5 days down, none to go!

It's a miracle that I got through this week.

No one slept the night before our big inspection.  I arrived early to ensure that seven boxes of files had been prepared for the assessors as per the instructions we received.  I counted the boxes, one for each professional who had been named in the inspectors' letter.  Perfect.

A little later I returned to the file room for one last check - and there were eight boxes of files.  What the...?  I spotted the extra box.  It was labelled with the name of a professional who wasn't slated for inspection.  I went immediately to his secretary to find out what was going on.  Having overheard some of the other secretaries talking about preparing 12 files for each of their bosses, she assumed that she was supposed to too. Essentially she volunteered her boss to be inspected.

This lady's boss would not have appreciated that.  I mean really, really not appreciated it.  I set her straight and she took off at warp speed to take back the box before any harm was done.

At lunchtime a colleague of mine took lunch orders from all the uppity-ups involved in the day's proceedings, and we set out together to the closest hot-table takeout place. A stout, doughy woman wearing a white apron asked me for my order.  I wanted a quarter chicken dinner with potato wedges and steamed veggies.  The place packs a lot of food - I've often split one of these orders into two lunches, one for the following day.  They keep two sizes of foil containers behind the counter, one the size of a dinner plate, and one a fair bit smaller.  The chicken dinner always comes in the large container.  The woman behind the counter pulled out a small one.

"I want the chicken with two sides," I said in case there was any misunderstanding.  She nodded.  Potato wedges went in.  Steamed veggies went in.  She didn't stint on either.  The container was almost full.  Then she took the chicken leg and stuck it on top.  The lids for these containers are flat, foil-lined cardboard disks.  There is none of that extra space you get with a plastic dome.

The chicken was sitting on top of the veggies so its bottom edge was almost level with the container's top edge. The woman took the cardboard lid, positioned it on top of my chicken, laid her big, wide hand over the lid, and pressed down hard.  The lid sank down, but not far enough.  She repositioned her hand, and pressed harder.  Man, she mashed my lunch but good.  I half-expected her to turn around, jump up on the counter and sit on it.  I was slightly tempted to complain, but the scene was so comical that I figured I'd rather just let her go for it and enjoy the slapstick.

For all that, lunch tasted fine.  It didn't matter to me that my potato wedges were flat.

There is someone on my staff who is on vacation right now, and her absence is creating a huge volume of work.  I have two people helping out, but one is new to it and the other is slow and inaccurate, so I'm doing some of the work myself and double-checking everything else line-by-line.  It's basically data-entry for a never-ending stream of repetitive, monotonous reports.  If I never see another one it'll be too soon.  Sadly, the only woman who can save me won't be back for yet another week.  When I close my eyes at night I see these reports swimming on the backs of my eyelids.  I wake up with a dry mouth and knots in my shoulders, dreaming about data entry errors.  Five days down this week - I did it!

Five more days next week.  I can do it!

Ms. Boss

I keep saying that I'm waiting for my work life to go back to normal: 8-hour days of minor managerial duties interspersed with repetitive paperwork. Usual, safe, boring days that drift by, each one much like the last.

I had a meeting with my boss today. He tells me that I will never get back to that version of normal. The business is growing too fast. There will be no time for me to return to my paperwork. He needs me on the big stuff: leading projects, making decisions, motivating people. Everything else will have to be delegated.

He says that pretty soon I might need a personal assistant, and that he'll be happy to see me hire one. I guess this means that I'll have to start drinking lattes, just so that I can yell "You call this a latte?" at my P.A. And I'll have to start dry cleaning my clothes so that I can send her to pick up my dry cleaning. There are certain expectations to live up to when you become an executive.

This morning I was planning to hire one new employee. After the meeting with my boss, and hearing all the projects he has in mind to start a.s.a.p., we agreed I'll hire two. (Neither of those being a P.A., for the record. I'm not quite ready to go there yet.)

It's pretty crazy times. We're still not fully settled in after the move, and he's already looking ahead to the next big thing. I guess that's business for you.

Don't worry - I've booked a week off coming up soon. And although my job description has jumped up one or more levels of responsibility, I'm not planning to continue working over 9 hours per day for the long term. At least my hours have got to go back to normal a.s.a.p., or... I don't know what. I'll just make sure it happens, is what.

I'm actually pretty excited by the change. I don't mind delegating the boring elements of my job. Sometimes it's nice to have some mindless, routine work as a break, but too much of it is numbing. Sounds like I'm going to be focused almost completely on the creative, social, and problem-solving elements at work from now on. I can dig that.

My boss told me I am becoming an executive. Really? How did my life take this turn? When I was a kid I wanted to be a writer, a ballerina, or an astrophysicist. Business executive wasn't even on the radar. How does one end up with a career like this by accident? Life is weird. But good.

Not Over Yet

In Canada this is a long weekend, and thank God for that. I could sure use the rest.

Things at work should settle down in a few more weeks, but currently there are still around a zillion things to do and they all need to be done right away. I'm still working 9.5 to 10 hour days with barely enough break time to inhale some food now and then. I can't wait until it's all done.

I love the new workspace, but it's disorienting to be in a new building after 8 years in the old one. For example, my new desk drawers are on the right side of my desk. They used to be on my left. I keep habitually swiping at the air on my left to get to my files, but there's nothing there.

I went back to our old space to look for a step-stool that got left behind on moving day. Those little suckers cost $90 each to buy new, so it was worth the time. The new tenants had already started renovating the space. I went in thinking I knew where to look for the step-stool, because I knew which room I had last seen it in. When I got there, that room didn't exist anymore. All the internal walls had been rearranged. Like I said, disorienting!

(I did find the little step-stool. It was in a corner, crying because we had left it behind. Poor thing. I brought it to the new place and reunited it with its friends, the archived files. Then everyone was happy again.)

There's a gym in our new building, right next door to us. The gym owner is very keen to get us all signed up for memberships. He talks to me because I'm in a position of authority, trying to sell the gym to me and my staff. He's a nice young guy, but we have nothing in common. I asked him if he was getting away for the long weekend, but he said no. There wasn't enough time. He won't go regular camping. It's only worth it to him to go Extreme Camping, on uninhabited islands, with no tent. Of course. Extreme Camping. Like I said, we have nothing in common.

Speaking of my indoorsy, nerdish tendencies, I just ordered a 6" Kindle as a reward to myself for surviving the move. If you have a Kindle and you hate it, please don't tell me in the comments. I really need something to look forward to. I'm not sure if I'll love it or not, but I like the idea of being able to download new books anywhere. Lately I have trouble finding time to go to the bookstore, and the books I've been grabbing from paperback spinners at the supermarket are pretty crap. The last one was so bad I chucked it in the recycling bin at the end of the first chapter. So, I hope the Kindle works out.

Alright. That's it for me for now. I'm going to go out and wander around downtown with Ken, rain or no rain. What are we going to do? Whatever the heck we want, for a change!

In!

We made it!

The move is over.

The phones work. The computer network works. The internet connection works. Hurray!

***

Packing Day (Thursday):

25 employees, 2 professional packers, 400 rented plastic bins, 800 zip ties, 600 room I.D. stickers.

Done in 8 hours. Not bad!

I even had time to go to the locksmith and to get keys cut for all the employees before dinner. 25 keys x 1 minute per key = a helluva long time to stand around listening to the irritating whine of the key grinder. I should have brought earplugs.

Moving Day (Friday):

2 employees supervising the old location, 2 at the new location, and me bopping back and forth with my cell phone ringing every 2 minutes.

One 30-foot straight truck, 2 cube vans, 12 movers.

Done in 14 hours.

Fourteen.

Hours.

Ugh.

Although it was a long day, it was actually pretty great. Mostly I was ecstatic simply because things were going well. Every time I picked up the phone it was news of another success.

"Your phone lines have been cut over to the new location."

"Your internet connection is now active."

"We've finished re-assembling the server rack, and everything is working fine."

Yahoo! Yipee! Sweeeeeet!

Also, it was a beautiful day for an adventure. I bummed a ride in the straight truck on the first trip over. I love sitting up in that high cab that you have to climb a ladder to get into. Of course I had to squeeze into the middle, and scootch my feet way over, because the giant stick-shift took up the entire floor space at the centre of the truck. I didn't care.

Then I got to work the lift gate on the truck while we were unloading. I'm sure that was against every health and safety regulation in the book, but whatever. I gets to operate heavy machinery! Good times!

After the first truckload was dropped off, I jumped back in the cab and we headed back. 2 blocks later, the truck cacked out. The engine was running, but the gas pedal stopped working. (Better than the brakes!) The driver put the pedal right to the floor, but the engine wouldn't rev. We crawled along at walking speed, four-way flashers on, in the left-turn lane. What now?

The driver shut the truck off. We all crossed our fingers. He turned the key. The engine caught. Gas pedal down: VRRROOOM! The truck was alive! It must have had a Windows-based engine. Just needed a reboot and it was good to go.

Unpacking Day (today, Saturday):

10 of the most loyal, committed, employees, who showed up on short notice when I and the other manager realized that Monday (our official Settle-In day) would not be enough time to get ready for Opening Day on Tuesday.

Lunch provided at the expense of the business owners, to thank us for sacrificing our Saturdays.

400 bins. 800 zip ties to cut off.

Lots of trying to figure out how to re-jig things in the new space.

Furniture Tetris.

On Unpacking Day the imperfections of the process, minor though they were, became evident. At least two of my LCD monitors have movers' fingerprints permanently embedded in the screens. I haven't tested them all yet.

Our new furniture, gorgeous though it is, presents some challenges with the locations of the electrical, voice, and data cable outlets. Either the outlets are right at the desk, but completely hidden behind a built-in cabinet or modesty panel, or they are so far away that I have to go out and buy a bunch of extra-long cables and extension cords to run around three sides of the room. :-pppppp

In the final analysis, I'm totally thrilled with how well things went. When I think of all the nightmarish worst-case scenarios that were totally possible... Well, I don't have to think about those anymore. We're in. Everyone loves the new place. It's beautiful. It's bright and spacious.

And tomorrow I'm going to take a day off and forget about it completely, with any luck.

Crap Update

The relocation of my workplace is scheduled for May 14th. As you all know, I've been working full tilt on the move and construction project for two months now. I was finally getting to see the light at the end of the tunnel. Count-down to moving day! Soon: over with, done, finito! I'll get my life back!

Then I got a call from All*stream, the phone company that provides our business lines. "Aw, shucks, I'm so sorry, but it seems that it will be impossible to move your phone lines over to the new location on May 14th. I'm not sure when we'll be able to do that. There's a facilities issue. It could take one week to resolve, or it could take two months."

Say what?

First of all, I placed my move order on April 9th, and they waited until May 4th to kindly inform me that we're screwed? Unacceptable. Not being able to even give a ballpark estimate of when it will be resolved? Double-unacceptable!!

They blamed B*ell. They said the lines belong to B*ell, All*stream just rents and resells them, and B*ell isn't cooperating. If we switch all our lines over to B*ell maybe we can get faster service?

Miraculously, my phone hardware sales guy had an internal contact at B*ell. After a lot of back and forth and time spent, the final verdict was that she couldn't help. She said that B*ell has service contracts with all its resellers and that it would be illegal for them to give preferential treatment to B*ell customers. She can't get the lines any faster. End of miracle.

Do you know how much havoc it would cause if we had to change our move date at this point? Not only have we made arrangements with professional stuff movers, copier movers, water cooler movers, mat provider movers, etc. , we have already informed 1200 clients of our move date. We don't have e-mail addresses for our clients. We have 1200 home phone numbers. This means that we may have to inform all those people that their next appointment location is still at our old place, and then half of them will show up at the new site anyway, and it'll be a huge disaster.

Next hope for a miracle is R*ogers business phone services. They may have some lines available to offer phone service to our new building, separate from the B*ell quasi-monopoly. We'll see. A very friendly sales rep called Annemarie is supposed to get back to me by 5pm tonight with an answer one way or the other. The suspense is killing me.

If we don't get our phone lines moved, then we have to postpone the whole relocation. For how long? Anyone's guess. The light at the end of the tunnel blinks out. Darkness. Despair. Doom.

If you're the praying type, you know what to do. (Please and thank you.)

Crunchtime

Two weeks from today is when my workplace will be moving into our new facility, and the preparations have taken over my entire life. In between regular work, visits to the new site, and working on plans at our home office with Ken, there is no time of day or evening that I'm not effectively on call.

Therefore, I will be reducing my blogging activities considerably for the next two or three weeks. If I have time I'll be reading blogs and commenting, but I doubt I'll be posting much.

If you wonder what I'm doing the answer is probably one of the following:
1) Working on a spreadsheet or floor plan map of something complicated, like extensions, voice mail, phone type, button programming and other details for 110 telephone jacks.
2) Wandering around at the construction site, getting covered in dust and dodging out of the way of men in overalls working with heavy machinery.
3) Doing extra loads of laundry for myself and my husband, to remove all that dust.
4) Lying on the sofa, with the TV on, staring through the screen to my thoughts on a detail of the relocation that I haven't quite worked out yet.

For the next two weeks at least, that is my whole life. So, wish me luck please, and I'll update you on the other side!

Turkey calls and fabric swatches

I haven't been around much lately. I know that you guys will understand, because you're good friends like that. It's not that I've been too busy to blog, in terms of minutes of available free time per day. It's just that my brain is so maxed out by all my work projects that I don't have any think-juice left by the end of the day. All I want to do is passively absorb a couple of hours' worth of entertainment, and then pass out.

I am making an effort to maintain some balance in my life. Last weekend Ken and I went to the Sportsman's Show at the Toronto Convention Centre. Two huge buildings were both filled with outdoor enthusiasts. One was all about hunting, and the other was for fishing. Ken is into target sports, both shooting and archery, so we spent most of our time in the hunting hall. He check out all the new rifles and cross-bows. I perused the bumper-sticker booth. Some of my favourites: "Keep honking. I'm reloading." And: "My other ride is your wife." Classy!

We both enjoyed the many booths demonstrating various types of calls. Turkey calls were the most popular. They were pretty low-tech, such as a 3"-diameter slate circle with a wooden stick to rub across it. But they all had really macho, flex-your-abs names like "THE ERADICATOR: A KILLING MACHINE!" and "THE TRIFECTA".

I was tempted to buy a squirrel barker, in order to summon an army of squirrels to me at will, but then I wondered of what use an army of squirrels would be, and abandonned the idea.

As for the work stuff, it's coming along. As we approach our move date, we have no choice but to make progress. It's Move Or Die.

Yesterday I went for my first walk-through of our new space. Most of the walls are up. It's very odd walking through a real, 3-D space that exists in my head only as a floor plan printed on 8.5" x 11" paper. I stepped inside the walls of my new office for the first time. It's only a drywall cube right now, but I greeted it and promised it that we'd have lots of good times together.

Yesterday I also took part in a 3 hour meeting to pick fabrics and finishes for our furniture order. Our colours have names like Portobello, Sandalwood, Bark, Cork, and Camel. It should all be very neutral and soothing to the eye. Then I went home and dreamed about furniture and fabric samples all night.

Pants on the Ground

I work for a family business. Sometimes that's a fantastic bonus, and sometimes it's just too much. Ken works for the same business, in a freelance capacity, from a home office. So when things are crazy at work it means:

I work all day. Then I go home, and talk about work with Ken. Then I walk around my home, and there are constant visual reminders of work from Ken's files and equipment lying around. The phone rings. It's my step-dad. First he talks to me about work. Then he talks to Ken about work. Our home is small enough that even though Ken takes the call in the other room, I can still hear every word he's saying (about work) while I'm in the other room trying to watch TV or fold the laundry in peace.

On special occasions I get together with my family, and talk about work with my uncle.

Lately, things at work have been totally off the hook. I've been bellyaching here for weeks about my work stress, and this week is exactly the same. My overall state of mind can be encapsulated by one word:
ZOMG!!!1!!!

*sigh*

I won't bore you with the details. God knows, I have certainly talked enough about work lately (see above). So I'll tell you about something else. All you regular readers know that Ken is a prince who consistently spoils me rotten. Well, I finally got a chance to do something for him.

However hard I've worked lately, he's worked harder. More hours, more responsibility, tighter deadlines. His attache case broke, his clipboard broke, and he hasn't had time to replace them. He's eating so little due to stress and lack of time that he's shed enormous amounts of weight, but he hasn't had time to buy any new clothes. Last weekend his belt was on the last notch, and he was headed directly for a Pants On the Ground situation.

He's not working seven full days per week, but when he does have downtime, he's down. The man is on the couch, in a daze, catching his breath.

I decided to go shopping, to help him out.

Replacing the attache case and clipboard was easy. Then I headed into Old Navy to purchase some pants. That was significantly more complicated. Women's clothing manufacturers generally make pants in one length, (long), and expect you to hem them yourself. Or take them to a tailor. Old Navy's mens' pants come in a variety of waist sizes and a variety of inseam lengths. This creates a whole matrix of size options on a two-dimensional grid.

Because the available sizes can't be arranged in a linear fashion, finding a size is like finding a needle in a haystack. The clerks who stock the shelves can't seem to decide whether they're piling the pants by waist size or inseam. It's kind of random. Either that or the customers have been rearranging the display all week.

I dug through stacks of pants looking for sizes until I was sweating. Then I thought I might have better luck on the lower, less frequently-accessed shelves, so I got down on my knees, with my own super-low skinny jeans threatening to give me a case of plumber's butt, and used both hands to burrow through the piles.

I finally came up for air with two pairs of pants one size smaller and two pairs two sizes smaller than Ken's too-big pants. The colours were based entirely on size availability. (Black and beige - what other men's pants colours are there anyway? I can't think of any.)

I cashed out. I was sweaty, tired, and carrying a lot of bags by then. Yes, I'm small and pathetic. Yes, four pairs of pants and an attache case plus my coat and handbag was a lot to be carrying. But I persevered. I still needed to find a belt.

The belt quest was epic. I went from store to store, checking out belts and asking for help with sizing. Either there was nothing in Ken's size, or the belts were all the end-of-winter clearance super-ugly models (for example, white snakeskin), or they had giant buckles shaped like trucks or hundred-dollar bills, or they cost $150 before tax.

I walked through the whole mall before I finally got to The Bay and located a decent belt for $25. By then I was dehydrated, cranky, and my arms were aching. I stood in line at the cash for what seemed like forever, balancing my shopping bags, while some dude fussed over a return. Then, finally, I paid for the damn belt and got out of there.

I dragged my bags all the way home: a subway ride, and then a 20-minute walk. But it was all worthwhile. It made Ken happy. It also made me happy. He's been wearing his new pants, which look much more flattering than his old ones, which were so big on him they were starting to look like clown pants. He's been using his new bag and clipboard. And it was about time I got a chance to do something for him, for a change.

Tech Mess

On Saturday February 20th, I supervised a major computer upgrade at work. Two technicians, ten hours, many frustrations, and at the end of the day it still wasn't all done to spec. There just wasn't enough time. But it was a good try, and I was satisfied that everyone would be able to get their work done on Monday, with a few minor inconveniences.

Come Monday, as expected, there were issues. I called in to work at 6:15 am to help my early shift person get logged in, and checked in every half hour from then on, until I got there in person at 8:30. From that point, I did not sit down. It was run here, run there, what's my new password, I can't print, where's my e-mail, etc. and so forth. No problem. That's what I was expecting. Give it a couple of days; everyone gets used to the new system; and things will simmer down.

Tuesday wasn't much better than Monday. Wednesday, I thought, is the day we'll turn the corner.

Wednesday wasn't better. In fact, Wednesday was worse. The users were starting to adjust to the new way of working, but the technical problems kept stacking up. Printers that I had personally tested after the upgrades stopped working. I would spend half an hour on the phone with remote tech support getting a printer working, and the next day it would be kaputsky again.

So not cool.

We are not a paperless office. We are a paper-plus office. Almost everyone has at least one printer at their desk; two if they need a label printer. I spent all day Wednesday dealing with printer issues.

By Thursday I started giving up on the new system. I rolled a couple of users back to the old system, just so that they could print. As the day progressed, I rolled back more and more people. We paid umpteen thousands of dollars for four brand-spanking-new servers, for what? Some upgrade. More of a downgrade, methinks.

By Friday I'd pretty much thrown in the towel. I don't have the time to spend 7 hours every day playing helpdesk. Our entire workplace is relocating in approximately 8 weeks. I have to make decisions on moving quotes, telephony system quotes, office furnishings for a dozen rooms in my department, etc. Most of these require a decision with six weeks' lead time to our move date, which means I have only two weeks to have all my meetings and make all my major decisions.

I came in on Saturday to catch up on some work, including itemizing a list of a dozen technical problems that people had asked for help with on Friday that I hadn't had time to address. I forwarded this to the owner of our tech consultant company, along with a frazzled plea for help.

On Monday I was reassured that help was on the way. Oh me of little faith. I'd believe it when I see it.

On Tuesday my tech guy came on site with his boss. By then there were over 20 problems on my list. They put their heads together in the server room. Then they met with me, pen and paper in hand, and made lots of little diagrammatic notes to themselves that I didn't understand. Then we called our specialized software provider on speakerphone.

We had consulted the software provider prior to the upgrades. At that time, they said everything should be fine. But on this call, they changed their tune. Apparently their software doesn't work with our printer system. Apparently. Apparently we would need to buy multi-thousands of dollars' worth of print servers and switches and install them around the entire organization in order for our new system to work.

Gaaaaaah!

I swilled that idea around in my head, hating it. At least now we knew were we stood. But we did not stand in a good place. I worried about this place all afternoon.

Finally, my brilliant tech guy's brilliant boss came up with a brilliant solution. It's a little piece of software that he wrote just for us. If it works, and we're testing it now on six PC's, then we don't have to buy a ton of additional equipment just to be able to function. So far so good. Please cross your fingers that this solution goes the distance. We should be able to roll it out to everyone by the end of the week.

Pushing 40

I don't know if there's an official definition of "pushing" a decade, but at 37 I can definitely feel 40 looming just over the horizon.

I used to work with a sour-lemon-face woman who was forever warning me how horrible it is to be over 40. To quote her exactly, "After you turn 40, everything goes to shit." By which she meant one's health and looks. And for her, sadly, it was true. But she was a smoker, a heavy drinker, and a fast-food junkie. Not exactly a recipe for eternal youth.

I'm feeling OK about the approach of 40, so far. I'm in a good place in my life.

Most people would look to their kids as a major point of pride. As a voluntary non-parent, one of my big achievements has been to overcome my insecurities about not having any. I'm not 100% bulletproof. Sometimes regrets or shame or the expectations of others sneak up on me and get me down. But that's rare nowadays. I don't struggle with it daily, as I used to. I am as sure as I can be that it's the right choice for me.

My marriage is superb. It didn't get to be that way overnight. There have been plenty of disagreements, power struggles, and misunderstandings along the way. But these days, we're pretty much copacetic.

I love my job. Truly, I do. Despite all my bitching here and on Twitter, about stress and chaos, and sleepless nights. It's socially satisfying, intellectually challenging, financially rewarding, and almost never boring. Right now we're going through some growing pains, which will probably carry on until at least the beginning of the summer, but my team is fantastic and the stress is actually having the effect of bringing my staff together more closely than before.

I love being a manager. I'm responsible for the supervision of 10 people, plus I work with the managers of other departments to solve big-picture problems. I've been here long enough that all but one member of my team is someone I hired myself. The one person I didn't hand-pick is a good person and a good worker. Over the years, the nasty folks have all left or been let go. Those who remain are people whom I consider to be a Work Family.

All in all, I feel that I have all my ducks in a row. So I can probably skip the whole mid-life crisis drama. I don't feel the need to go running out to buy a fast car, or go travel the world, or register on Ashley-Madison. I don't have anything more to prove at this point. I'm good.

Assumptions of my age which have taken place over the past week:

32: From my newest hire, who is himself 30 years old. I mentioned the whole "pushing 40" thing and his eyebrows shot up, so I believe his guess was probably genuine and not just an ass-kissing tactic. Well, maybe he knocked a couple of years off his actual estimate... I guess I'll never know for sure.*

27: A woman who is around 50, who goes to my church. I'm thinking that the church people probably that assume anyone who hasn't had children "yet" must be under 30.

21: My neighbour, who admittedly is legally blind. I'm not sure what she based her guess on. I have an orange purse, which apparently figured into this calculation. It's a perfectly normal purse which just happens to be a lovely shade of deep orange. Nothing else unusual about it. But when I was talking with the woman who thought I was 27, telling her my actual age, my neighbour was very suprised. She puckered up her face and said "My goodness, I thought you were 21! Especially with that purse!" I assure you that no self-respecting 21-year-old would wear that purse. It's much too mature.

*I expect WIGSF to say something scathing on this point. Go ahead, give it your best shot.

Domos Large and Small

This has been an incredibly stressful work week. Lots of problems to solve and panicked people to soothe.

I honestly didn't resent the stress while it was happening. I kind of got into the adrenaline high. I can understand now how people become workaholics.

But then the weekend came, and I just couldn't unwind. I was up in the night in the middle of the weekend with work worries. That's not cool.

I'm a manager, and therefore called upon to keep my head while all around my are losing theirs. And trust me, there is more than one Chicken Little in my workplace, willing to create a whole hour's worth of disturbance over a problem that was solvable in 10 minutes. Keeping my patience in the face of these shenanigans requires me to pack my own frustrations and anxieties into the back of my brain, on a shelf, to be dealt with later. Except later never comes, during a busy week. Until the wee hours of the morning, when the box spontaneously starts to jump towards the edge of the shelf, making threatening noises. Then it finally spills itself open, and all the pent-up feelings come roaring out, overwhelming me.

Fortunately my Ken is a night owl, so he's up in the wee hours of the morning when I emerge from my bed, heart pumping 120 bpm, or weeping pitifully. We talk, and sometimes he fixes me some water with half an ounce of vodka in it to help my body gear down. Don't worry - I'm not doing this every night, nor in any danger of becoming a lush. It's just a little something for the rough times.

Anyway, Ken has been a prince these past couple of weeks, taking care of things in the house for me so that I have less to worry about. I come home to a hot dinner every night after my long days. And he's there to talk when I need him. He's always looking for little ways to raise my spirits. Which brings me to Domo Kun.

Our mutual love of Domo Kun began a couple of years ago when I needed a new wallet. Ken brought me one with this odd, brown Japanese character on it. I no longer have that wallet because I wore it out, but my new wallet also features Domo Kun (and his friend the rabbit, Mr. Usagi).

We found a few episodes of Domo Kun's TV show on YouTube. The stories make no sense at all, but nevertheless we both became very fond of Domo. He's not very smart; he sweats a lot when he's nervous; and he's clumsy. And yet, irresistible.

Ken has a couple of mini-Domos on his desk in his home office. They are Business Domos, as you can see. They help him to get his work done.

The next addition to our family was a little Domo.

Here he is sitting on one of our dining room chairs.

Cute little fellow, isn't he?

Today we went to Pacific Mall for lunch. There's more than one store there that specializes in stuffed animals and other products emblazoned with the myriad of characters popular in Japan. That's where we met Big Domo.

Ken picked him up, then passed him to me. When he saw the smile on my face, he didn't hesitate for a second. When Ken is determined to cheer me up, practical considerations are no obstacle. He bought Big Domo immediately.

We buckled Big Domo into the back seat of the car for the drive home. He's rather short and stocky, so the shoulder belt ran across his face between his eyes. He didn't seem to mind. Here he is sitting on the same chair that Little Domo was posing in a moment ago.

Yup, he's big alright. But so far he seems well-behaved. He spent the afternoon on the couch, settling in. Uh oh, maybe I spoke too soon...

Big Domo! Stop eating your little brother!

I guess I'm going to have to keep an eye on him for now. I think he's well-intentioned. He just has to learn some basic rules of the household, and then we'll be...

Big Domo! Those houseplants are not your salad!

I think I'd better go fix him some dinner.

Switching to the Switch

I'm home today feeling under the weather, on the couch, typing on the lap-hot. No that's not a typo. The MacBook makes my lap hot, so that's what I'm calling it.

I picked a swell day to stay home. Yesterday, at work, I got some weird complaints about our network. I arranged for a tech to come by today and troubleshoot. Here's my definition of weird: each office computer is connected to the network by a single cable, which delivers e-mail, internet access, and access to our company database. One user, then another and another, complained that they couldn't get onto the internet. However, they were able to access our database. And the other 95% of the computers had no problem accessing the internet. So the internet connection was working and the cables were working... what other component could be faulty? I had no idea. Well, we can live without internet for a day, no biggie.

This morning while I was lolling around in my p.j.'s, taking my temperature for the 8th time (Do I have a fever now? How about now?) and feeling sorry for myself, I got a call from work. Apparently the whole network was crashing, slowly and painfully, one computer at a time. User A's computer was fine first thing in the morning, then lost all connectivity for an hour, then came back online for 20 minutes, then went offline again. User B's computer could get e-mail but no database. User C, who couldn't access the internet yesterday, was one of the few computers that could get the internet today. None of it made any sense, and the users were panicking.

I figured this must all be caused by the changes that have recently been made to our network.

In a nutshell, a year ago I noted that our one and only server, which we are completely dependent upon, was out of warrantee and needed to be replaced. I started a process of getting quotes for an upgrade, but due to getting screwed around by two different companies before we got a decent proposal, and due to the need to continuously give priority to putting out fires instead of working on the upgrade project, it took a full year to finally sign off on a proposal. By the time work was due to begin, I was very concerned that this poor old server, at the end of its natural lifespan, could choke any day, leaving us high and dry.

The installation of the new server systems began a couple of weeks ago. First we got the physical components. Then the techs came in and spent many days assembling the new systems. Finally, just this week, the whole rack of new goodies got plugged in and powered up. The head tech told me that nothing on the old system would be affected until the scheduled cut-over date, but I've worked with I.T. long enough to know that it's never that simple. The new components are on our network, so they must be affecting it in some way. I figured one of these new bits and pieces must be to blame for all the problems.

Alternately, and equally likely in my experience, was human error on the part of one of the techs. The company we used to work with sent guys who were sloppy. They'd come in and change settings in order to troubleshoot problems, but they wouldn't track all the changes they'd made, and then when they didn't reset everything back to the regular settings at the end, we'd have more problems. I knew that the new techs were monkeying around with our firewall, which controls internet access, so I figured they may have screwed it up. They've given themselves remote access, so they can make changes to our systems at any time and I wouldn't know it.

The solution to the problem turned out to be much more satisfying than either of those scenarios.

Our hub has always been a bit touchy. (The hub is the big box that serves as a cross-connection point for all the network cables in the office. Cables come from the back of each computer, run through the office walls and into the server room. There they all plug into the hub.) If you so much as breathe on any network cable on that hub, it may lose its connection to the network. I have to figure out which port is affected and gently push the cable back in, very carefully, otherwise in the process of plugging one node back in I'll lose another one. It's not ideal.

The techs installed a new hub this week. Actually, it's a switch, which serves the same function as a hub, except it's better. It's the difference between a four-way stop and an intersection with traffic lights. The switch will manage our network traffic more efficiently.

The techs had moved a few test computers from the hub to the switch already.

I got a call later today with the diagnosis and fix for the network problems. It was the hub. That testy old thing had finally decided to go completely senile only three days after the new switch went live. What fantastic timing!

If the hub had died any sooner, we'd have been completely screwed. The whole network would have gone kerflooey, and business would have ground to a standstill. Instead, the techs simply unplugged all the network cables from the hub, popped them into the switch, and Bob's your uncle!

Talk about synchronicity.

My accountant boss is going to be thrilled with this story. We couldn't have squeezed even one more day of use out of the old hub. It's a very efficient use of resouces, you have to admit. It makes me look good. I warned my bosses for months that we couldn't drag our heels implementing the new equipment because the old components were living on borrowed time. They wanted me to wait until the summer of 2010. I told them we couldn't afford to wait. Now I can say "I told you so." Darn straight I'm going to say it right to them. It's called building credibility as a manager.

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go take my temperature again.

Highlights of the Office Christmas Party

I am seated next to a woman in her late 40's, wife of one of our senior businessmen. Early in our conversation, she tells me that she has a 5-year-old son. He's brilliant - does math at a sixth-grade level. He can subtract fractions. But he's very demanding. She repeats to me several times that she feels she no longer has her own life, and tells me that I've definitely made the right decision not to have children. The first course comes and we break off the conversation. Later, when she turns to talk to me again, she brings up this same topic. And again later, and once more after that. She keeps telling me how much she loves her son, but if only she'd known, she might not have had him. I listen and nod sympathetically, but what can you really say to that?

On the other side of my husband is the date of one of our clerical workers. Early in the evening he makes a show of tasting the wine. His tasting face: lips pushed out, eyes rolled back. It's so dramatic and silly that I laugh, thinking he's clowning around. He's not. I ask him if he's a wine connoisseur. He replies that he's a "connoisseur" in a general way, and then adds straight up that he's a snob. OK, good to know.

The Connoisseur is also a DJ. The DJ who's in charge of our party is killing him with random song segues. He has every possible kind of music on iTunes, from 1930's jazz all the way through to modern hip-hop, and it seems that he's put his system on ultra-random for the evening. Ultra-random is a setting beyond random, which ensures that no two consecutive songs will have any relation to each other whatsoever. As "Jingle Bell Rock" leads into "Sexual Healing", the Connoisseur mimes digging out his right eye with his fork.

Dinner is served. As usual at this venue, the food is excellent. It's surf'n'turf: steamed veggies, roasted potatoes, and steak topped with a pair of jumbo shrimp. As you'd expect at a Portuguese restaurant, the shrimp are perfectly cooked. Absolutely tender. Not at all rubbery. Six out of the eight people seated at our table declare that shrimp are sea bugs and therefore disgusting. If I had a bigger appetite, I could've eaten a lot of extra shrimp.

Despite the crappy DJ, music is music, and after dinner there's a good crowd on the dance floor. That's what I love best about our Christmas parties. People really get out there and shake a tailfeather. Couples in their 60's get up and do ballroom dancing moves to hip-hop songs, as long as the tempo works. Girls in their 20's dance to 1950's rock'n'roll without complaining. Most people aren't worried about looking cool, and they're not falling-down-drunk either. It's a lot of good-spirited fun. The businessman whose wife I was sitting next to at dinner dances next to me and sings along with "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun".

It's 12:30 am before we know it. My husband and I prepare to leave. The place is emptying out, but there's still a handful of dancers on the floor, and small groups of people enjoying the platters of seafood that were brought out at 11 pm. My heart is racing from the unusual exercise of dancing for two solid hours so late at night. Traffic is light and we're home within 20 minutes. It takes me extra time to get off all the fancy party makeup. Then I fall into bed and sleep like a log.

What next?

Let me begin by saying I had a fantastic weekend. Time with friends I love, new friends met and enjoyed, much laughing, good rest, and successful boot shopping. Oh yes, the boots. I tried them on for fun, and then, despite the price tag, couldn't bear to leave the store without them. And so I am now the proud owner of these babies, purple cowboy boots, size 7. They are more fantastic than the photo can express. The shade of purple is richer and brighter. They fit like slippers. They give me superpowers of confidence.

Good thing too, because last night I got a shock.

I work in an industry that's closely regulated by the government. Every once in a while, over the years, politics have threatened to shut down my workplace. There was no serious threat in the past eight years or so, since before I started working there, but now, it's starting again. I just got word that we'll have to put up an enormous fight or my work will be shut down come spring.

We were doing so well that we were in the midst of planning a move to larger premises. That's all been put on hold until this threat is dealt with.

The owners have fought this battle and won more than once in the past, but you never know.

The good news is that the businessmen I work for have other interests. There's already a plan on the table for a new business, something they were toying with before they got this bad news. So if my current job evaporates with the last of the winter snow, likely it won't be long before they hire me back to work on the next project. My boss told me so. My own safety and security is pretty safe.

However, it's still Big Bad News. Firstly, there's everyone else who works with me. They can't all get hired back to work on a fledgling business. There may be some tough times ahead for my colleagues, and I care about my colleagues very much. Especially my own staff. I will openly say that I love them all, like family. Being their Mama Bear, which is how I do being a manager, has given me my reason for getting out of bed and going to work in the mornings for many years now. I would miss them terribly if we were separated. Losing that element of my social circle and my heart would truly be devastating.

And secondly, but not least important, is the impact on all the people who receive our services. I won't go into detail for fear of compromising my anonymity, but I will state that we provide a service that is absolutely essential for to the quality of life of our clients. We have over 1,200 active files at the moment. What will happen to all those people if we and other businesses like us are closed down? Many of them will cope by becoming addicts, self-medicating with street drugs. It's likely that some will commit suicide when they cannot find relief from their suffering. It's a tough future to contemplate.

So we will fight, and fight hard, to keep the business alive. I couldn't really say what our chances are, but if we've done it before then we can do it again. If my spirits start to crumple, I will put on my Purple Power Boots of Optimism to remind myself that I can be my own superhero. And whatever comes, of course, I have my faith to carry me through. I will be praying over here, if anyone cares to join me.

Day by Day

In the past week, my default feeling has been overwhelm. Sometimes I feel overwhelmed, scared and sad; sometimes overwhelmed, yet happy and grateful. But always with the overwhelmingness. I find it difficult to sit down and craft a post in this condition. If I can't make all the pieces of my life come together and fit into a coherent picture for my own personal mental health, how can I do that in a piece of writing?

My coping mechanism is: I retreat into a smaller and smaller slice of the present time, and just deal with that, until I'm basically living one minute at a time, without thinking much about the last moment or the next. I can get by like this, although even things that I put in my calendar tend to take me by surprise, because I'm just not thinking that far ahead, even when the event in question is planned for tomorrow. Similarly, I'm having trouble remembering things. Oh well. How important are those things anyway? I mean, do I really need to buy toilet paper?*

*rhetorical question

The reason for all this mental AAAAAAUGH! *frantic jazz hands* is that there is a lot of change happening, or pending, at the moment. It's pretty much all good stuff, or at least neutral. But I don't deal well with change, even if it's the kind of change that's going to improve my life. I try. I say all the right things to myself. But if there are too many changes at once eventually my brain just blows a gasket. Blam.

In general all this change has to do with my workplace. We're moving to bigger premises and with that will come role changes and personnel changes. I am taking on more responsibilities. And also, there's the wee matter of me being in charge of upgrading our ENTIRE COMPUTER SYSTEM. It'll be a quantum leap from what it is now, but dang. It's ginormous project, and thoughts of the transition process are making me mightily nervous.

Every night I watch an episode of Grey's Anatomy before I go to bed, to relax. It's my new favourite show. Then I go to bed and dream that I'm designing blueprints for a new wing of the GA hospital, except it's real and I work there and it's all very stressful.

Well, that's life, isn't it.

Anyway, this weekend I'm looking forward to lunch with my 93-year-old grandmother. She's going to get a taxi to my house and then we'll walk to the mall together. While we were planning this I asked her if she would like to meet me at the restaurant, because it's a 15-minute walk from my place. She was indignant.

"I can walk for 15 minutes!"

And you know what? I'm sure that she can. Probably faster than me, and that's on shorter legs because the top of her head barely clears the underside of my chin when she hugs me. My grandmother is awesome. Maybe she'll provide some wisdom to help me get through.

Improvements

I always wish I could write more freely about my workplace. It's endlessly interesting. Never a dull day. Unfortunately, most of it is highly confidential.

I will say this: it was especially interesting this past week, due to some renovations we had done. The workers got started last Thursday evening. The affected part of our site was closed down all day Friday, and the plan was that they would keep working through the weekend until everything was done. The cleaners were scheduled to come in on Sunday evening to get everything shipshape, and Monday morning we were supposed to get right back on schedule.

I had my doubts. This same crew of workers had done a weekend renovation for us in the past. Come Monday morning, the place was a distaster area. We had to send all our clients home, and the business lost thousands of dollars. Why did these guys get a second chance? They were a lot cheaper than the next highest quote, by more thousands of dollars than were lost in the disaster fiasco. The bottom line speaks loudly.

So, what happened this past Monday morning? I bet you can guess.

It was a disaster area again. Not quite as bad as the last time. We were able to see our clients, but only because my early shift worker spent 2 hours, between 5:30 am and 7:30 am, on her hands and knees, scrubbing paint, plaster, and adhesive gunk off the floor. The other earliest workers also rolled up their sleeves and got to work throwing out the construction garbage that was left everywhere, and sanitizing the work surfaces.

The cleaners had apparently come the night before, surveyed the incredible mess, and, afraid to start moving things for fear of messing up the incomplete work, had pretty much given up and left.

One of my staff had been in on the weekend, and guess what? No really, guess. The construction workers had not shown up at all on either Saturday or Sunday. They worked until late on Friday night, and then just left the whole mess to sit for the entire rest of the weekend. Their excuse: the paint wasn't dry enough to continue. Um, hello? If that's even true, your plan and promise to be finished in a weekend was a little short-sighted! The men in charge of the job have been working as contractors for at least ten years, probably twenty. They should know better.

And then, guess who showed up on Monday morning? At 8:00 am smack dab in the middle of our business? You got it. The workers! At which point they started in hammering, sawing, sanding, and generally making a huge disturbance, right in the middle of all our clients. It was unsanitary, unsafe, unplanned, and completely stupid. It didn't take long before another layer of dust was deposited all over the surfaces that the morning staff had just cleaned. But we let them go at it, just so we could get the whole experience over with as soon as possible.

The staff was understandably aggravated at having to put up with this nonsense. I was lucky in that none of the renovations took place on my turf. I was involved because I loaned my staff to the other department head to help out, and I had to deal with all the technology that was in the affected area. Of course the workers managed to disconnect a phone jack that had previously been working. They also placed some cable connections in an office kitty-corner to the desk, so I had to direct one of my staff up on a ladder to fish extension cables through the plenum space over the ceiling. That was an adventure we don't care to repeat. The plenum space is packed with dust and obstacles, and acoustical tiles never seem to want to lie flat again once they've been popped out of their grid.

Anyway, everything's back in working order now. One of my bosses has promised me never to hire these particular contractors again. The other boss is still kind of defending them. Ah well. They pay me well enough, so at least I'm well-compensated for the irritation.

Frazzled

I have been altogether too busy lately. At work, my eyeballs are rolling in opposite directions by lunchtime. By the end of the day my brainpower is spent.

A manager's view of summer: everyone else takes their holidays. I work extra to fill in for whoever is away. It does not make for a restful season.

I have planned a couple of days off coming up; just a mini-vacation. I won't be travelling. Just sleeping in and relaxing.

I'm saving some vacation days in the hopes that I can take a longer holiday when the city workers' strike is over. It's been 24 days since garbage collection services stopped, and the city is becoming disgusting. This is what the overflowing trash bins look like on our main streets. Yucko.

We've been fortunate to have a relatively cool, breezy summer so far, but still, those trash bins stink.

I find it very irritating that some citizens of Toronto are continuing to "use" the public trash bins even though they're already overflowing. I guess people think it's OK to leave their garbage on the ground, next to the full bin? Like that's a responsible way to dispose of one's trash? They must know that the next strong wind could blow their coffee cup/candy wrapper/newspaper into the middle of the street. The cumulative effect of all the litter is sad to see.

I would like to confront the lazy bums who are dumping their trash on the streets. If you wanted a coffee so badly that you were willing to carry the cup in your hand as you walked down the street sipping it, then carry the empty cup home with you! By then it hardly even weighs anything! Put the candy wrapper in your pocket! Stick the newspaper under your arm!

The selfishness of those who litter really grinds my gears. This is a beautiful city, but it's becoming crappier by the day because of losers who can't be bothered putting their trash in their own trashcan. It's bad enough that I can't visit my beloved Island park because the ferry drivers are on strike. The rest of the city has to be like a garbage dump too? It stinks. Literally.

Interview Faux Pas

I'd like you to meet a few people whom I will not be hiring.

The Deer In The Headlights
This candidate sounded perfectly confident during her initial telephone interview, but when she got into my office she froze up like a frightened rabbit. She sat perfectly still with her knees pressed together, her shoulders slightly hunched, and her hands in her lap. Only her eyes moved slightly. She had great experience, but our rougher patients can smell that kind of fear. They would eat her in one gulp.

The Mumbler
Mumbling is not a good activity in an interview. It's especially bad if you have an accent.*  I have a pretty good ear for accents. I missed 10 - 20% of what this candidate said while straining with all my might to understand, which means that the average person would probably miss at least 50%. The department I manage is all about communication skills. Next candidate, please.

The Gum-Chewer
If you caught my tweet a couple of weeks ago about a gum-chewing job applicant, this wasn't her. I had a second gum-chewing interviewee within two weeks. What is it with these girls? Doesn't anyone teach them basic manners? I might have let that go if everything else about her was excellent, but I sussed out from her attitude and some of her answers that she might be a little lazy too. I like employees who are self-motivating. NEXT!

The Day-Dream Believer
Such a sweet lady, with a genuine smile, and living in an absolute fog. Her resume looked great. I called her and set an interview date. Two days later our ad ran in the newspaper a second time, and she sent me another resume. Clearly she wasn't keeping track of which jobs she'd already applied to. That didn't look good, but anyone can make a mistake, so I kept the interview. This woman couldn't give me one straight answer. She'd get to talking and go off on tangent after tangent, rarely providing the actual information I was looking for. Thank you for coming. Don't let the door hit you in the butt on your way out.

The Bearer of Broken Dreams
This candidate left the administrative field to follow her dream career. Since the recession hit, the dream dried up and withered away. She had all the qualifications and qualities that I was looking for in an employee, except enthusiasm for the position. She was very obviously disappointed to be back in the administrative field, and the signs of her glum bitterness showed through her professional veneer. I'm sorry for her loss. But I don't want that negativity in my department. There are plenty of people who would be excited to have the job, and I'll be happy to give it to one of them.

Mrs. Right
I think I've actually found her. If all goes well I'll be able to offer her a position very soon.

*Edited to add:  I don't want anyone to think that I'm xenophobic.  Just to be clear, 50% of my current staff have accents, relative to common speech in Toronto.  Also, Mrs. Right has an accent.  I'm not against accents, so long as there is no mumbling to complicate the picture.

Feelin' Good

Folks, I'm happy to report: I'm feeling really good today. Even though this week was stressful at work, even after the temp fiasco, even though the weather forecast calls for thunderstorms today, I feel surprisingly steady and optimistic.

I have noticed significant changes in myself within the past two weeks. Ever since I recovered from my mini-freak-out, I feel that I've been moving from strength to strength. And it's coming from a very unexpected source.

Keep in mind that while I am immersing myself in Christian writings, podcasts, TV shows, and prayer, there is still a large and active portion of skepticism in my mind. I spent 35 years doubting and questioning. That doesn't go away overnight. I'll always be the type of person to examine and test every concept before I accept it. And I'm really used to dismissing anything related to religion as a bunch of hot air.

So even though I'm reading, listening, or watching, my inner skeptic sits back with its feet up, making its presence known. Sometimes I stop and ask myself: Am I really doing this? Do I really believe? Are these feelings just wishful thinking? I'm incapable of swallowing new ideas hook, line, and sinker, even if I wanted to.

Despite this mistrust, I find that the material is having an impact on me. I feel stronger, more confident, peaceful, and centered.

I might make fun of the Bible while I read it, or pay imperfect attention to it because Ken has the TV on and it's distracting my attention, but when I put that book down, I'm always amazed by how good I feel. I don't especially enjoy reading it the way I enjoy my regular books. I don't know how the feeling of contentment sneaks up on my while I'm reading. It only takes a couple of passages and I'll feel the effect. I have to say: it seems there really is something there beyond the words and the paper. It's certainly not something that I expected or even hoped for.

It's very weird.

The same thing happens with other material. I get something out of it that my intellectual mind wants to reject. It's beyond my rational understanding.

Prayer is even more powerful. I might not find the words of certain prayers to be aesthetically pleasing, or expressive of my own particular feelings, but reciting them, especially aloud, draws feelings into my heart, seemingly out of the blue.

My rational mind balks at the illogic, but my heart welcomes these new feelings. I have a significantly increased ability to deal with stress, and I'm much more likely to speak my mind with confidence. Hey, it works! I can't argue with that logic.

Temporarily Out of Service

As usual, my department is understaffed. I have availed myself of the services of a temp agency to fill the gaps.

This temp agency has always provided me with decent service. Around half the time they send someone who's truly excellent. The other half of the time they send someone who'll get the job done. All the temps they've sent have been professional and friendly. I have great faith in this company.

Since a couple of weeks ago I've had a temp on a long-term assignment. She's doing easy stuff that anyone with office experience could walk in and do, like alphabetical filing and answering the phones. She was doing a pretty good job too, until she got sick.

Yesterday I came in to find: no temp. The temp agency had left a message on my voice mail stating that my temp was sick and wouldn't be in. This confused me.

YOU ARE A TEMP AGENCY.

JUST SEND ANOTHER TEMP!

They have an infinite supply of these smiling, efficient ladies at their disposal. When I did call them back, they offered to send someone else over right away, if I wanted. Of course I wanted! That's why I hired the temp in the first place! Duh. I sincerely feel that a replacement should have been dispatched automatically.

Maybe that's not their protocol... Whatever.

That day turned out to be quiet, so I told them not to bother, but that if our regular temp was still sick by the next day, they definitely needed to send someone, because mid-week is our busiest time.

I walked in this morning to find my staff in a frenzy of busy-ness and NO TEMP. What?!

Yesterday I was willing to let slide, but today I was steaming mad! I had left very clear instructions, which they had not followed. I called the temp agency rep with barely restrained fury.

"Oh, I'm so sorry," said the rep, "I didn't understand. I thought you meant you only needed someone if Temp was going to be off for the rest of the week." Yeah. What part of "tomorrow is the busiest day of our week so we'll definitely need someone" was ambiguous?

Grrrrr!

In the end they sent Temp2, who saved our butts for the rest of the day. I guess I can forgive the agency for the screw-up. But I'll be keeping my eye on that rep if I ever deal with her again. Trust me, in future I will make sure that everying is painfully clear.