It must be the full moon, because this morning at work was very strange.
Lots of office doors were closed, lots of odd, furtive looks were being exchanged in the halls and the DWiP was overly chirpy when she arrived at the office.
Around 9 a.m. was the monthly Director's Meeting, which takes place in the smaller conference room next door to my office. The walls are paper thin and I kept hearing the DWiP's fake laugh piercing the air.
You know how movie psychopaths laugh or smile? The mouth looks happy but the eyes look angry. That's how the DWiP looks.
My spies told me she was asked during the meeting what the status was on hiring a new editor, and she demurred and said she first needed to discuss it in private with Mr. Schmutz. Eyes rolled.
Later, another spy told me to walk by the larger conference room and look through the window. There were the DWiP and Schmutz. Her face looked pained and her body language was ramrod stiff, and Schmutz was talking like Ward Cleaver when he's lecturing the Beaver.
Meanwhile, my allies were gathered in various offices planning tonight's going away bash for Carol and me at a local TexMex place known for their lethal Margaritas. They told me they were torn between wanting to seem all-inclusive in their invitation and wanting to avoid any margarita-induced confrontations by inviting the DWiP, Bitsy von Schtup the duplicitous CFO and Schmutz.
I said not to worry-- those chickenshits would rather die than subject themselves to potential public humiliation. Besides, the last thing I'd do is justify any of the DWiP's insane allegations about me.
Apparently, the loss of Carol and me has divided the company very severely. Half the directors and most of the staff are furious at the DWiP and Schmutz, and those who support them are feeling the chill from the others.
By 11 a.m., I got antsy and told the Operations Manager (and interim supervisor) my cracked rib* was really hurting and I needed to leave for the rest of the day so I could rest up for tonight's tequilapalooza.
By then, the IT Manager was in my office sending my files to the Operations Manager, at Schmutz's insistence. The IT guy was very pissed about it. He thought Schmutz was intentionally trying to humiliate me, but I assured him there was nothing left for him to find, not even any funny e-mails people send each other in any office.
I hate vibes like I felt this morning.
All the secrecy and paranoia felt sticky and cloying. The DWiP's latest plan to hire one person to do Carol's and my jobs has spread like a California wildfire. Everyone but the DWiP and that cheapskate Schmutz know that one employee trying to do both jobs will only end up fucking up two offices and cause all of them to have to pick up the inevitable slack.
I have a sneaking suspicion that Schmutz is gonna tell me to go ahead and leave (with pay) before the end of the month because he's afraid I might say something to further divide the office. He's too isolated and stupid to realize the horses left that barn a month ago.
But even he can no longer ignore that his stupid decisions have created a deep chasm in the office, and he must know on some level that the DWiP's stupid plan to hire a twofer will save money in the short run but sacrifice quality in the long run-- and the members we serve will end up being pissed off royally.
He brought in three dozen Krispy Kremes yesterday morning "in thanks for all we do." Everyone knew it was a phony, half-assed attempt to try to soothe the angry masses. For him to think donuts will take the place of integrity and honesty just shows what an imperious, out-of-touch asshole he is.
And the DWiP knows she's been exposed. It shows in her fake laughter and tension-filled neck veins, and she must know on some level that she'll be on very thin ice if she runs off a 13th employee.
It must be hard to maintain a shitty personality while still expecting a huge paycheck.
And for a "devout" Mormon like Schmutz, it must be even harder to hide the fact that he worships money more than he worships Jesus.
*my latest pseudo-ailment