the devil wears brooks brothers

2009-02-08T17:25:00.001-05:00

...one year later.

happy anniversary!

2009-02-06T13:21:00.002-05:00

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.

2009-02-04T15:45:00.000-05:00

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.

2008-02-22T09:38:00.004-05:00

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"

2008-01-29T12:27:00.000-05:00

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

2008-01-29T10:51:00.001-05:00

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.

2008-01-25T10:25:00.000-05:00

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?

2008-01-25T10:24:00.001-05:00

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...

2007-11-30T11:33:00.000-05:00

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.

2007-11-27T10:35:00.000-05:00

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.

google that shit.

2007-11-16T09:46:00.001-05:00

last thursday included, but was not limited to, calling the state department in D.C., making out checks he's already sent out to people, looking for files that don't exist, cutting articles out of the newspaper that he'll never read again, buying things for him that he doesn't have the money to pay for...

and calling malaysia.

i have not told this story yet because it has seemed too ridiculous every time i have tried. but we'll give it a go anyway.

back story: the governor apparently met somebody who lived in, and/or currently resides in malaysia, during world war II (i found this out when i asked "how do you know them?" and he replied "world war two!" in a pleasantly indignant, "you should've known that, you idiot" tone). and last thursday, he decided he wanted to talk to that person.

now, for starters, let's review the concept of time zones. malaysia, being in asia, is on the other side of the world from rhode island and, as such, is on a completely different schedule. with daylight savings having taken effect on the east coast, we are 13 hours behind malaysia at this point. this will come into play later.

i cannot find a file for the person he would like to speak to. wait--back up--first thing's first--i cannot determine if the person he is hoping to speak to is male or female. the name sounds feminine, but (a) it's asia, names sound different there, and (b) if he met this person during WWII, i'm tempted to guess this individual is, in fact, a man. in addition to this, i can find no record of this person in any of the gov's files, or in his rolodex (which, to be honest, is a thing on the computer, so it's easy to look for people). this angers said gov, who goes off to lunch declaring that he will ask the people he eats with; they will know.

when he comes back roughly an hour later, he has a triumphant look on his face. "google it," he says smugly.

(google it? where did he learn that word?!)

"google it?" i reply, and he goes on. "google kuala lumpur, malaysia," he says, "then click on phone directory." i follow his directions. "it doesn't say phone directory anywhere," i explain. "that's what they told me to do at the university club!" he says (perhaps they have a different internet than i do?...), and comes around to look at my computer. he inspects the screen, then points to a website that eventually leads me to a listing for the US embassy in kuala lampur. "call them."

when, after several tries, i manage to get through to the embassy, a recording tells me that it is closed, and will not be open until 7:45 am. upon further investigation, i find out that this is because, at 2 pm in the northeast, it is 3 am tomorrow in malaysia. the recording suggests i call back in the morning, or, if i am an american citizen, and it is an emergency, to please press 1. i write down the hours of operation and hang up to give the governor a report.

"well, call back," he says.

"they're closed," i explain again. "it's 3 in the morning, there."

"well there must be SOMEONE there," he says, exasperated. "call back."

i call again and tell the poor man answering phones in the dead of night that he can feel free to hang up on me at any time, because i understand that the reason i am calling him is ridiculous and not something the emergency line at a US embassy is meant to handle. he explains that if the person i was trying to reach were, say, begin detained by the malaysian government, i might have a case, but otherwise i should just call back during their regular business hours. i agree, thank him, and hang up.

going into the governor's office, i figure, i've got a pretty good case of my hands for why he's not going to reach the person he'd like to on this particular day. besides the fact that it's nearing 3:30 am in malaysia and therefore, nobody is going to want to talk to him him on the phone anyway even if he GETS the number he's looking for, the guy working at the embassy doesn't know how to help him anyway.

i go in and explain all this, and he asks what i mean. i say "well, they're in a different time zone--" "well that's stupid!" he says (time zones are stupid?). "when it's daytime there, it's nighttime here!" he says this accusingly. as though it's my fault. call me crazy, but SOMEBODY should've thought of this when he created the world. it's not MY fault we only have one sun.

the day continued with a call to the state department (when i couldn't find a specific phone number to call, his response was "call THE STATE DEPARTMENT. in WASHINGTON D.C." as though i could just call one number and say "yes, washington? could i have the state department please?" or, for further example, as though i could call, say, new york city and say "yes, sean thompson's office, please?"), which i could not get out of, though my own common sense did not deter me from attempting to explain that they probably did not have an address and phone number for everyone in the world (the CIA has that, dummy). they were also no help. their suggestion was (shocker) "call the embassy when it's open." helpful, guys.

moral of the story? i'm not sure there is one. unless it's "rewind to june and, when you are offered a job working as professional administrative assistant for a former governor, say no thank you." which, y'know, is impossible.

geriatric moment of the day

2007-11-15T09:36:00.000-05:00

it's only 9:30 am, things can only go up from here...

the governor comes into my office with a business card.

gov: here, call this guy, tell him i've got a copy of my book so far, and he can come pick it up. and also, make up a reciept for him to sign when you deliver it.
me: ...you want me to deliver it?
gov: no! where did you get that?!
me: you just said "when you deliver it."
gov: no i did not!
me: yes you did! i was sitting right here!
gov: fine! YOU take care of it!

aaaand walks out of my office with the business card in hand.

awesome. best job ever.

2007-11-06T11:41:00.000-05:00

so far this morning, the governor has yelled at, i believe, 7 bank tellers from citizens bank, all the while trying to get somebody to say it's ok for him to borrow $30,000 (and to presumably overlook his massive credit card debts in the process). one of the poor souls he encountered asked him to please spell his name out. his response?

"I USED TO BE GOVERNOR! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I SPELL MY NAME?!"

awesome. i mean, aside from the fact that, judging by voice alone, the girl on the other end of the phone lines was probably about 8 when he got elected. but that's neither here nor there. know your state's former governors names, and how to spell them! ass.

edit: in addition, one of my roommates had the following to say:

i'm so gonna do that any time someone asks me to spell my name. except i'll make up different things each time...

"I USED TO BE A FAMOUS SCIENTIST! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I SPELL MY NAME!"

"I USED TO REPRESENT KENYA IN THE OLYMPICS! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I SPELL MY NAME!"

"I USED TO BE A PORN STAR! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HOW DO I SPELL MY NAME!"

what's my husband's name again?...

2007-11-02T09:43:00.001-04:00

the governor is not the only crazy one who lives at his house. no, don't worry, his wife is sort of a nutjob as well.

case and point: october 31st, halloween, roughly 2 o'clock PM.

phone rings. "hello?"

"hi sarah, can you please tell [the governor] to remember to bring home some halloween candy for the trick-or-treaters tonight?"

issue #1: she's calling from a store she owns about 20 minutes away. this is how far the governor would have to drive from here to get to somewhere that sells halloween candy.

issue #2: her store is right next to a cvs. she could spit on it from where she's calling me. she could open her window, reach out, and knock on their window (if they had windows. do they?...). if she sneezed while on the phone with me, someone working in that particular cvs would probably hear it and, knowing the people who work there, she'd probably be able to hear it when one of them said "bless you."

issue #3: "um, actually, he just left for a doctors appointment. but he's in his car, you could try his car phone!"

"oh, could you call him and remind him? i don't know the number."

now, he's had that car longer than i've known him. and guess who's been married to him the whole time he's had it? (hint: if you guessed me, you're wrong.)

sometimes i wonder how she puts up with him. and sometimes i wonder how he puts up with her. i NEVER wonder how he made it to wife #5.

i guess it just all comes out even in the end.

2007-11-01T15:12:00.002-04:00

During the license suspension fiasco, when I was driving the Governor to and from work, there was a particular day that I knew I was going to be at least a half an hour late. As I was leaving Providence, I called his house and spoke with his wife. “Could you tell him that I’m going to be late?” I asked. “I don’t want him to be waiting at the end of the driveway for an hour.” (That’s what he’d do, by the way—wait at the end of the driveway, clutching his bag, looking like a schoolboy waiting for the bus. And then, as he’d get into the car, he’d cheerfully report how long he’d been waiting, so I’d feel bad about being so late. A real gem, that guy.)

It took me almost exactly a half an hour to get there, but I’d warned his wife that it might be as much as 45 minutes, just to be safe. When I got there, I got out of the car, walked up to the front door, and knocked.

Nothing.

I waited a few minutes, then rang the doorbell. Being that he's mostly deaf, knocking would be louder, but I supposed that I didn’t know where in the house he was.

Nothing.

I called his wife, who hadn’t arrived at work yet, and left a message for her to call me—had she dropped him off on campus and forgotten to tell me?—and then thought to call the house, to tell him I was outside.

As my cell phone rang, I realized I could actually hear his phone ringing inside the house. Leaning closer, I realized I could also hear the television on. And, squinting hard enough to see through the gauzy white curtains in the windows that were on either side of the door, I recognized the unmistakable outline of the Governor, sitting on the couch, completely ignoring the phone.

“GOVERNOR,” I yelled, knocking on the door while ringing the doorbell with the other hand.

Nothing.

Completely out of ideas—I thought to kick the door to make a louder noise, but had a terrible mental image of somehow ruining something on the door and having to apologize for it—I walked down to my car and called my mother. As I explained my predicament to her and asked what she thought I should do, she could hardly contain her laughter. “Oh, Sarah,” she said finally, “I have no idea.”

As she erupted with more laughter, I looked up to see the Governor walking triumphantly down the stairs. “I’ll call you later,” I said crossly to my mother, closed my phone, and looked up at the Governor. “I’ve been knocking and ringing your doorbell for fifteen minutes!” I exclaimed. “I even tried calling the house—how loud did you have that TV up? I can’t believe you didn’t hear ANY of that.”

He looked at me, a defiant smile taking over his face. “I know,” he said obnoxiously, “but you told [my wife] that it would take you 45 minutes to get here. So, I thought I’d give you that full 45 minutes, just in case.”

I will not kick an 87 year old in the shins. I will not kick an 87 year old in the shins. I will not kick an 87 year old in the shins.

Later, at the office, he came up to my desk with a gleeful grin on his face. “Look at this!” He exclaimed, thrusting a piece of paper in my face. I took it and looked it over—attached to it was a drivers’ license.

“What...” I said slowly.

“It’s my drivers license!” He crowed. “I lost it before my driving test, and they sent me a new one! Now—how can they say that I don’t have my license when I have this one, right here?”

He was waiting for me to agree, congratulate him. I didn’t do that, but I also didn’t explain to him that when your license is suspended, they don’t physically take the piece of plastic—and it doesn’t matter if you have it; if you’re pulled over, on a suspended license, they will run your records and, license or no license in hand, they will note that you are legally not to be driving.

“Here you go,” I said as I handed it back. He gave me a trademarked “you are so rude to not be happy for me about this” look and stormed away.

I don’t know if he ever tried driving with that license. I suppose it would be nice to add “I warned him” here, but really, it was a lot less stressful to just go into his office later, and hide that piece of paper.

catching up

2007-11-01T13:16:00.000-04:00

It's been a while. Things here have been crazy. To catch you up to speed, since I last wrote an entry about my job, my boss

(a) Lost his drivers license (as in, had it suspended)
(b) Convinced me to buy a car to drive him around in
(c) Had two of his three sons visit (one of whom drove us to the office one day, an idea which ended in me basically taking my life into my hands--terrifying)
(d) Maxed out every single one of his credit cards (some of which have spending limits higher than what most of the people I know make in a year)
(e) Confirmed that he makes more in one month off of pension than I will make in two years working for him
(f) This, if you were planning on keeping track, ends up coming out to me having to work approximately 33 and a half years (give or take a month or two) to make what he makes in one year
(g) Got his license back (this one still confuses me).

In other news, the following conversation took place today on AIM between myself and my friend Aaron. Turns out, he used to have a job much like mine. We traded stories for a while and upon his suggestion, I decided to put it in here:

Aaron: i love your blog
Aaron: i can totally relate
me: hahaha
me: yeah?
Aaron: i also was an admin assistant for a cranky old man
me: best job ever!
Aaron: o it was
Aaron: i must have bought him 1,000 sugar free vanilla nonfat lattes
me: hahahahaha
Aaron: the people at starbucks came up with a code name for it
Aaron: "the barbie"
me: that is fantastic
Aaron: i used to do negotiations with him
me: hahaha
Aaron: like with the library and stuff
Aaron: and everyone loved me so much because i was so nice in comparison
me: we got in a fight yesterday because i don't know if you got to do this at your job, but he dictates letters into a dictaphone and then has me type them up for him
me: and he was talking about the pyrenees mountains
Aaron: o excellent!
Aaron: no i never had to do that
me: and so i hand him the letter i typed up and he crosses out "pyrenees" and writes "pyrenee"
me: and i kept telling him he was wrong but he was like "which one of us has been to europe?"
me: which, i will concede, is a valid point
me: but i mean, have YOU ever heard of the pyrenee mountains?
me: ...no?
me: ...because they don't exist?
me: clever, aaron. good call.
Aaron: o man
Aaron: one time, he asked me to buy him christmas cards, so i bought the cheapest ones i could find with tons of glitter on them
Aaron: and he finished signing them and walked out of his office covered in sparkles and said "aaron, could you please not buy glitter cards next time"
me: hahahahahaha
me: he also, when dictating letters, will selectively spell people's names out
me: but i mean he'll usually spell, say, the name "william"
me: but when talking about his cleaning lady, he neglects to spell out [her really long and confusing name]
me: once he wrote a letter in which he said something about me
me: and spelled out my last name
me: for me to type up
Aaron: the thing is, the guy i worked for was pretty old, but very lucid
Aaron: he had to [do a lot of difficult things]
Aaron: not an easy job
me: yeah
me: see, my boss, on the other hand...sits around and reads the newspaper
Aaron: yea
Aaron: so, some similarities
me: how old was your boss?
me: did he know what the internet was?
Aaron: um
Aaron: like 65
Aaron: yea
Aaron: he was technologically OK
me: he came in here recently and told me i needed to email someone a file
me: so i asked him if it was on my computer
me: he said maybe
me: i asked if it was on a disk
me: he got confused
me: and went into his office and got me a file folder
me: full of paper
me: and i just could not figure out how to explain to him that you can't just...put a file folder into a computer
me: you need another machine to do that
me: so he decided he wanted to buy a scanner, and told me he was going to staples to get one
me: so i called up when he left and said "listen, i know this is going to sound crazy, but my boss is on his way there to buy a scanner and he's 87 and has no idea what a scanner is and i'm pretty sure he will have forgotten what it is he's going to buy by the time he gets there." and described what he looked like and exactly which one he was going to buy and had them keep it at one of the cash registers for when he got there
me: and the next day he comes in with it, brimming over with stories about how wonderful staples is
me: he couldn't get over how they just somehow knew what he was there for
Aaron: haha
Aaron: that's great

ps: Aaron has decided to get back into blogging as well; check out his blog if you get a chance listed with all the other links--his is at the top (Arch). Because I like things to be orderly. And alphabetical. And non-crazy. Perhaps I should get a new job?...

Do you by any chance shop at PetCo?...

2007-08-31T11:05:00.001-04:00

I get into the office at 9:20 am on Monday. "Where have you been?!" My boss asks, frantically. "My bus gets in at 9:19," I explain. "And it takes me about a minute to walk over here from there. What's up? How was your weekend?"

"Horrible!" He exclaims. "I lost my wallet!"

Very nearly out of breath, he tells me how he had his bookkeeper call all of his credit card companies to see if there had been any activity on them--there hadn't but he's sure he's going to have to cancel all of them and what about his drivers license? He's supposed to go in for a driving test next Wednesday and how's he going to take the test if he doesn't have his license? He's required to bring it!

After a little more freaking out, I come back into my office. As I walk in, I see a stack of books that he angrily put on my desk about a week and a half ago ("I don't want these on my desk anymore!"). As I go over to move them, I see what can only be described as a George Costanza wallet. It's probably about 2 inches thick, I'd guess it took about a half of a cow to make this thing. I pick it up and go back into his office. "Is this what you're looking for?" I ask. His eyes light up. "Oh, I could kiss you!" He takes the wallet. "I can't believe, all this time it was on your desk! I should've looked in there, first, but..." as he goes to put it in his jacket pocket, his face changes. Confused, he lifts his hand out. Dangling from his fingers is a keyring with a Volkswagon key, a PetCo card and a few extra keys hanging from it. "Whose are these?"

"Um, sir, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?!"

We argued about this for a while, how I could possibly not know whose keys were mysteriously in his jacket pocket and whose they might be (every suggestion I made was met with "NO!"). Then, at the end of the day around 3:00 in the afternoon, the school's vice president's secretary came down to my office. She introduced herself and then, almost sheepishly, asked "do you by any chance know where the governor is?"

"He should be in his office," I said. "Why?"

"Oh, I just lent him my keys this morning so he could get into his office," she explained. "I thought he was going to return them, but..."

"I'm sorry," I interrupted. "Do you by any chance drive a Volkswagon and shop at PetCo?"

"Yes..." Confused look. "How did you know?"

"Never mind. I'll go get your keys."

Josh? Chris? China? What?

2007-08-25T08:07:00.000-04:00

So, my boyfriend is moving to China. But that's not the story. The story is, Tuesday afternoon, my boss's wife called me (he was at home for the day) and asked if I could pick up his mail. Sure. So, my boyfriend and I get in the car and drive over the bridge to his house. Knowing full well that his wife is under the impression that I am dating my friend Josh (a story for another time), the moment we were let in the front door, I said "this is my boyfriend, Curtis," hoping to pre-empt any awkward situations. Enter a very confused former Governor's wife. "Is he the one who wanted to be a driver? What about Josh? Curtis, have we met before?" No, I don't know about Josh, and no, but anyway. "He'd like you to come see him, follow me," she says, and into their bedroom we go.

And so began an hour and a half long discussion about China. Why is he going? Where? For how long? The Governor probably told him ten times to be sure to get me his emergency contact information because "you never know when you might need it, and if you need it, it's probably too late to get it to someone who can help." We heard countless stories of people who have given him emergency contact information (interestingly enough, though, not one story about a time when it came in handy), and suddenly it turned into "be sure to get US your contact information, if we have to bail you out ever, we'll need it." We? When did this turn into a "we" thing? But I suppose that's nice, having the leader of the free world (in his own mind) looking out for you while you're in the orient.

This is still, however, not the point of this story. The point is, they talked for over an hour about the trip, he asked every question imaginable, and when we finally left I knew more about the trip than Curtis' parents probably know. But the next morning, in true form, the Governor asked me why I wasn't coming in the following day. "What? Why aren't you coming in? What's happening to you?"

"Well, sir, I have to take Curtis to the airport."

"Who's Curtis?"

"...My boyfriend?"

"Why's he going to China?"

"For school!"

"Oh. ...What happened to Josh?"

Oh, and by the way, the day after bringing him to the airport, that being a week ago today, he comes into my office. "Did he make it ok?" He asks.

"Who?"

"Chris!"

"Who's Chris?" I ask.

"Your boyfriend!"

"Oh," I laugh. "No. CURTIS."

"Huh?" He replies. "Who's Curtis?"

That's E as in Equestrian...

2007-08-15T12:32:00.001-04:00

This happened a little while ago but I have a half an hour to kill and it's one of my favorite stories from working here.

The Governor just got a new car a few months ago. With his car came a three month free trial of XM Satellitte Radio. Now, just putting out there that he is a grandfather and also can barely hear when you yell, I'm going to go with, he doesn't exactly listen to this particular radio. But that's just my thought on the subject.

Regardless, when a notice came in the mail asking whether he wanted to start paying for the XM radio, the Governor wasted no time in berating me for not doing so sooner and demanding that I renew his radio immediately. "Do you actually USE it?" I ask, and get a very dirty look and "do you actually USE it?" immitated back to me. Neat.

I call the company and get a very friendly but VERY over the top woman who wants me to spell everything. "What town does he live in, and can you spell it?" "Jamestown, it's J-A-M-E-S-T-O-W-N." And then, no word of a lie, she says back "that's J as in Joseph, A as in Apple, M as in Mister, E as in Equestrian..." For every word I tell her, she asks me to spell it, and for every word I spell, she repeats it back to me in such a way, giving me an example for every single letter. And the thing is, she uses the same word for every letter. For example, I had to tell her the letter "Q" a few times, at least twice. And both of those times, she repeated back "Q as in Quebec." What? Quebec? Not Quiet, Quail, Quote, Quixote? Quebec. Ok, lady.

Following all of the spelling, she asks me what I'd like to pay for. I tell her, as little as I possibly can, and she proceeds to tell me every single package the company offers, for every imaginable period of time. I listen patiently and finally tell her I'd like to sign him up for three more months. Slightly annoyed, she asks "why would you sign up for only three months at $39.99 when you could sign up for four years at [whatever the price was], saving [roughly a gagillion dollars]?"

"Honestly?" I say, having had it just about up to whatever "here" is. "Because the man I am doing this for fought in World War II, and flew bomber jets. In other words, he's too old to know how to work an XM Satellite Radio, and he's too deaf to hear it anyway. So when you send me the reminder that his three months are almost up, I'm going to accidently lose it, and stop wasting his money."

"Oh," she said. "So...can you spell his name for me, again?"

And so it goes...

Sarah: 1, Sean: 0

2007-08-09T11:33:00.000-04:00

Obviously at 11:30 in the morning I am finally eating my breakfast (which, for the record, is a terribly healthy bag of famous amos chocolate chip cookies). The lateness of this typical early-morning routine stems from the fact that I have the dumbest job possibly ever (although Sean and I have spent the morning arguing about whose job is worse, and while I will conceed and call it a tie, no WAY is anyone's job more obnoxious than mine). While I am finishing up my last cookie, G-Sun walks in and hands me a piece of paper. When I take it, he picks up the (empty) bag of cookies and looks into it. Upon realizing there are no more cookies in the bag, he says "what!" and throws it back down on the table. I point to the bowl of candy on the bookshelf in front of my desk, and he walks over to it, takes a piece of chocolate, says "hot damn!" and walks out of the room.

I'm sorry, Sean, but I think I win this round of ri-goddamn-diculous.

true story!

2007-08-08T13:19:00.002-04:00

My best friend Beth is another one who's always around to chat about the crazy things that happen at work. By "always around to chat," I mean, she has possibly the most stressful job ever and works insane hours and gets paid dirt...but anyway. Here is a conversation we had this morning:

me: so how are things? any better than last week?
Beth: Yah I just am so stressed out with work
me: yeah i bet
me: ps the governor was just talking to me in his office and he kept farting
me: like pretty loud
Beth: Ahahahahaha
me: and it was soooo hard not to laugh
Beth: That's amazing
me: he can't hear it but seriously, i mean how old do you have to be to not be aware that you're farting?
me: maybe he just thinks if he can't hear it, i can't hear it
Beth: Hahahahaha
Beth: Poor guy
Beth: He prob has no idea its happening
me: it's just sooooo awkward
Beth: Do you think he wears depends?
Beth: Perhaps he's lost control of what happens down there
me: hahaha i don't think he does but i guess i really just don't know

ps: another true story: while typing this, the Governor called me into his office. Apparently the dictaphone he uses to dictate his letters and pages of his book to me randomly came on and started playing something I recorded back in June. He now believes it is possessed. I honestly cannot wait to find out where this goes.

breakdown

2007-08-06T11:14:00.001-04:00

I can't fathom how the governor could possibly need this much help.

Example: I have to print out a calendar for him and keep it updated. I do it with this program called Now & Up-To-Date; every day I print him out that day's schedule and tape it to his desk, then update the week calendar he has--one page with the entire month on it, stapled to one weeks' worth of day schedules with everything I know about written into them. This is a huge waste because things change so quickly around here, and far be it from anybody to just use a pen and write in new events. Nope, everything has to be re-printed. And the best part is, he never looks at it! He freaks out if he doesn't have it, which is usually because he took it out of his bag and left it on his desk or something. He schedules himself appointments during other appointments, which, if he looked at his damn calendar, are clearly scheduled. And then he doesn't tell me he's done this. It is a common occurrance around here to have to re-schedule appointments he's made on his own, during appointments I've already scheduled and told him about, and having to apologize for my mistakes.

He's also one of the most forgetful perfectionists I've ever met or even heard of. All last week, he kept having me write letters to people, accusing them of not sending things that they said they'd send him...the thing is, they were all things he already has, that have been in his in-box for at least a week. He somehow remembers that Linda from the driving school owes him an evaluation, and he decides to write her a letter on Wednesday accusing her of never sending his evaluation. Intersting points:

(1) He already wrote her a letter accusing her of this
(2) He also made me call her
(3) During this phone call, I found out that she'd already sent his evaluation to his home address--the one he lived in three years ago. Whose fault is that?
(4) She told me if I didn't recieve the one she was sending here, to his office, by this past Friday, to call her and she'd personally deliver the evaluation
(5) The evaluation came in on Tuesday--stamped and placed in his in-box, right on top because it seemed most important.
(6) "I'm doing what she said--if I didn't get her evaluation, I should write to her and tell her!" (note: this was Wednesday.)

One of the letters I had to write on Thursday was actually apologizing for my screwing things up! Someone invited him to something about a month ago. I put the invitation on his desk, and he returned it to me with a post-it note on it saying "find out their last name." I found it out and told him, asked him if he wanted to go and he said no, that his wife had a prior engagement and to please call and leave his regrets. There was a note on said invitation saying their last name, that I called with regrets, and the reason for them. And yet, on Thursday morning, I found myself writing a letter that was dictated to me explaining that he had to figure out all on his own who these people were and he realizes now that his new secretary didn't know what she was doing and, as such, never managed to RSVP to the invitation.

Or, he left a card on my desk that he got on July 3rd. I remember opening it, I remember stamping it, I remember putting it on his desk. I've been moving it around on his desk for a month; every time I clean it (probably three times a week, to no avail) I move this letter to the top of a pile and every time it gets lost in the shuffle all over again. Friday morning, he put it on my desk with a note that says "did we ever get her last name?"

Well, no.

Because he never asked me what it was.

I swear I could save about 7 acres of rain forest trees per day if I just stopped doing everything the governor asks.

2007-08-05T09:32:00.000-04:00

i don't know what i'd do at work every day if it wasn't for my friend sean. sean and i met freshman year of college living in the same hallway. now we both sit at our desks 5 days a week and talk on AIM about how ridiculous our jobs are.

excerpt from an AIM conversation, 8/2/07:

(note: i am writing this while at work, because it is 9:36 am and my boss is still not here)

me: see, i don't really eat at work
me: i have a drawer full of newtons, luna bars and cookies
me: but i almost never get to eat any of it
sean: haha
sean: why not
me: because i'm always busy
me: today i got here at like 9
me: and opened a little bag of cookies, because i took insulin at home so i need to eat somthing
me: and i ended up running all over the office all morning
me: i had to copy a stack of things--simple, right?
me: i mean all you have to do is place the stack into the top of the copy machine and hit "start" and it copies the entire stack, one by one
me: but every time i'd go to the copy machine, my phone would ring
me: this seriously happened at least 10 times
me: i go over to the copy machine, turn it on, phone rings
me: run back to my office, answer the phone, its the governor, updating me on where he is now, asking questions he knows the answers to, same old
me: we chat, hang up
me: i wait a minute, nothing happens, so i go back to the copy machine
me: pick up the papers
me: ...phone rings
sean: no
me: YES.
me: this time, he hangs up on me
me: and i wait, probably for five minutes, for him to realize his mistake and call me back, but he doesn't
me: so i get up, start to walk to the copy machine, pause...wait for it to ring, but it doesn't, so i keep going
me: get to the machine, pick up my papers...
sean: phone rings
me: phone rings
me: this literally happened all morning
me: so, 9 am i opened the bag, i don't think i actually ate anything in it until at least 11:45
me: and then i put one cookie in my mouth and the phone rang
me: i didn't even get to start copying until about 11 and then it took me about a year to get those copies OUT of the machine and onto his desk
me: haha
me: i think he has sensors or something
me: he just knows when calling me would be the most inconvenient thing, and he does it then
sean: tru
sean: i need a hair cut
sean: and a nap
sean: and a sandwich
sean: and a beer
sean: and a clear mind
sean: haha
me: me too
me: all of the above

ps: i'd like to direct anyone reading this to sean's blog, which he writes with several of his friends, which can be found in the links section of this blog (please everyone shut up). particularly the post titled "the 40 hour work week - a dangling carrot or a myth to keep us going?" because i think it fits with this blog.

2007-08-03T12:20:00.000-04:00

excerpt from conversation with Curtis:

curtis: how's the gov this morning?
me: ugh
me: i got here and he was freaking out
me: he was in my office calling someone
me: and hands me the calendar i printed out for him yesterday and was like "this doesn't help me at all-it doesn't have anything on it"
me: so i said "that's because you don't have anything scheduled today"
me: and he said "i have a funeral to go to!"
me: so i said "ok, you didn't tell me that. if you don't tell me these things, i can't put them on your schedule"
me: and he says "no time for that! where is the funeral?"
me: i say "whose funeral?" and he goes "AAGGHHHHH! Joe's mother's funeral!"
me: so i go to find the obituary on his desk but of course it's a mess even though i cleaned it yesterday
me: i come in here and print it out and show him and he's like "where the hell is that?"
me: i go to get him directions and he's like "i can't believe you were late TODAY."
me: i said "i almost didn't COME IN today but i did so i'm here so what do you need?"
me: and he gets mad, and says "i'll call you from the car for the directions, bye."
me: and so when he called he was a little nicer and he finally asked why i was late again and i explained that i was sick last night and i was thinking about not coming in today but i decided i had to, and he was like "you keep getting sick, why do you keep getting sick?" and i said "well i'm diabetic" and he was like "ohhhhh i didn't know that, you need to tell me these things."
me: so that was a little better, i guess
me: but i'm sure he's forgotten by now
curtis: yeah
curtis: crazy freaking man

a labor of love

2007-08-02T20:13:00.001-04:00

To catch you up to speed, I feel like I ought to throw in there that I really do adore my boss, he is a lovely man and sort of a grandfatherly figure who cares a lot about everybody in his life, but tries very hard to cover that up with a gruff attitude. He really is of a different era--an era where one writes letters to his friends to celebrate achievements and mourn losses, wears double breasted suits to work every day and speaks slowly and clearly to avoid using the word "um."

To clarify, this blog is intended to be a labor of love. And frustration and boredom...but mostly love.

the beginning

2007-08-02T10:03:00.000-04:00

On June 14th, 2007, I wrote an e-mail to a former RI Governor.* I was writing to ask a favor. The Governor (affectionately known as G-Sun...but only really to me and my friend Josh) had been my professor for PSC 305, a class about Rhode Island politics, and I was writing to inquire as to whether I could use him as a possible reference on my resume as I began the big job hunt at the end of my college career.

On June 15th, I got my response:

Dear Sarah,

[The Governor] asked me to see if you have the skills to provide
bookkeeping and secretarial help to him. My position with him is over
on 6/22/07, and he is looking for someone to help with secretarial and
bookkeping capabilities. I have attached a general description of the
position.

Cecelia

After writing e-mails back and forth all day on the 15th, Cecelia and I agreed that I would come in between 1 and 1:30 that Monday, the 18th of June, and talk to Cecelia, who had worked for the Governor for the last 12 years, about her job and whether I'd be able to take the position. We talked, she explained, I listened, and by the end of the day it was understood: I would work with Cecelia for her last week and she would train me. At the end of the week, if things worked out, I would take over her job and G-Sun's Professional Administrative Assistant.

PROFESSIONAL ADMINISTRATIVE ASSISTANT (n): a fancy word for "secretary."

...Little did I know what I was getting myself into.

*For my own personal protection, I have removed the Governor's name from my posts, to avoid a google-related fiasco.