There are few times I sit down to write a post merely to let the frustration loose. This is one of those times.
I’m stuck waiting. Waiting for people who accuse me of wasting time to get back to my urgent emails and phone calls. Waiting for people to realise that it is not me who failed (although, I’ll readily agree when it is), but the sheer incompetence of their staff. Waiting for my fragile psyche to stop taking what everybody says personally.
Caught between the struggle of a power-hungry minion and a frustrated superior (not mine, the minion’s), I find myself hurled between inferences so degrading, they may well have hurt less had they been straight forward insults. A child let loose on her mother’s jewelry proudly wears the haughty look of ownership and barks orders to slaves that are not hers, sending them back and forth for dubious reasons. “I want a peanut butter sandwich, no jam, no ham….no a three course meal.” This equals the situation I find myself in. Wondering if the child’s actions would be known to the mother, if she actually read the various emails that slew across the interface (yeah…yeah…mixed metaphor – bugger off).
Finally, filled with frustration, the mother walks in to find her room buttered with sandwiches of all sorts, jewelry littered everywhere and screams curses at the child and the slave alike.
I, the slave, slink into the darkness, waiting for confirmation that I can do what I was originally ordered to do – confirmation that should have come weeks before. I writhe with anger at the inferences, strive not let loose my need to prove the fact that I am not, in fact, incompetent.
It is rather difficult, when left in a situation like this, to realise that the only way forward is professional.
And not to set scorpions in the shoes of your betrayer.