Zoo keeper? Lion Tammer? Cowgirl? Ringmaster!

My boss is definitely nuts. Apparently if we don’t get 30k today, the business will go bankrupt. But yesterday, going out and having dinner with his family was the most important thing in his world because he hadn’t seen his parents in months. WTF?
The other day, I told Tom that half of what I was hired to do was monkey stupid… he later called and was talking about how he understood that half of what I did was monkey shit but that I was really important to the operation of the business and blah, blah, blah… monkey STUPID, Tom… I said, head hanging… monkey STUPID, not monkey shit. When I told my husband he said, ‘So, basically, you work in a zoo… monkey stupid monkey shit.’
 “Yeah,” I told him, “Especially if you show up at feeding time on Thursdays… when the guys get paid, or Fridays, when it’s time for beer….”
It occurs to me, I absolutely work in a zoo. I spend most of the time with Tom “handling” him the way a lion tamer handles a lion and all of my time with the guys herding them like cattle. Don’t get me wrong, I love ‘em. But you never, never turn your back. You’ll have a bite out of your neck or a stampede on your hands in 2 seconds flat if you do.
And Marbury is an idiot. I am no bookkeeper (at least, that’s not all I am). It’s no wonder the other two girls only lasted 3 months a piece. It takes someone with skills in running an insane asylum and managing a zoo to handle this work environment. You have to be detail oriented and organized, but willing and able to handle a complete disaster area. You have to enjoy and embrace being alone and in silence for large chunks of time, but understand and embrace the fact that your solitude with be suddenly interrupted with jackhammer level loudness and mosh-pit level chaos for anywhere from 10 seconds to 2 hours. You have be willing to switch gears every two seconds, listen to a list of assignments—all of which are top priority and should have been done yesterday–, concentrate on a topic for hours, listen to someone prattle on for 30 minutes after you know what he’s talking about because it’s a hell of a lot more complicated for him than it is for you, answer the phone while construction workers are yelling back and forth at each other, politely answer tenant concerns while breaking up dog fights,… oh, and ignore anything and everything that Debra, the housekeeper and neighborhood gossip, says while making sure not to say anything you wouldn’t want the Pope to hear.
So, for that reason: Thank you, Mom – embrace the insanity. Thank you, MFHS – you can get out alive. Thank you, B Family – again, you can get out alive. Thank you, Color Guard – no, it really isn’t that serious. Thank you, Kelli Allison—my first “enemy” – she only thought she was tough. Thank you, Grandpa – I have my credentials. Thank you, Band Camp – and this one time. Thank you, Dad – I can survive, even when it hurts like hell. Thank you, Miss Faye – sometimes the people who need kindness the most are those who deserve it the least. …. All of which prepared me for this day. College helped too… and AMA, and a few drunken parties. Bookkeeper. Pfft! I am DEFINITELY underpaid.
Actually, Tom and I were looking at an email I sent him today, and he asked why there was no title under my name. It just has my name and then the company name under it. I told him that when I first got there, he threw such a fit about the fact that Cheri, the girl he fired just before he hired me, had just “appointed herself” office manager, and that I wasn’t going to give myself a title. I told him that Marbury called me a bookkeeper, but frankly that was insulting, because I do much more than bookkeeping, but that I had no intention of using a title until he gave me one. He seemed impressed. He even called me smart again. I achieved the impossible three or four times yesterday, and I only got a pat on the back, but noticing that he gets annoyed when people go appointing themselves as shit and make a point not to do it, and suddenly I’m a rocket scientist. Go figure.