After leaving many obnoxious voice mail messages (I need letterhead or I'll be printing on paper napkins!) and sending many emails (ditto), I arrived at work this morning to see four large, beautiful cardboard boxes (2 each for letterhead and envelopes) stacked and awaiting me.
5000 pieces of crisp letterhead, 5000 gleaming #10 (standard business sized) envelopes. I felt filthy rich.
Now, I just feel tired.
It's going on 7:00pm on a Friday (social life, what?), and I'm the only one left in the office. My supervisor made some condescending remark about fall being our busy season, and then she waltzed out the door (I didn't take the remark as condescending until I realized she was leaving. Nor would I normally describe her as "waltzing." But I thought she was staying, at least for a little while. I couldn't believe it.). Quite demoralizing.
Another work-related gripe: The next person who asks me to put together packets for a meeting better have good health insurance. The rage that welled up inside me when my supervisor asked me to make ten packets for the finance meeting on Monday scared even me. I had not quite cheerfully put together one package as a template (I thought she would make the copies and staple them) without losing my cool. When she requested I go make ten packets for her, I nearly screamed. Instead a few tears of frustration welled up in my eyes (in private, of course), but I made them, damn it. And the board better fugging like them. Hell, they should love those packets and sleep with them every night!
At least the beautiful presentation binders I put together for the big-wig bank meeting (we need, $150,000 and a huge inkind donation and associated volunteer labor) were a hit. Those bank exects gushed over their custom made packets like kids with Christmas presents. Those packets were at least kind of fun because I got to play with Publisher and use the hole-punch (the closest I come to punching anything at work ... although I do routinely kick the shredder).
But back to my letterhead/envelope mailing saga ....
My ears are ringing with the shrill, never-ending squeak of my HP Laserjet pushing out 500 envelopes (slightly less than half of my current mailing projet quota). The squeak is accompanied by a quieter harmonic roar/rumble. The rumble is tolerable. It sounds like a wounded dinosaur (positively Spielberg-ian in its life-like quality). The squeak is piercing, and drilled its way through my ear and into my brain, pausing on the way to make my teeth hurt.
I will never be the same.
Donate, people, damn it. I am torturing myself for you.
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