Saturday, August 20, 2005

Deadly Sins Therapy - Volume 4

In this edition of “Deadly Sins Therapy” I am going to go into a loose interpretation of what happens to me when I suffer from Invidia {envy} and Ira {anger} and how it is effectively installed in me by others, or so I like to blame anyway, and how it effects those that seriously don’t deserve it. To assume that I like anyone else is free of “Deadly Sins” is simply infantile, but I do like to see what is happening in the dangerous head (the one with the committee that meets every three days and try’s to vote Jeremy off the island, as apposed to the “Little” head that simply wants to meet everyone, and vote itself into their resentments), and hopefully learn something from it. As always I hope that someone else gets something from my Hillary Clinton style self awareness. Or as Popeye would say, “I am what I am and that’s all that I am” and hopefully without the wonderfully patented Jeremy expression of “So kiss my ass” attached to it just for good measure.

Ok so my life is actually pretty simple believe it or not. If you know me from the chat room then you already know that I am a cartoon character that either lurks, waiting for an opportunity to crack a humorous comment, or babbles on like a very sadistic egomaniac. In the real world I am no different, but there are some more unusual characteristics of the Jeremy Crow character that aren’t so obvious in the online world. Some of these come out in my Blog entries, and others are just things that you have to be in the same room with me to really start to hate properly. I have different personas actually, based on what environment I am in. I am a pretty dry wit around my kids, trying to get through the next 13 years as best I can. I am a very reclusive figure with my family, as I can’t stand very many of them. The inbreeding has really started to effect any sort of decent conversations with any of them, and the farther they move the happier I am. It is the work persona that has me baffled these days, as I am trying to get through the whole back injury bullsh** as well. The change in me, and the slow transformation back have been obvious to some, and have been noted as of late.

My nickname at work for the longest time was Frutloop. I would go out of my way to make the work environment as fun as I possibly could. I would walk around singing at the top of my lungs, and it was always songs that I could easily change the words to incorporate what was going on at work. “Oh Michael, well your wife called and said get Tofurkey, and you did it cuz you’re gay oh MICHAEL” was what I walked around singing, when we found out that my Lead Winder Operators wife (who totally dominates his sad little existence) decided that they were becoming vegetarian right before Christmas. This song comes out wonderful if you can get the Mandy by Barry Manilow shwerve going. I would often be caught caterwauling at my boss from the catwalk, with my pants around my ankles, giving him the big hairy moon of doom, as the women who work with us called it. The funniest "Jeremy moons his boss moment" from the catwalk was the day that I taght my assistant how to slap my ass and yell "OOOO Baby" at the same time, because when we were mooning the Boss as he tried to walk around a tour, I noticed that a friends {The Silly Princess out HERE} abusive ex husband was the person being toured. I actually killed two birds with one stone.

Yes in a factory environment like ours the women are just honorary men, and they give very good advice on being downright nasty as well. These sort of antics were the only thing that made our 12 hour days worth getting through, so “Frutloop” was an acceptable term, and work went on. We were one sick, demented, passive aggressive family. Kinda like mine only with smiling and a hell of a lot less fist fighting.

It was when they decided to break up the two shifts and sort everyone together in new shifts that I was doomed. I was given a promotion and moved to a shift that predominantly had people from the other crew on it. These were the night shift people whom the company desperately needed to straiten out, for their production rates sucked ass. I did my best, but these people really should have been taken out of the gene pool many generations ago. It’s ok to be dumb, but when you add lazy to the mix, and throw in the arrogance of thinking that you aren’t dumb to begin with, I was totally f***ed from the get go. As I so desperately tried to install a much more light hearted working environment through my silly antics in the beginning, it had become blazingly apparent, early on that I was horribly outnumbered by lazy people. As a supervisor of sorts, I ended up doing the worst thing I could have done for these people, and myself, as I started working twice as hard, and in the end I ended up with my horribly herniated disk, that ended up rupturing. I was not the happiest camper in the world anymore, and after it was becoming apparent that I was going to be that disgruntled employee (how come we never hear anything about the “gruntled” employees by the way) who brought the gun to work sooner rather than later, it was an executive decision that brought my crippled ass back to my old shift, promotion stripped, pay reduced, to be a pissed of prick, for the people who used to always know me as “Frutloop”.

My injury precluded me from so many things, my mind was constantly looking for anybody and everybody who was “out to get me” as I was constantly sure everyone was. The company ended up writing me up because I had broken my light duty requirements, and I ended up being so angry and in pain most of the time, that I started to become, what I had learned from the other shift. I was a “F***in’ Make Me!” 90 per center, and the chances were very good that the old Jeremy Crow (the really old one from say 17 years ago) was going to kill someone. There were no more than 2 people who were giving me attitude about being crippled and useless at work, and of course I was seeing the dozen or so that was merely trying to get their old “Frutloop” back, whether he could lift 5 lbs or 150, they just wanted their entertainment back. Many of them (mostly the Bosnians, and the Dominicans) were trying ever so hard to nurse my poor attitude back to health. As the doctor cleared me this week to get back to more normal work, with 8 hour days instead of 6, lifting 30 lbs instead of 5, I started coming around again. This very Blog was actually teaching a few of my coworkers better English (pray for them all on that one) and my own silliness, as it had been displayed in this Blog day in and day out has been slowly giving my “friends” (and I do mean friends as my eyes are coming better into focus) the means to start talking to me in a more humorous, and especially “passive aggressive” way again.

The comedy of all of this was in how I hadn’t really noticed what an impact I had made on this group of people as apposed to the other group. My shift that had broken my damn back, since has been moved back to 6pm to 6am, and I have been very well vindicated, as it appears that their hopelessness is finally going to get them all fired. They mostly do have senses of humor, but only if it doesn’t interfere with their “screwing off”, in most of their minds a good prank mean that the work isn’t getting done, as they are entertaining each other, and it was the gall of me to try to interfere with their constant siesta’s, even though I should point out to you that it was the shift without any Hispanics. My original shift is flowing so much better now that I have become the “cheerleader” again, with such random acts as posting that Blog about my coworker with the lock issue, throughout the plant, and my singing at the top of my lungs has returned as well. You really should see what it looks like when a 300 lb Dominican grabs you and starts to do a Lombada dance in the middle of the hallway, because you have started your own silly rendition of “Livin’ Da Vida Loca” and incorporated his work habits into it. ;8o)