I'm sitting in my bedroom surrounded by half-packed boxes. I'm in the process of moving into a house nearby and the question that I keep asking myself is: How did I accumulate so much clothing in the course of three years? My walk-in closet is like an archaeological dig. Layer upon layer of clothes. Sometimes I find an artifact from bygone days...A picture with Olga when we went out clubbing in Chicago. A high-heeled silver shoe that I wore to a formal dance with an exboyfriend... Curiously, I found a lot of female sanitary devices (unused, thank goodness) and enough loose change to buy a weeks-worth of groceries.
The task is daunting and as I look around I come to the conclusion that the best thing to do is put it off until the last minute. We'll see how that works for me.
I'm getting ready to go on a surveillance up in Green Bay (go Packers) tomorrow. It's one day and should be pretty straightforward. The subject lives on a farm and I'm bracing myself for a long day of rolling by the house so as to avoid suspicion.
Last week I went to Boston for our bi-annual supervisor meeting. There, I met my new supervisor for Florida. This man, it turns out, is perhaps the biggest jackass known to man. His incompetence amazes me. I told Corp two days after he was hired that he wouldn't work out. Now he's in his death throws and I guess it's got him crabby. I called him yesterday afternoon to get some information the office was asking for.
"Bozo," I say, "I need to get a status on the eight late cases from your area that didn't come in yesterday."
Bozo huffs like a beligerant teenager. "Okay."
"We'll start with the Brandy case."
I clench my fist. Patience, Polly.
"You know..the three day surveillance that was run nearly a week ago by your Miami investigator? The one that I haven't recieved one update on yet? The one I've been asking you for since Monday?"
Bozo starts to raise his voice. "I sent an email to the investigator. It might have come in already." He huffs again. "Listen, I'm driving right now. Let me pull over and I'll call you back."
"That's fine. Get your files together and turn on your computer so I can get this status report up to Corp within the hour."
He hangs up. I loosen my death-grip on the phone and play a quick game of Spider Solitaire as a healthy alternative to swearing like a sailor and throwing something.
Ten minutes later, Bozo calls me back. With narry a hello, he starts in... "Okay, I got the report from the 10th but I sent it back for revision because the investigator didn't describe the residence."
"All right. When did you get the update?"
"Okay. So, that was over a week ago. Have you followed up with the investigator? And what about the updates for the 11th and 12th?"
Bozo's voice raises another dicibel. "I don't know. I've been up since 3:30 this morning and it's going to take me 2 hours to get back home. I'm tired and..."
I interrupt. I've had it. I have listened to him whine for the past three weeks with excuse after excuse for his half-assery.
"All right. You need to stop with the crying to me about waking up early and commuting and how much work it is, Bozo. I was a supervisor and I had to do the same thing... It's part of the job. If it's too much, quit. Otherwise, suck it up."
[Yelling and swearing from Bozo] I hold the phone away from my ear.
"Bozo, please don't raise your voice to me." I say calmly. "I have never done that to you and I expect you to treat me with the same respect."
[Yet more yelling and swearing from Bozo]
Aaaand...he hangs up.
I sit back in my chair and sigh. Well, that went well.
I call Corp and speak to Satan's number 2 man.
"Bozo had another temper tantrum. When are you going to fire him? What did I do to make you hate me so much?"
"His area is a mess. He's almost out. Just let him dig his own grave."
I hang up. Right. Let him dig his own grave.
I smile. Well, I might as well make this fun...
I call Bozo back. "Hi, Bozo. How's it going? So where were we? Oh, yeah... Brandy.."