humor
sean: then that changes
me: yeah, i guess that's true
sean: the cute goes up, but only slightly... I tend to be nice and smile a lot in front of new people so that number can only drop as they meet me more. the fun usually goes up unless they catch me when i am sick. the funny is the thing that usually sky rockets... i would say from 30% to about 67% with in the first 3 meetings. The weird never drops unless someone really gets to know me.
sean: so i would say that it will never get under 65% but i like it that way
sean: because i can keep people at the distance i want them
me: yeah
sean: i don't know if you can handle all that math before 10am
sean: but if you want me to repeat it later just let me know

case and point 3: funny! and self-aware. and sort of a math whiz (?). and ps, don't worry, he's got a reverse-napolean-complex where he thinks he is (a) shorter than he is (not very; my height exactly and i'm supposedly tall), and (b) worse looking than he is (i'd venture to say "wicked cute" when describing him). so, there's that.

so ladies, get on this! i'm not one to pimp friends out (ever, really; particularly not on my blog), but this seemed like as valid a venue as anything else...

and sean, you can just pay me back in falafel next time you're in RI. or, y'know, i take cash.



*aaron (aah-ron)
v. aaroned, aaron·ing, aarons

1. To clean excessively/impulsively/compulsively: "i aaroned the crap out of my apartment the other day"; "i'm aaroning my apartment this weekend for sure."
2. To don a sweater vest: then he aaroned his outfit a little, and was good to go.
3. To spend (a period of time) by or as if by aaroning: aaroned the evening away.

this story is from a while ago, the first few months i worked here. i almost can't believe i haven't added it to the collection yet, but here it is just the same...

probably the third month i worked here, the governor was told he had bladder cancer. he had a procedure done and whatever it was got removed, tested, and ended up not really being so much "cancerous" as just "something we decided to charge you a lot to cut out of your body, governor." it's a story i have had to hear, type into letters, and tell to people visiting more times than i'd really like to admit.

the doctors suggested that, as both a precaution and a general good idea, the governor start drinking more water. this is not bad advice, and is also something that every single member of his family felt the need to call and tell me, every day over the course of a week. finally, at the end of that week, i informed the governor that i was going to buy a case of bottled water and have him drink one bottle a day.

"why?"

"well," i explained, "because it's a good idea." when met with a blank stare, i went on "listen, you're supposed to drink eight glasses a day, but if you did that, i suspect that your new hobby would be peeing. i'm asking for one bottle a day. that's it."

"but why?"

i tried to explain that his family was worried about him, that it was something everyone is supposed to do anyway, that it's healthy, smart, et cetera.

after a long pause, he spoke, visibly annoyed. "my dear," he began, "i was in the FUCKING UNDERGROUND. i didn't drink a goddamn glass of water then, and i survived THAT. i don't need to start now."

for those of you keeping score, i'll let you know that i did not end up buying that case of water. the same bottle has been sitting on is desk since probably october. we moved offices the week after christmas and the bottle moved with us. i'm looking at it right now.

lesson of the day: if one did not need to drink one "goddamn" glass of water in nazi occupied france during the 1940s, one need not begin said habit now.

even if one recently celebrated his 88th birthday.

how do you spell that?

i have written in the past about an individual spelling out words and/or names using other words (a as in ant, b as in boy, c as in cat, and so on), and how i find it annoying. never before did i actually believe it could be thought as borderline offensive.

that is, until monday night.

now, admittedly, i started writing this post before christmas. i can now officially say that i have no idea on what actual date this happened. apparently it was a monday, but that's all i've got. however, the point behind this particular disclaimer is that i still remember with alarming vividness exactly what i was referring to many moons ago.

to make an annoyingly long story short(er), the governor's best friend at the university is a man who we'll call bob (namely because, uhh, that's his name). bob has a dear friend from england who intended to spend the winter in the florida keys, but upon applying for a visa for his extended stay, found out that there was something trivial on his criminal record that made it impossible. suffice it to say one teeny, tiny mistake made on a (drunken?) night in vegas about 40 years ago has come back to haunt him and somehow made him seem like someone not terribly appealing to let back into the country. who knew underage gambling was akin to terrorism?

the governor offered his services to help bob's friend, and this included calling every member of the state superior court until he could get one on the phone. being a man of such incredible importance (...?), he couldn't be bothered to explain the situation and instead informed the man he got in touch with that his friend bob would be calling him back the following day.

what followed this were several phone calls and long and angry (and LONG) messages on bob's various answering machines, until he finally answered at home. based on the fact that no one who knows the guy the governor was referring to is probably ever going to read this...but also being a product of the Google revolution, i won't say what the court member's name was, but i will tell you it was difficult to understand (i know i wouldn't have been able to guess how to spell it), and bob asked to have it spelled out. this annoyed the governor, and he explained it as such:

"it's S as in SHIT. H as in HELL. E as in...whatever E stands for. K as in KISS, A as in ASS, R as in...REAR...C as in" --i would like to interject here, dear reader, that i do not use the word "C" stood for, but i'm sure you, being of sound mind, could probably guess (and if you cannot, i would like to first of all commend your charming naiveness, and second of all hint that it is a fairly vulgar word for a part of the female anatomy)-- "H as in HARD ON, and I as in INTERCOURSE."

angrily, the phone is hung up.

i am looking around, trying to find something to end my life. could i just crawl under the desk and hide until he leaves? maybe if i throw the stapler at him, it'll jog something in his brain that will keep things like that from ever happening again.

"wow," says my 87 year old boss. "i never knew joe had such a sexy last name!"

do me a favor...

the governor does a public access show, generally once a month. he hosts said show and asks a guest to appear on it as well, who he interviews about politics. the woman who runs it, whose name is karen, is a total doll and he drives her up a wall, so once a month when we schedule the show for him (a month in advance) we joke about him and it's great. and then, once a month, i remind him his show is coming up, and he starts calling people--from my office, mind you--and claims that the show has just been scheduled (when, in reality, it has likely been on his calendar for a month, if not more), and finds a guest.

i reminded him of his upcoming show on monday of this week, and when he came in this morning it was the first thing he wanted to take care of. he calls several people before i suggest he try the senator, who started off in the governor's administration, back in the early 90s.

the intern at the senator's office sounds like he's about 15, but logic would dictate he's got to be at least 18 or 19. either way, he couldn't have been more than 11 when the governor left office (that's how old i was), and while this kid is living and working in the same state in which my boss was once governor, and you might guess that he MIGHT know the governor's name, he also might not.

so, when he asks the governor to repeat and spell his last name, he gets that same, funny, smart-assed smile on his face. he spells his name out slowly, then says "do me a favor."

"sure," the intern replies.

"ask somebody in your office who i am."

"ok," that poor kid says nervously, and hangs up the phone.

the governor leans back and crosses his arms, triumphant. "there," he says. as if a serious issue has been resolved.

i'm going to be extremely busy all week--tons of catching up to do from thanksgiving and some personal craziness as well. i might get a chance to tell a story or two but while i have a quick minute, i thought i'd mention these two little gems:

the first is a story from quite some time ago, this past summer. a friend of mine races go-karts and had qualified to go to this pretty big deal race in colorado in august, but was slightly lacking in the funds to get him there. "you should ask the governor," i suggested one day. "play up the fact that you're from RI and want to represent the best state in the nation and he'll definitely at least give you $50, which you didn't have before." so, he wrote out a letter to the governor and sent it with a little poster of himself racing and a resume of his experience.

this was back when i worked in this office from 9 am to 2 pm, then raced home to do office hours from 2-4 pm, so i wasn't here when dillon called to check and see if the governor had gotten the letter.

what i WAS around for was a phone call from dillon, telling me he'd spent the last half hour repeating his name as loud as he could, only to repeatedly hear "i'm sorry, i really just can't hear you, i can get most people but you're going to need to talk louder, i don't hear very well."

the next morning i came into the office to find the governor at his desk. "i hear you got a phone call last night and couldn't hear what the guy was saying?" i asked. "no!" the governor exclaimed. "i couldn't hear a damn thing that kid was saying! could you?"

"well sir," i explained. "i didn't fly B-17's in the war. i can hear most things."

"i wish you had!" he joked back. "we'd be pretty funny, then!"

oops, looks like i only have time for the one gem. the other one wasn't that funny, anyway. have a great week, everybody.