It’s gonna be a good, good morning, folks, and then a good, good week. I know this because I’m on my first cup of really lousy office coffee, and it can only get better from thirty minutes of Folger’s, right?
I’m suffering from a Case of the Attitudes at work. Or at least, that’s how I perceive it. I barely get by. I wish I could quit this job sometimes. It’s not the people, or the place really.
Okay, it’s a person.
I won’t go into the details here, as much as I’d like to, because this is a public forum, and I really don’t want to offend anyone, or hurt them, at work. That’s the game I play. I hate confrontation. A few months ago, I wrote the very controversial “Our Gay Neighbors” post. It tore me up inside to read the posts–even the ones I agreed with–because of the ad hominem attacks on people. It required an inordinate amount of Tums to survive the two weeks worth of challenges to my manhood, and credibility, and Christianity, and sanity. I nearly quit blogging. Instead, I went quiet. I didn’t fan flames; I stopped arguing, and allowed people to say their piece. I had my chance to make a difference; I blew it. I caused a controversy using caustic words, and I paid the price for it. Lesson learned.
I don’t fight intentionally. In fact, most of my actions seem to be avoidance tactics. I nod and smile for lengths of time with people I vehemently disagree with. Why? Certainly, in part, because it’s polite, but mostly because arguing makes me queasy.
People keep asking me why I don’t do something about the situation at work? Keeping silent will just make it worse, they say. My worry is that if I complain, the situation could worsen. My worklife could become even more miserable. Also, who would I report this situation to? It sounds like petty grievances. I don’t know about that. What I do know, is I want something to change for the better. Quite often, leaving Starbucks for this place of employment seems like a worse idea.
Can you imagine? I was trained to do this! I spent seven years getting a 2 year degree, so I can do this very job. And I’d rather sling coffee to rich yuppies than continue here. What sort of neuroses must I have, to admit that?
For those of you who would say “You should give it to God,” you know what? I have. Believe it or not. These are not easy words from my lips because pat sentences like “give it to God” seem, to me, like so many vapors. Allowing yourself not to worry about it anymore? By seeking guidance from an all-too-silent Almighty? I prayed about the situation. Really. Me. Prayed. Try not to fall off your barstools, folks.
So, I guess, if you pray, folks, shoot one up for me. If you don’t, well, think happy thoughts for me. This is where I force myself to trust to the long-view. I do my work. I go home, I enjoy my family, read a novel and have a beer or two. Then on Monday morning I trudge back into work. Why does it feel, so often, that all is friggin’ vanity?
Still, I’m gonna choose to make this a good, good morning. And I’ll make this a good, good week. I can’t my Case of the Attitudes bite me in the cheek of the assitude. Over and out.