Profanity Approaching...

My boss needs to eat a box of dicks and die.

If I knew for certain that another job was waiting; if I knew for certain that I could live on my own for long enough to get another job; if the benefits weren't so good and all those other things that people say when they're eating their own guts out but can't summon the courage to just make the fucking leap...if all those things weren't true, I would absolutely, with no question, have quit this job in a firestorm of cursing and accusations today.

I do not remember ever having been so angry--at least, not within the scope of my severely-compromised memory.

The details are too long to relate; short version is: When I tell you I am upset and want to discuss something, and you e-mail me back a message that is, in essence, "You have no right to be upset, because you did this unrelated thing, that unrelated thing, and a third similarly-unrelated thing wrong, and so instead of listening to YOU, instead -I- will be snotty and juvenile and utterly unprofessional, list a group of things YOU need to do, and finish it with the completely compassion-free snide 'Correct??'" ...if that is your response to "I am upset about the way you handled X situation and would like to discuss it on Monday," then you need to eat an entire LARGE bag of dicks and die. And that is exactly what my boss did.

(No, he didn't eat the dicks. I mean, I don't know what his personal life is like--although you can DAMN FINE BET that he doesn't pull bullshit like the above with his WIFE, unless she's a similar flavor of goddamn idiot...anyway, I was going somewhere with this, I think. Oh yeah...eat, die, needs to.)

I had to write FOUR SEPARATE responses to his e-mail before I could calm myself enough to come up with one that was even in the same ZIP CODE as "appropriate and professional". Writing is the one skill I truly believe I have, and I know for a fact that I share a great talent of my father's: the murderously polite letter. My dad, when people pissed him off, would write them letters which would shred the skin off their bodies and leave them saying "thank you" for the shredding. I mean, he was GOOD. I'm not QUITE as good as him--I let emotion get in my way sometimes--but I'm pretty good at it. But today--again, it took four tries before I managed not to cuss him out six ways to Sunday.

Put it this way: this is what I started with. (Anything in brackets should be taken as an improvised flight of verbiage, and not what I sent to him.)

(Reply to Douchebag:)

You know, perhaps this exchange doesn’t show either of us at our best moments. Let me start this over:
I apologize if the tone of that last message seemed brusque; as I wrote that message, I was a)trying to complete the work I had promised, and b) upset because even though I had assured you in no uncertain terms that I would get the work done by the end of the day, you felt it was necessary to add assignments for xxxxxxx to both tickets while we were on the phone discussing it. I felt that you were completely dismissing my assurance that xxxxxxxxxxx would be complete before I left for the day, which they were (with the exception of two details that couldn’t be completed without xxxxxxxxxxxxx.)

And this was the end:

(Incidentally: whatever your intention might have been as you wrote it, the tone of your reply below conveys many things, but “concern” is not among them. As I said, my prior message may have been open to interpretation, so I’ll just assume you were responding to the frustrated and angry tone, for which I again apologize. As for the tickets you mentioned, we can discuss those further on Monday.)

And honestly, I wish I cared more about what he might do to me. I am serious. If they fire me, at least I can get unemployment--and believe me, Human Resources will get an earful. I was so tempted to just leave the whole thing where it stood and just call HR and set up an appointment--God knows I wouldn't be the first, not by a long shot!--but I decided to at least make an attempt to act like a grownup. The rest of the letter was very polite and professional; I used all "I" statements, didn't accuse him of being the troglodytic, male-chauvinist, underevolved ass-munch which I wholeheartedly consider him to be; and managed to finish the letter with "Thank you for taking the time to read this," instead of "If I leave this job before I see you crouching ignominiously over a rain-soaked cardboard box spilling your pitiful worldly possessions onto the concrete as you take the long, shame-faced walk from your office to your car for the last time, I will consider my time on this earth as having been completely wasted, for my ultimate moment of happiness will have eluded me for eternity. Incidentally, kindly go fuck yourself with a chainsaw." In short, I was as polite and as professional as I could be while wishing great personal misfortune and possible bodily harm on a fellow human being--but again: Douche. Bag. Seriously.

If my e-mail doesn't de-escalate the situation--I know, the last bit quoted up there may not be the most de-escalationary thing I've ever written, but it's loads better than the first three drafts would have been, and the main body of the letter was much less poisonous--but if my e-mail doesn't de-escalate this, and if it ends up with Human Resources, I will go in there with all guns blazing, starting with his strange habit of listening to ideas only when they come from men, or rolling his eyes when my one female colleague says anything, and a few other little tidbits besides. He would not have DARED to reply to a man like he replied to me, and it galls me because I am the last person in the world who plays the gender card, ESPECIALLY at work. But I know where this guy grew up, because it's right near where I grew up, and I know the mindset that gets set into many of the males--and in him, it's right up at the surface. So that's where I'll take it first; second, I'll go into his flaws as a manager (not least of which is "You DON'T reply like that to an angry employee, no matter how much you want to.") He was on vacation a couple of weeks ago; it was amazing how much more smoothly things went in his absence. I'd noticed the same thing last year when he was gone, but it was definitely confirmed this year: The Crazy is not the source of most of the problems in our department. I mean, some decisions she makes contribute to the chaos, but for the most part, I think HE is the problem, not The Crazy.

I am now completely exhausted. I have been so angry and so worked-up all day, and now I'm just tired--and when I leave here at 9:30, I have to be back tomorrow at 8 AM. I am going to just pass out the minute my head hits the pillow, I think...and dream of chainsaws.

A Logic Problem For You

If I sent you the following in an e-mail on Wednesday afternoon....

"...Please make sure George Blow's computer gets checked over AS SOON AS IT GETS THERE and please get it back to him tomorrow; this is hugely important because he's been waiting for it for a long time and I told him he'd have it Thursday at the latest..."

Would anything in that message lead you, when asked on Thursday afternoon, "Is there any hurry for checking out George Blow's computer?" to answer, "No, not really..."???

I was working on a computer from my regular building, which I'd brought to the downtown building so I could finish it. It took longer than I thought, and so on Wednesday, when I packed it up to send back to the main building, I sent my boss (Joe) an e-mail containing the sentences above. I made it a point to emphasize that I wanted him to get the computer to George on Thursday because I'm off on Thursdays and I knew I was in no position to check up on him til Friday afternoon at the earliest.

I got to work Friday, and the ticket was still in my queue. I called Joe and left a message for him to call me; when no call was forthcoming, I called twice more, then called the help desk to see if he was even in the office. "He's in a meeting," I was told.

Around 5 PM--you know, when reasonable people on a 9-5 shift are pretty much ready to go home--I got a call from Carl, one of the other techs. (Carl actually used to be our boss, but due to office politics he was "reassigned"--translation: demoted--and his job was given to Joe. Carl was EASILY the best manager I'd ever had, and I was so mad when he got shafted like that...) Anyway, Carl called me to ask me a question....about George Blow's computer.

"That's not DONE?" I squeaked. "I TOTALLY e-mailed Joe on Wednesday to tell him that needed to be done YESTERDAY!"
"Well then how come he told me, when I asked him 'Is there any rush on the George Blow machine?' he told me 'No, not really,'?" Carl asked.
"Carl, I have NO idea. I told Joe that George should get that computer back on Thursday."
"Well why didn't you tell ME that?" Carl asked.
"Dude, I had NO IDEA that you were going to be the one who got it. I figured Joe would have assigned it to one of the new guys..."

And of course, by that point in the day, George had long ago left for home, so by this time there really WAS no point in hurrying. But steam was coming out my ears. Talking--or e-mailing--to Joe is like talking to a brick wall, I swear. There is literally no point in telling him ANYTHING, because he will ignore it, forget about it, override it, or otherwise discard it, and then leave US to clean up the mess when it comes.

--done venting now.

:::deep breath:::
Okay. Goodnight, all.

My Boss Is A Complete Asshole.

To all of you who found this blog by searching for variants of "my boss is an asshole"...Hi there! Welcome! I didn't realize there were so many of us out there, but fully 15% of my incoming traffic is from this search term, so....we're clearly not alone. So...good to have you here. Stick around and read some more, why don't you? It sure beats working.... --GJC, 17 Oct 2008

I am beginning to wonder if I am a maladjusted worker, or if I just find myself working in jobs with asshole bosses, or if there are just no other KIND of bosses. But today, once again, I have incontrovertible evidence that My Boss Is An Asshole.

The plot: As I've mentioned, there are four of us; myself, "Max", "Alex", and "Erwin". Max and Alex are the senior techs, Erwin and I are the junior techs. The distinction is minimal, really; Max and Alex get the "challenging" users and the long-term/complex projects, while Erwin and I get the normal calls and everyday projects. Erwin, for reasons no one has explained, has been given the lion's share of the task of building new systems; though all of us do builds, Erwin gets the most of them. I don't think that's terribly fair (though there's some consensus that it's because Erwin can't really do crap-else EXCEPT menial, repetitive tasks. I can't speak to that, personally, but I CAN speak to the fact that he's a whiny, petty little nit who has been known to bring meetings to a complete standstill by digging in his heels and stating that he opposes some minor policy change. Also, he's generally a jerk.) and will occasionally offer, when I hear him complain about how many builds he's got to do, to take one of them off his hands. (He has never done the same for me.)

Today, he spent the morning bitching every time a new ticket came across his desk, and so, after lunch, I said "Hey, Erwin, if you want to tell Joe (our boss) to give me one of your tickets, go ahead."

About half an hour later, I still hadn't gotten any new tickets, so I went into Joe's office. He got Erwin on the phone, and put him on speaker. Erwin read him the number of the ticket he wanted to give me--strange, since no one's usually that formal about tickets--we usually refer to them by the user name. I asked Joe, "Who's the ticket for?" and he just brushed it off: "Oh, just a user." My stupid self clearly wasn't thinking like an Asshole, because I just accepted it and went back to my desk.

A couple minutes later, I pulled up the ticket and discovered who it was for:

The ticket was to build a new computer...for The Crazy. Our big boss.

We had all known there was soon going to be a ticket for this build, and it had been made really, really clear that no one wanted to be the one to get it. First of all, she's THE BOSS, and nobody wants to be put in a position where any mistake will instantly be under her nose. Further, she's very particular, and then too, she has a list of annoying, complex software to install, archives to move, and general high-maintenanceness. It was the Hot Potato of builds, and not ONLY had Erwin handed it off to me, Joe had LET him--had AIDED AND ABETTED him, actually.

Now, it's my belief that if someone offers to help you with something, you--just as a common courtesy--don't give them the worst task you've got. If someone offers to help with your yardwork, you don't tell them "Hey, yeah, you can help--the septic tank hasn't been cleaned out for eight years now..." You give them something easy, or at least something average-to-middling. That's just basic human courtesy.

Well, apparently that doesn't fly, where I work. While the guys, including Erwin, laughed at my reaction, I said "oh HELL no," and darted back to Joe's office. "You let Erwin give me The CRAZY'S computer??" I yelped.

Joe? LAUGHED. (Keep in mind: this man is supposedly a manager.) "Hehehehehe...yeah." Said in the typical schoolyard-bully bullshit "sucker!" tone I remember from when I was, oh, TWELVE.

"Come ON, Joe. That's not right," I said.

He switched to the "affronted innocence" mode. "What? What are you so mad about? God, you're so whiny--you sound like Frack." (Frack--the guy at the other building who does nothing but complain.)

At that point, I just decided to shut up and deal. "You know what? That's fine. Where is the computer?"

"WHAAAAAAT??? Why are you getting mad at MEEEE? I didn't do anything....Erwin was the one who told me to give you the ticket!"

"That's right. But you--being the boss--could have vetoed it and told him 'Nah, give her another build instead'." (Which I thought was an eminently reasonable response, especially since he was acting like a bratty schoolkid, not a manager.)

"God. What EVER." (turns to student worker, also in the office) "Do you hear her whining??" (back to me) "Do you want me to give the ticket to Max?" (Notice--COM.PLETE.LY not dealing with the real issue; red herrings, allegedly-"humorous" comments. He has a habit of deflecting criticism this way. Not from The Crazy, of course--with her, he just grovels--but with the rest of us.)

"No. Just tell me, where is the computer, so I can just get started?"

Conversation goes back and forth, while he a)takes out the keys to the storeroom, which is where the computer is, but makes no effort to get out of his desk and actually LET ME INTO THE ROOM, which is his JOB. For FIFTEEN MINUTES I stand in his damn office listening to him bantering with student workers, help desk people, colleagues, whatever, and meanwhile I want to fucking STRANGLE this man, and everything I say is met with variations on the theme of "I don't know WHY you're so ANGRY."

So finally, he got off his ass and let me into the storeroom; I got the computer and went back to my desk and just got back to work. Later on I made a comment to Alex, who's the acknowledged brat of the department, and he laughed--but I know WHY he laughed. It's the old pie-in-the-face construct: it's funny, as long as it's not happening to YOU. I would have giggled too. Same with Max; walking home, though he admitted it was funny, he also agreed that it was a shitty thing for Erwin to do in the first place, let alone for Joe to go along with it.

So basically, the lesson for today, boys and girls: When someone makes a good-faith offer of help, the best thing to do is to take complete and total advantage of their good will. After all, if they weren't suckers, they never would have offered to help, would they???

I will not. EVER. offer to help Erwin again, for any reason, under any circumstances. If he were on fire, I would not even bother to muster enough spit to put it out. And as for my "manager", Joe--there is a phrase of which I hope he is aware: it's called "killing the golden goose". His total lack of good sense, regarding when to be a good-buddy-boy and when to be a fucking MANAGER, has accomplished exactly that. No longer do I feel subject to any mandate to "keep him out of trouble" as he has so often said. Quite the opposite, as a matter of fact; anything I can do to subtly draw attention to his managerial incompetency and total inappropriateness, I will do. Not in a way to make myself look vindictive, mind you, or to depreciate in any way the quality of my work--quite the opposite, in fact. Joe and Erwin want to bitch and whine and play junior-high playground games? They can do that. I'm here to do a JOB, and to do it well--and I've found that sometimes, just doing your work damn well draws attention to those who don't. Not always--but sometimes. Regardless, from this point on, I am only looking out for those who look out for ME.

Yow. (Or, Sondheim May Be Dangerous to Your Health)

Okay, so after last week's doc appointment, it was decided that yeah, might be a good time to go back on the anti-d's. Unfortunately, Dr J can't prescribe, and so my primary doc--my gyno--will have to take care of that. I called her office Monday, and was told "wellll...she actually has to see you first." Pleh--she's in Evanston. But...okay, fine; it's actually been not quite two years since I've had my girlybits examined...(in ANY context, but that's a sob-story for another day)...and so I made the appointment for the first available date, which is early March. I wasn't thrilled, but I figured I could hang on til then.

Well, last night I made a fairly serious error, it seems.

Back in about 2004, I fell in love with the movie "Camp". There were a lot of reasons for this; mostly I was vulnerable to one of those let's-put-on-a-show kinds of movies, and whatever, whatever, blah blah blah. I think I saw that movie on cable about twenty times. My favoritemost section, hands down, was when Fritzi sabotages the blonde girl and usurps her role in the play, just in time for the big showstopping number, "Ladies Who Lunch". It's from the Stephen Sondheim play, "Company", about which I knew literally nothing at all. In fact, I didn't really know crap about Sondheim, other than that he was famous for musicals, etc. But I loved, loved, loved that performance in "Camp".

Anyway, the other night as I was flipping channels, I noticed that "Great Performances" was showing "Company" at some hideous hour of the night. Obviously, being a work day, I wasn't going to stay up til 4:30 AM, but I DVR'ed it. And last night--already, mind you, feeling low--I watched it.

So: "Company". It's about a guy turning 35 and all his married friends, and their relationships and HIS relationships and his friends' efforts to hook him up with various women, and the problems with his friends' marriages and all that stuff that would normally send me scrambling to change channels faster than the speed of light...

...which I totally, TOTALLY should have done. The last thing I needed last night was one of those deals where the characters spend half the time singing the praises of autonomy and independence and freedom, all with this "oh, but we're so wrong" subtext, ending with what's basically a celebration of marriage as the ultimate good, the greatest way to live. And the main character, throughout, is basically portrayed as this lonely guy, who looks at his friends' lives and wonders what's wrong with him; why is he still alone, why can't he get emotionally close to any of these three women he's dating, etc. And of course, the women all think it's great to be married and the guys all wish they were free, except they sort of don't, and...

It sucked. The point I am making: it sucked. Mostly it sucked because it made me cry, a LOT, and for an extended period of time, and in that unpleasant way that doesn't just finish up and you're done; the kind where you THINK you're done and you wash your face and blow your nose and then all of a sudden you're crying AGAIN and you're not even sure about what. And even my favorite song sucked, because contrary to how they portrayed it in "Camp", it's not so much a triumphant anthem as it is a pathetic confession, a realization by one of the characters of how lame and empty her life really is, how lonely she is despite her own good fortune and good man, and how she's just been projecting her self-contempt and her anger at her own emptiness onto other people's lives...

...Nah, doesn't sound like any bloggers I know, either.

So Mr. Sondheim and I have come to a permanent parting of the ways, and incidentally he can cram his NewYorkism sideways up his tookus as well; I will not be going out of my way to encounter his works in the future, though it does nothing to dim my love for "Camp". And frankly, for the first time in my life I am looking forward to a gynecologist appointment, because whenever those antidepressants take effect will be not a moment too soon.

Sondheim. Who needs it.

Hey--Brother, Truckers!

This is one of the crappiest articles I've seen anywhere.

Don't get me wrong: I'm horrified by the notion of people leaving their pets to die or to fend for themselves when their owners are foreclosed out of their homes. Obviously that's horrible and completely not the way to do things.

But to the people who are saying things like this?

Some critics say the pet owners have already proved they are irresponsible by buying houses they could not afford or mortgages they did not bother to understand.

I have just two words to say to those people; the second is "you" and the first rhymes with "truck". Who the hell are they to imply that because someone fell on hard times, that means they're somehow "irresponsible"?? Those are the people who I'd like to see knocked off their own personal pedestal, right out of their comfortable little lives, into hard times, and see how long THEY'D last with their narrowminded, judgemental attitudes.

But of course, that would never happen to "responsible" people like themselves; apparently, "responsible" people only have GOOD luck.

Oh No He Di-n't: STFU, Drew, Part 2

(background here for non-Chicagoans, or for Chicagoans who slammed bricks through their TVs, radios, computers and newspapers long ago)

Is there SERIOUSLY no depth this individual will not plumb?

Here Goes Nothing

Last step before moving: pack up the cats.
Second-to-last step before moving: pack up the computer.

Hopefully, by the time I have internet access again, the memory of the past 24 hours will have vanished from my mind; this will spare my readers the most profanity-laced post in TSOW history, because...

Let's just say I am so, so, so very done helping people, ever.

EVER ever. From this point on, I plan to nurture a carefully cultivated streak of total jerkitude and self-centeredness, so as to avoid ever, EVER going through ANYTHING like this again, EVER.

Last thought on this before I take the requisite deep breath:

When you live in someone's house rent-free for a year, should it not be customary to assist with projects without complaint? Or even better, without making yourself out to be some kind of tragic hero for successfully "balancing the wishes of two entirely different people"? Especially when one of these two disparate parties is doing NOTHING for the cause, is in fact DISTRACTING at every turn from the process at hand; and the other party is THE PERSON IN WHOSE HOUSE YOU AND THIS DISTRACTION HAVE LIVED RENT-FREE FOR AN EXTENDED PERIOD OF TIME??? Wouldn't you tell the distraction, "You know, babycakes sugarbooty bumpkin pie, after tomorrow, I can give you every moment of my undivided attention forever and ever--which is what you seem to require in order to continue operating as the barely-functioning individual you are, bless your cute widdle heart--but just for today, I feel like I owe this to a person who's helped both of us quite a bit"? Instead of "This is what amazing, wonderful, self-effacing people like me do for their friends. Look how heroic and wonderful and long-suffering I am"???

Firefly, I apologize, but I gotta use the V-word here: the whole thing makes me wanna vomit.

Every choice, every plan, and every decision I have made through the course of this move--everything from where to stack stuff, to whether to tape certain boxes shut, to what time I could go to bed (!!!), has been debated, argued, contradicted, and second-guessed. Last night, I just snapped--several times, in fact--and by the time I finished with the requisite tears of nervous exhaustion and total fury, and finally DID get to bed, I was so tense that it took me about an hour to fall asleep.

I have to stop ranting now and put the computer away. In a few hours, this move will be done. But since Tim and Squeaky have walked out the door to go to work/wherever--the worst is over.

See you all on the other side....

:::set fades to black:::

Things That Can Bite Me

Things That Can Bite Me, Tech-Support Edition:

1-347,325: Microsoft.

Microsoft can bite me because:

1. Office 2007. "Hey, Bob, here's a great idea! Let's take the normal, intuitive menu structure, the neat layout, and the uncluttered feel of Office 2003…AND CHUCK IT OUT THE WINDOW! We can make a…..a….I know! A BIG UGLY BUTTON where everyone has to click to do everything! And then? Get this…we can make cluttery, redundant TABS! EVERYONE loves tabs, RIGHT? And we can hide ALL the useful features."
   

   "Gee, Mr. Gates…do you think that's what the users want?"
   

   "USERS? Screw the USERS. They want what we TELL them to want!"
   

1. So I get this ticket at work, see. We just upgraded our people to Office 2007. Most of our users also have some form of Adobe—generally Adobe Professional 7 or 8. About a week ago, one of the users said she could no longer create or combine PDFs with Adobe 7. She would rather not update to 8, but she would if she had to.
   

   I spent hours on this ticket. I spent hours at her desk, I spent hours at MY desk, I spent hours on Google and on Adobe's website, trying to find out what the problem was. At one point I printed out a list of about 15 pages of steps to take, in order, to solve the problem.
   

   Today, as I was discussing it with my cube-mate, who claimed that updating to Adobe 8.1 would definitely solve the problem, I got an e-mail from the guy in the next cube, who'd heard us talking. It was a forward of an e-mail one of the OTHER techs had sent out a couple of months back, in which she explained a solution. I read it, and thought "That is SO not gonna help. Something that simple, that ridiculously unrelated to the problem—nah. It's not gonna help. But I'll try it…maybe it will help something else."
   

   I had another call for the same issue, by this time. I went to this user's office and tried all my usual steps, the ones which hadn't worked for the first user; they didn't work here either. I told her I'd be back tomorrow when I had a chance to do some more research.
   

   As I walked away, I thought of the e-mail. "Let me try this one more thing," I said. "I doubt it will work, but…"
   

   I clicked on the big stupid Office button—the source of all menus—and clicked Word Options. There was an item on the list that said "Popular", which I clicked. There, at the bottom of that screen, it said "Personalize your Copy of Microsoft Office", followed by a space for the user's name and a space for the user's initials. I filled them in—Jane Doe, initials JD--clicked OK, and clicked the Acrobat tab to create a PDF file.
   

   
   

   And damn it all –it WORKED. The lack of a stupid NAME and stupid INITIALS was causing a whole myriad of "unexpected error"s across two entirely unrelated applications. If that is not the STUPIDEST, most outstandingly DUMBASSED thing I've ever encountered in my ENTIRE LIFE as a tech-support person…
   

   
   

   I think I need to calm down.
   

   
   

   (But I mean, SERIOUSLY!)
   

   
   

2. "Um, Mr. Gates, sir??"
   

   (sigh) "What is it now, Bob?"
   

   "Got a question. I'm setting up the updater for the new version of Office for the Macin…"
   

   (Turns on him, eyes narrowed)"What did I tell you about saying that name in my almighty presence!"
   

   "Sorry…sorry, Mr. Gates. Anyway, I'm working on Office for…well….you know, that other company's computer….and I've noticed that after they install it, there are like ELEVEN individual updaters they have to run, one at a time. They've got to click on each, then enter their name and password…I was just thinking, couldn't we create a cumulative update? I mean, it would save them time…"
   

   "They don't NEED time. What they NEED…what they NEED is a good LESSON. Eleven individual updates? It's a small, small penalty for their betrayal. Let them suffer."
   

   "Yes sir, Mr. Gates."
   

   
   

I love my job—truly I do—but oh, how I hate Microsoft.

Countrywide

Countrywide Mortgage Co. (or whatever their official name is) can SUCK IT. (I have several "it"s in mind, none of them pleasant.)

I got a letter a few days back, in legalese, telling me basically what I already knew: my house was sold. The letter said that there had been a motion made to take possession of the building (okay, fine) and it contained the following phrase:

"The Sheriff cannot evict until 30 days after the entry of this order."

The order was dated Sept. 18th. I had been told on several occasions that it takes approximately forever to evict someone; when Tim was evicted, it didn't actually happen til nearly 6 weeks after the date he was originally given. So figure, October 18, plus an unknown period of time. Not un-doable, but I was hoping to leave at the end of the month--and that's saying nothing for Tim and Squeaky, who don't have JOBS yet, let alone a place to go. For them, I was thinking December 1st would be more reasonable.

So I called the lawyers. "Well, we don't handle the evictions," they said. "You'll have to call Countrywide." (They're the original lender; they apparently got the building back in the sale. Dunno how that works, but after today I can only tell them Good luck to you, bastard people.)

I called Countrywide. The first department gave me the number of a second department. The second department advised me to call the REO department, who in turn advised me to call the Foreclosure department, which turned out to be the department I'd spoken to first. Needless to say, this did not improve my attitude at all. But finally I got a person. I explained the situation to her. "Well, how long would you need?" she asked. I told her "I'd prefer December 1st, but I'll settle for November 1st."

She went away to consult with someone. Ten minutes later, she returned.

"They said you need to move out. Today."

I informed her that no, that was NOT the case; I had before me a letter saying clearly that I had 30 days.

"Well, you need to move out by October 18th, then," she countered. "They're not going to extend it."

I explained to her the history, as follows:

I was out of work for ten months.
When I lost my job I told them "I need to make arrangements."
I was told "We can't make arrangements unless you have a job."
I told them "If I had a job, I wouldn't need arrangements."

When I finally GOT a job, I called and said "Okay, I've got a job; I'm ready to make those arrangements."
They said "We can't make arrangements unless you have $10,000 to get caught up."
I told them "If I had $10,000, I wouldn't BE in foreclosure."

So finally (I said) the house was sold, and now I'm asking for thirteen stinking days, and you can't give me THAT? And this from a company whose name has been all over the news as one of the WORST offenders in the subprime mortgage crisis--from the SAME company who encouraged me to exaggerate my income so that the loan would go through--and this SAME company now can't even work with me so that I have the time to find a place to stay now that they've got their building back and have the power to put me on the street?

Needless to say (I told her) I will not be speaking positively of Countrywide in the future. In fact, I will make it my business to tell everyone I know, and possibly total strangers in the street, about my experience with your company, and its total lack of empathy or corporate accountability.

"Have a good day, ma'am," she said.

At this point, aside from being wrathfully pissed, I was also having a minor freakout. Seventeen days is not a long time to find a place to live, to pack all your worldly belongings, and to find a moving company--particularly while working what, when commute time is added, amounts to a ten-hour day.

I took a few deep breaths.

Then I called the Sheriff's Department. I picked the "Evictions" option, and after letting the phone ring one hundred times, I hung up. Next I tried the "Operator" option. After eighty rings, I was fairly sure that everyone there had been overcome by poison gas and were sitting at their desks, slowly decomposing.

Next I randomly picked a department; miracle of miracles, a HUMAN answered. "I really don't NEED this department," I told her. "I need Evictions, but I can't get them to answer the phone for love nor money, and I have a really general question but it's REALLY important," I said.

"Let me transfer you," she said.

After three rings: success. I asked what the real situation was, and finally got a little good news: Apparently the Countrywide Bastard People Co. cannot even FILE for an eviction til thirty days after that order--so, October 18th--and from then, it takes between one and eight weeks for the actual eviction to take place. The odds are in my favor, at least.

She also told me I could go downtown and talk to a judge, who might be able to give me a little wiggle room. So the proverbial wolf, although he is quite near the door, is not quite breathing through the peephole just YET. Small favors, and all that.

The last thing I did was to call my old landlord, to see if he had any studio or one-bedroom places available. And so Wednesday morning before work, I'm going to go look at a studio in my old building--$535 a month, all utilities included.

As for Tim and Squeaky--I told them the whole story later, since they didn't roll out of bed til nearly 3-- and if that's not a wake-up call, nothing ever will be. But right now, I can't worry about them--thanks to Countrywide, I now have QUITE enough to worry about on my OWN account.