BFF Dave Grohl, always around to sum things up
mis·an·thrope (mĭs'ən-thrōp', mĭz'-)
noun. One who hates or mistrusts humankind.
[French, from Greek mīsanthrōpos, hating mankind : mīso-, miso- + anthrōpos, man.]
I have an alternative definition: One who would rather convince herself she hates mankind than experience her true feelings of disappointment and humiliation.
_________________________________________
I try to like people, I really do. I even strive to feel compassion for the ones I don't succeed in liking. Sometimes, however, they make it damn near impossible.
This weekend, I started a new job. I have worked in sales for seven years, and I have grown tired of lying to people--whose trust I often lie to gain--to make a fucking living. I have grown even more tired of being lied to by the people I am supposed to consider my "teammates." In sales, there is no such thing. Why we even pretend is beyond me. It is a profession ludicrous by definition, and I have stayed only because my misanthropy has progressed to such a degree that now, in my 43rd year, my only friends are a handful of relatives and a barnyard of dogs, horses and guinea pigs. I can truthfully say that I am now more comfortable climbing into bed with my pitbull that I will ever be climbing in to a bed with another human.
So this new job was supposed to be a remedy to help treat my runaway misanthropy. I am going back into veterinary nursing, and landed a job working graveyard at a nearby emergency clinic. Yes, there are people in the business, but the ratio of non-humans is much greater than my current job. The pay is less that half what I make in sales, but it is fixed, and not determined by competition with your fellow teammates, which helps decrease shark attacks in the break room.
But there are always pitfalls. In this case, I was unaware that the person I am replacing was not aware 1) that she was about to be terminated, and 2) that I was the one replacing her. So my first shift in training goes pretty well, and I spend all night studying my new workspace and learning how far the industry has progressed in the seven years I've been out of a clinical setting. Then the clock strikes eleven, and the back doorbell rings. A look of terror sets in on the previously-smiling faces surrounding me. It is the woman I am going to replace, and she is an hour early.
mis·an·thrope (mĭs'ən-thrōp', mĭz'-)
noun. One who hates or mistrusts humankind.
[French, from Greek mīsanthrōpos, hating mankind : mīso-, miso- + anthrōpos, man.]
I have an alternative definition: One who would rather convince herself she hates mankind than experience her true feelings of disappointment and humiliation.
_________________________________________
I try to like people, I really do. I even strive to feel compassion for the ones I don't succeed in liking. Sometimes, however, they make it damn near impossible.
This weekend, I started a new job. I have worked in sales for seven years, and I have grown tired of lying to people--whose trust I often lie to gain--to make a fucking living. I have grown even more tired of being lied to by the people I am supposed to consider my "teammates." In sales, there is no such thing. Why we even pretend is beyond me. It is a profession ludicrous by definition, and I have stayed only because my misanthropy has progressed to such a degree that now, in my 43rd year, my only friends are a handful of relatives and a barnyard of dogs, horses and guinea pigs. I can truthfully say that I am now more comfortable climbing into bed with my pitbull that I will ever be climbing in to a bed with another human.
So this new job was supposed to be a remedy to help treat my runaway misanthropy. I am going back into veterinary nursing, and landed a job working graveyard at a nearby emergency clinic. Yes, there are people in the business, but the ratio of non-humans is much greater than my current job. The pay is less that half what I make in sales, but it is fixed, and not determined by competition with your fellow teammates, which helps decrease shark attacks in the break room.
But there are always pitfalls. In this case, I was unaware that the person I am replacing was not aware 1) that she was about to be terminated, and 2) that I was the one replacing her. So my first shift in training goes pretty well, and I spend all night studying my new workspace and learning how far the industry has progressed in the seven years I've been out of a clinical setting. Then the clock strikes eleven, and the back doorbell rings. A look of terror sets in on the previously-smiling faces surrounding me. It is the woman I am going to replace, and she is an hour early.
The Scream by Edvard Munch
In a scene straight out of a two-star romantic comedy, I am told to grab my coat and run for the other door. I don't even have to time to ask if they are serious. And as always happens in these risque situations, I leave several things behind that any discerning "jiltee" would find unsettling: a stethoscope with my name on it, hanging on the door of a black lab recovering from being hit by a car a few hours before, and a technician study guide, also with my name on it, lying right in the center of the break room table.
Not having met the person yet (we'll call her "Pam") the whole scene still managed to feel somewhat amusing. I believe I even chuckled as I drove myself home.
Still, wanting to avoid this situation from happening again, I called the next day and spoke with the receptionist and the manager to see when the trainer would be in again, and when Pam would not. I had a piece of paper with everyone's schedule on it, but it was missing two important things--the words a.m. and p.m. Everyone works 12-hour shifts, and so there are two people on each day. Both might say they are scheduled from 8-8. Unless you are psychic--or have worked at the clinic for some time--it is completely unclear who works during the day and who works overnight. Which is why I called.
Having secured the information I needed, I slept all day Sunday to prepare myself for a shift that would start at 8 p.m. and last as long as I felt I could handle before having to work my sales job at 8 the next morning. I had also slept all day Saturday after working 8 hours sales and 7 hours nursing back-to-back Friday. (Even if I had wanted to do anything, the temperature high both days was 8 degrees--8 fucking degrees--and I had no money. Winter in Wisconsin is a complete waste of time, and I cannot fathom how this is NOT the state with the highest suicide rate.)
By Sunday night, I was ready for a little action. Even I can only sleep so long. I ironed my trusty scrubs, showered, loaded my pitbull into the car for some clinical practice and headed for town.
Upon arrival, I walked right into the back of the clinic, coming face to face with a woman I did not know. Knowing there was one other technician at the location who was not being fired, I hazarded a lame guess.
"Cindy?" I asked, praying for the best.
I always forget that declaring yourself agnostic means you are not allowed to rely on the power of prayer to get you out of awkward situaions.
"No," she said. "Pam. Who are you?"
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.
Then my trainer walks in and the scene is complete. Everyone resists the urge to throw up simultaneously. What follows is THE lamest attempt to cover up what is ridiculously obvious to everyone, including the white Himalayan cat and the brown terrier watching from the stands.
Pam: "I didn't know they were hiring another tech." Looks at my trainer.
Trainer: Long pause--long enough to invalidate anything she might offer. "She's just part-time."
Good angle, I thought. Following her lead, but still blowing my lines by uttering them while staring at my Chuck Taylors, I said, "Yeah, I have a day job--I just wanted to find some part-time work in a clinic to get my hands-on skills back."
Trainer and I at the same time: "She'll/I'll just be filling in here and there." At least we picked up enough synchronicity from one day together that we could lie together.
This was just another one of those Why-won't-the-earth-just-open-up-and-swallow-me-whole moments of life. And like all the other moments, the earth did not do a damn thing to make it go any easier.
So, after finding an excuse to get the hell out of that room, I listened to Pam in full panic, grilling my trainer as to what was going on, and why hadn't she told her; followed by my trainer having to dig herself in even deeper as she swore she didn't even know herself, and would definitely told Pam had she heard anything.
What a fucking soap opera. I grabbed Ginger and, for the second time in three days, ran out the front door like a lover holding his pants up with one hand. Only then did I also realize that the entire day I had spent sleeping, I could have spent being trained and getting paid for it. I dropped at least four or five resounding F-bombs in the car before I remembered I had a passenger who didn't enjoy being around really pissed off humans. So I couldn't even scream in the car (something we all do when we have to) because I had dragged my innocent dog along for the farce.
And people wonder why the hell I shut myself up in my house and avoid all human contact. Because you're all fucking CRAZY!!!
****************************************************
It took a hard and fast 1.5 mile walk on the treadmill and an iPod full of the ever-cheerful Alice in Chains to bring me down a notch once I finally reached home. I may think I'm angry at times like these, but all I have to do is listen to Layne Staley (R.I.P.) or Sully Erna (Godsmack) to be reminded what real anger is.
Alice in Chains "Dirt"
I have never felt such frustration
Or lack of self control
I want you to kill me
And dig me under, I wanna live no more
One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me
For me
I want to taste dirty, stinging pistol
In my mouth, on my tongue
I want you to scrape me from the walls
And go crazy like you've made me
One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me
For me
You, you are so special
You have the talent to make me feel like dirt
And you, you use your talent to dig me under
And cover me with dirt
One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me
Not having met the person yet (we'll call her "Pam") the whole scene still managed to feel somewhat amusing. I believe I even chuckled as I drove myself home.
Still, wanting to avoid this situation from happening again, I called the next day and spoke with the receptionist and the manager to see when the trainer would be in again, and when Pam would not. I had a piece of paper with everyone's schedule on it, but it was missing two important things--the words a.m. and p.m. Everyone works 12-hour shifts, and so there are two people on each day. Both might say they are scheduled from 8-8. Unless you are psychic--or have worked at the clinic for some time--it is completely unclear who works during the day and who works overnight. Which is why I called.
Having secured the information I needed, I slept all day Sunday to prepare myself for a shift that would start at 8 p.m. and last as long as I felt I could handle before having to work my sales job at 8 the next morning. I had also slept all day Saturday after working 8 hours sales and 7 hours nursing back-to-back Friday. (Even if I had wanted to do anything, the temperature high both days was 8 degrees--8 fucking degrees--and I had no money. Winter in Wisconsin is a complete waste of time, and I cannot fathom how this is NOT the state with the highest suicide rate.)
By Sunday night, I was ready for a little action. Even I can only sleep so long. I ironed my trusty scrubs, showered, loaded my pitbull into the car for some clinical practice and headed for town.
Upon arrival, I walked right into the back of the clinic, coming face to face with a woman I did not know. Knowing there was one other technician at the location who was not being fired, I hazarded a lame guess.
"Cindy?" I asked, praying for the best.
I always forget that declaring yourself agnostic means you are not allowed to rely on the power of prayer to get you out of awkward situaions.
"No," she said. "Pam. Who are you?"
Shitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshitshit.
Then my trainer walks in and the scene is complete. Everyone resists the urge to throw up simultaneously. What follows is THE lamest attempt to cover up what is ridiculously obvious to everyone, including the white Himalayan cat and the brown terrier watching from the stands.
Pam: "I didn't know they were hiring another tech." Looks at my trainer.
Trainer: Long pause--long enough to invalidate anything she might offer. "She's just part-time."
Good angle, I thought. Following her lead, but still blowing my lines by uttering them while staring at my Chuck Taylors, I said, "Yeah, I have a day job--I just wanted to find some part-time work in a clinic to get my hands-on skills back."
Trainer and I at the same time: "She'll/I'll just be filling in here and there." At least we picked up enough synchronicity from one day together that we could lie together.
This was just another one of those Why-won't-the-earth-just-open-up-and-swallow-me-whole moments of life. And like all the other moments, the earth did not do a damn thing to make it go any easier.
So, after finding an excuse to get the hell out of that room, I listened to Pam in full panic, grilling my trainer as to what was going on, and why hadn't she told her; followed by my trainer having to dig herself in even deeper as she swore she didn't even know herself, and would definitely told Pam had she heard anything.
What a fucking soap opera. I grabbed Ginger and, for the second time in three days, ran out the front door like a lover holding his pants up with one hand. Only then did I also realize that the entire day I had spent sleeping, I could have spent being trained and getting paid for it. I dropped at least four or five resounding F-bombs in the car before I remembered I had a passenger who didn't enjoy being around really pissed off humans. So I couldn't even scream in the car (something we all do when we have to) because I had dragged my innocent dog along for the farce.
And people wonder why the hell I shut myself up in my house and avoid all human contact. Because you're all fucking CRAZY!!!
****************************************************
It took a hard and fast 1.5 mile walk on the treadmill and an iPod full of the ever-cheerful Alice in Chains to bring me down a notch once I finally reached home. I may think I'm angry at times like these, but all I have to do is listen to Layne Staley (R.I.P.) or Sully Erna (Godsmack) to be reminded what real anger is.
Alice in Chains "Dirt"
I have never felt such frustration
Or lack of self control
I want you to kill me
And dig me under, I wanna live no more
One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me
For me
I want to taste dirty, stinging pistol
In my mouth, on my tongue
I want you to scrape me from the walls
And go crazy like you've made me
One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me
For me
You, you are so special
You have the talent to make me feel like dirt
And you, you use your talent to dig me under
And cover me with dirt
One who doesn't care is one who shouldn't be
I've tried to hide myself from what is wrong for me
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