November 30th, 2001

JOY

Story Time

I can't think of anything current to post about and since I haven't done any work so far today, why start now, right?

When I was in fifth grade, my hair was starting to grow back from the horribly bad pageboy haircut my mom forced me to get in fourth grade after refusing to brush my hair while I screamed ever again. To set the time frame, krimpers, those hair irons that made your hair look like it had been braided for weeks, had just come out and were the hottest thing you could possibly ever think of. This was also around the time in my elementary school career that three-ring-binders were required and the Virgo in me loved the idea of keeping things organized with little color-coded tabs and using hole reinforcers to make sure those important papers in there. Therefore, having a hole-puncher was an absolute necessity.

I was sitting in Mrs. Walko's math class. She taught fifth grade when my brother was that age, took some time off to raise her kids and her first year back after her hiatus was my class (needless to say, she retired after she was done with us). She used to throw chalk at us when we were being goofy or got something wrong, and I'll never forget how Herbie Mitchele caught it once and she fired an eraser at him in response. She would count in French at the top of her lungs and hit her diamond ring on the chalkboard when she was trying to make a point.

Math was never my strong point and I was often frustrated or tuned out. I was playing with my slowly growing hair and looking at this other girl who had really long straight hair that was perfectly krimped and thought that punching holes in my hair might result in a similar effect. So I'd take a section of my hair, flatten it out, and punch a hole in it, then drop it back down to see how the hole would look against the rest of my hair. But I would always lose it. Obviously, I wasn't watching close enough, so I did it again. No hole. Again. No hole. Punch the hole, drop the hair real fast so I wouldn't miss where it went.

Mrs. Walko started hitting that ring of hers against the chalkboard again and barked out, "Megan, stop cutting your hair and pay attention."

All I could think of was, "What do you mean, cutting my hair? I'm just punching holes in it, dummy."

This anecdote has been brought to you by sheer boredom and a strange impulse to post.
JOY

No thanks, I gave at the office.

Of course while I was writing that out, a notable event occurred. And the telling of it will I'm sure make me come off as calloused and heartless, but I'm annoyed.

Our HR department has set up this donation matching thing for charity that they have emailed us about three times a week, put fliers in our mailboxes, mentioned in every meeting and now one of the HR people just gave us a speech about before handing over our paychecks.

I'm all for charity and I think it's a great idea. But the pressure is getting to be a bit much. How does she know I didn't give $100 to the Red Cross on September 12? There are people in this office that do not get paid much and the payroll administrator should know that better than anyone. Others may be having a tough year. People aren't suddenly going to find some spare money lying around just because she asked for the twelfth time. The more she tries to shake us down, the less attractive it seems. There are a lot of charities out there that need my money too.

And furthermore, they just changed our Health Insurance so that we have to pay more out of each paycheck but the good thing is that we get an extra $100,000 in life insurance. As in, in case we die *while* working at this company, our successors will make out but the employees have a bigger deductible and larger monthly payments.

Go ahead and donate that hundred thousand dollars of Accidental Death and Dismemberment insurance for me and make sure you match it. I'd give money to the fucking State Trooper Association before I contribute to this. At least the Troopers bother me less often about it.
JOY

(no subject)

Of course, I'm a sucker and I did it anyway. The whole company-matching the contribution part just seemed like a good way to get more money to those who need it.

Maybe I should go home and watch the Charlie Brown Christmas special in order to get this out of my system before I become a total softie.