Wednesday, June 07, 2006

The Plot Thickens

Sleepy, sleepy. Oh so sleepy. Last night, Lucy and I saw Dave Matthews Band in concert. The evening reinforced my belief that some things will never change. We’ll always be the giddy, na├»ve 16-year-olds that we were on December 10, 1998. We’ll never live down our fanatic idiocy.

First thing yesterday morning, I got an email from Carrie, my boss at my internship. “I’m giving my two weeks,” she basically said, “and I’m going into the President’s office in five minutes. I will break the news and I will recommend that you take my job. If you don’t want me to do it, you better tell me fast.”

I let her recommend me.

I should explain the incestuous mess that is my company. I interned for President’s Pet Company: three full-timers (just two when I was there) and a pair of poorly-compensated interns. I work now for The Real Thing. The Real Thing is President’s baby. It was established long before Pet Company came alone. President essentially owns The Real Thing, while he was appointed to Pet Company.

Pet Company and The Real Thing are housed in the same building. Pet Company is invited to The Real Thing’s Christmas party, company picnic, etc., but Pet Company is technically another entity. Pet Company employees aren’t forced to suffer through the rah! rah! continuing education courses. They’re on a different insurance. Human resources and my crazy boss have nothing to do with Pet Company.

And so I sent President a quick email before I left work today, telling him that I was interested in my Carrie's job.

I do think that I would be good at it. I am sure that it would fit me better than the job I reluctantly hold now.

I have yet to determine if this is or is not a colossal mistake. It's the same dysfunctional company and not the same dysfunctional company, after all.

All I know is that I feel a little sick to my stomach about it.

Nerves. Always the nerves.

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