Random thoughts from the workplace:
There’s a woman at work whose name is Mari. It’s a Spanish name (actually short for Xiomara), so the R is pronounced with a bit of a flip. Some of us can get it, some can almost get it (saying Mah-dee), and some really don’t get it at all and chew it up so bad it sounds like Maudie. One person joked around and told her we were going to start calling her Molly. Very few people chew the R and call her Mah-ree, though, which must be a relief to Mari. I don’t know, though… morphing Mari into Maudie is almost as bad.
I got a “Gotcha Card” the other day for helping to solve an issue with a client’s autopayment. I felt really guilty about getting the kudos, though, since I’d actually caused the problem myself a few weeks ago. Some stroke of luck or fate or karma had me dealing with the perplexed banker who had to deal with the irate customer who had an automatic payment taken out of his account after he’d cancelled autopayment. As a result of this unexpected debit, the man managed to bounce several checks and rack up some massive NSF (non-sufficient funds) fees at his other bank. And why did the autopay pull after it had been cancelled? Because yours truly left out a step when she fulfilled the request to cancel autopay. I didn’t let on to the banker, though—I just let her know that it was our error in Loan Corrections. To make things even better, I had to ask my supervisor from which general fund the banker should refund the client’s NSF fees, and had to admit my own personal guilt in the process. But I got a Gotcha Card for defusing the situation, and I almost don’t want it.
As a final note: As I was wasting away the last 15 minutes of the day by running to the kitchen to freeze my water bottle, and to the recycle bin to dump my basket of shreddables, and to the mailroom to drop off some outgoing mail, I saw one woman trying equally hard to while away some time. She wasn’t doing nearly as good a job of looking busy as I was, though: she had her trash can full of shreddables sitting on its side atop the recycle bin, and was peering at the papers inside. Not taking them out of the one and feeding them into the other, mind you—just looking at them. Watching them. As if she expected them to start making the journey on their own. Good Christ, how obvious can you make it that you’re just trying to waste the last ten minutes of your workday?!
Ahem. I’m better now.