In answer to the incredible outpouring of nosy readers crying for additional information, for your schadenfruende pleasure….another FAQ!
1. What's the timeline here, or are you reporting them in real time? I’m gonna say that the best way to tell is to read the context of the chapter. Much of it has had a brief time to season, some of it is fresh, but absolutely NOTHING regarding Zilla is more than a year old. Boss and Pregzilla are just approaching their one year anniversary. Not of marriage. Of MEETING. Their wedding anniversary isn’t until mid-fall.
2.I am dying to know what kind of business this is. Really, I am. Please rephrase this in the form of a question. But I still won’t answer it. At least not precisely.:D
3.How old is this girl again? Emotionally, mentally or chronologically? She’s been on the earth for just shy of 26 years. I see a lot of reference to the age difference between Boss and Zilla but I don't recall hearing exactly what the difference is. Care to share? About 13 years. That may not sound like THAT much, but trust me… Although, to tell you the truth, I can’t put my finger on what WOULD be an acceptable age difference for either one of them.
4.And this chick is like a dang CHILD. Who cleans up after her?? Why Boss, naturally. It’s a very literal, “You made your bed and now you have to sleep in it,” dealie.
5.Did boss ever stop to think that the dream he had years ago about a "bride"... might NOT have actually been the "literal", marrying kind??? You’re kidding, right? Boss is probably the most literal person I’ve ever met. Literally. (And I hope this post isn't removed for overuse of the word "literal" and its forms.)
6. These questions may have been adequately answered in a previous chapter or FAQ, but just in case not: Do you think they will divorce? No, I really doubt it. On second thought, maybe doubt is too strong a word. Less than 30% chance? Is there any chance it isn't boss's baby? Pretty sure that Boss is the baker that put the bun in Zilla’s oven. Not an eyewitness or anything, thank God, but the explosive ovulation story was a pretty good clue. Can we start a pool to see how long the marriage lasts, or has Vegas already started one? Unless you’re very young, and not planning on touching any potential windfall until retirement, I’d suggest a less risky investment. Boss and Zilla are probably in it for the long haul. And a LONG haul it may prove to be.
7.Zilla must have worked before, right? Yes, as a salesgirl. In retail. Where I’m not persuaded her 80 words per minute ever came into play, except as a threat, perhaps. As in, “You certainly must appreciate me working here for minimum wage, because someone of my skill level could definitely leave you in my dust and go elsewhere for a job making a king’s salary.” Or something like that, right? Maybe she also had other jobs, but I haven’t caught wind of any.
8.Didn't you know? Babies pee, poop and puke! How could someone expect Princess 'Zilla to handle all those bodily fluids? Maybe she did the flour baby project in middle school, but if her resulting proficiency in parenting can be compared to the usefulness of the math skills she gained during that same time period, baby Speedway is in trouble. And flour doesn’t have bodily fluids anyway.
9.Just wait until her birth plan goes down the drain, or the baby gets colic or something. Whatever will she do? First, she’ll blame Boss for getting her into this mess. Then she’ll call her mother, who will make a commotion like she’s helping, but whose fragile health will prevent her from providing any real aid. Then Boss will rally his family, who will rush to his rescue, but from whom Zilla will recoil like they have rabies. Pretty sure she won’t call MEEEE (primarily because I've had so little experience), so I’m good.
10.What TV show was going to let Bridezilla sing?? Characteristically, I will refuse to name names on this one as well. In the interest of hilarity, however, if you’re good with a Google search and would like to attempt to hunt down this information on your own, I’d start with terms like “air-conditioned dog house” or “incarcerated televangelist.” That oughta point you in the right general direction. And taken into account with all the other details of this saga, it both fits right in and is screamingly funny.
11.Did you change the passwords BACK after the username and password fiasco?? To my personal accounts? Immediately. To the business accounts? I change those regularly too, as a matter of course. And I make sure Boss has a copy. But he never knows where it is, so technically, I’m still the only one with passwords.
12.So how does one go about cleaning up a spammer reputation to once again do business through emailings? You know, if you’d asked me that a year ago, I would have been able to walk you through the entire process. But that email list was a responsibility that Boss evidently entrusted to Zilla, or maybe something that they worked on together. I let THEM handle it. It was their mess. Thankfully, they didn’t ask for my input, as I might have given it to them. Somehow, they must have gotten it worked out with the email vendor. I didn’t ask, they didn’t tell.
13.Wow, how did you not kill...I mean, yell at her?! At the actual time, I think I was just more stunned than anything. It did, however, make me feel vindicated for every error and lapse in judgment since my first day of employment. They all kinda paled in comparison, ya know?
14.Did your teeth hurt from grinding them together in an attempt to not blurt out every comment going through your mind? Even before I had this cathartic outlet, I haven’t let myself get TOO worked up about all this. Boss and Zilla take themselves SOOOO very seriously, and I so DON’T. You must understand my personality, I mean, I just HAVE to see the humor. And with a joint like this, there’s a lot of humor to see!
15.Yikes! I am curious as well, how is/was this handled? (Meaning the trouble Zilla created on her first day at the office.) With kid gloves, obviously, because she is the future mother of the baby Speedway. I overheard that there are still plans for her to come aboard at some time in the nebulous future, because she has had a new office chair reserved for her. A whole chair.
16.Boss was LATE 1/2 hour because of Zilla being up? Oh my, I guess the meetings will be after lunch when the baby is born! There is no short answer to this question/statement, and the following is a mini-chapter in itself, but this is our typical scenario: Maybe you’re familiar with organizations who schedule their staff meetings to end before 9 am, so as not to cut into potential business calls??? Well, we’re not like that. At all.
We USED to have our meetings scheduled to begin AT 9 am, sharp. Sadly, because several of our employees, including Boss, had immense trouble making it in that early, we usually ended up actually starting the meeting at around 10 am.
Boss got the bright idea that he’d like to turn over a new leaf and give us all a time management makeover. Did he decide that we should choose a meeting time that wouldn’t conflict with normal business hours, so that we could always hit the ground running and get as much accomplished each day as possible? Nope.
Did he at least demand that everyone be in the building and ready to go by 8:30 or 8:45 am on staff meeting days, so that our gatherings could commence on the dot at 9 am? Guess again.
He opted instead to CHANGE the meeting time to 10 am, since that’s when we always met by default anyway. So that our organization would look like we had it all together and were meeting ON TIME. Only Boss made the mistake of making an announcement to that effect. No remarkable proclamation, just a simple, “Hey, instead of 9, we’ll be changing the time of our staff meetings to 10 am from now on.”
Therefore, the employees who used to arrive for our 9 am meeting at 10 am have stepped it up, and currently arrive for our 10 am meeting by 11 am. Not surprisingly, when most folks are walking through the door at 11 am, they just GOT THERE, for Pete’s sakes, and aren’t yet ready to rush right in and sit down for a MEETING, so they unload their gear, chat with their co-workers, fire up their computers, check their email, grab a refreshing beverage… So the meetings typically begin at a time somewhat before noon. Also not surprisingly, there’s no time limit on these puppies, so they end when they end. Just in time for me to head home, usually.
But since I’ve been there for at least 2.5 hours before everyone else got there anyway, I’m able to keep up with my work. Oh, so to answer your question: See, we typically don’t HAVE lunch on staff meeting days. You know, because the meeting runs right THROUGH lunchtime. I guess if the meeting started AFTER lunch, we might eat. Or maybe I should suggest that we hold an organizational-wide fast on staff meeting days until we can be on TIME for something?
But since we already ARE, technically, fasting on those days, I’m not sure what good it would do. Didn’t realize you’d asked such a loaded question, did you?
17.I guess poor spelling runs in the Famalee, too, eh? Without any ignominy whatsoever. I mean the stinkin misspelled word can be staring them ALL in the FACE and they’ll never even pick up on it. There was a mass email sent out this past weekend, announcing an important organizational event. The NAME of our business was misspelled in the subject line of the email. HOW DOES THAT EVEN HAPPEN??? And how do you not NOTICE it if it does?????
I still remember an olden missive of organizational gratitude that offered heartfelt thanks to Chik-o-fil. CHIK-O-FIL!!!! (Say that out loud, please.) When you are proofreading what you’ve typed out, doesn’t your brain screech to a grinding halt when you read over that?? Don’t you giggle, hit the delete button and then carefully retype “Chick-Fil-A”??? Clearly not.
18.Does your organization have a Board of Directors that needs answering to? Yes and no. Yes, there is a Board of Directors, but no, they evidently don’t need answering to. For my part, I ensure that everything financially is completely above reproach, and that’s my bag. Seriously, I would resign if there was any type of impropriety. There ain’t. There’s just some very loveable flakes. And nuts. Heck, there’s a whole case of granola.
19.It is the dang baby pool and infant accoutrements in the meeting room that does me. Is he serious? Since the half dozen fluffy tapestry-like set of archangel pillows Zilla piled in Boss’ office before the wedding didn’t make their way OUT of the office until just this month, I’m not looking for these items to sprout wings and fly away any time soon.
Is it not a place of business? Since when do conference rooms come with a swing and a changing table???? Something tells me they aren’t considered PERMANENT, but based on the longevity of the aforementioned pillows in Boss’ office, temporary can last quite awhile.
There has been a facility-wide cleanup and renovation in process for about a month now. Our new VP is pretty aggressive in his efforts to effect professional-looking change to our offices. He’d done a pretty good job up to now, securing us some new furniture, getting shed of some of the shabby fixtures I had tried in vain many moons ago to cause to disappear; after all his recent efforts, I imagine he about FLIPPED when he saw the conference room looking like an infant day care. And I’m not sure when VP’s neat organizational flow chart on the white board was replaced with Boss & Zilla’s baby birthdate poll. Maybe VP has given up, flipped out, and joined the dark side.
20.We gotta have our Zilla fixes, you know? So I’m coming to understand… Who would have guessed? I can’t believe you guys really are liking this stuff!!
Of course, to be honest, I guess if I wasn't writing it, I’d be reading it, too. (Which to me, sounds scarily similar to “I’m always either asleep or awake,” so I’ll step away from that sentence.)
But I'm thinking if the whole non-profit bookkeeping thing doesn’t pan out for me, maybe I could have something to fall back on?
21.If this morphs into a book/movie along the lines of Devil Wears Prada, will you invite all your fishie friends to the premiere? Absolutely. Front row seats.
22.Could you imagine if they read any of this??? ? Wow. Yeah, the thought has crossed my mind. But it is such good therapy to have a creative outlet for this madness, it’s worth the calculated risk.
Oh, on second thought it sounds like they are probably so unaware they could read these stories word for word and never even suspect it's themselves. Speaking of word for word, that is almost exactly what my DH said.
23.Can we have a babyname contest? Oh, LETS!!! Who wants to start the post? Do we know the future name of the babezilla? In the true spirit of literary foreshadowing, there WILL be a future Pregzilla chapter on this VERY subject. Stay tuned...
Monday, July 14, 2008
Sunday, July 13, 2008
Chapter 15 - Pregzilla: Time Will Tell...
You see, one of the primary accompanying reasons I have trouble swallowing the concept that the Golden Child might be early is my strongly-held belief that SO much of what we are is hereditary. I mean come on, you’ve seen it. Your own kids, having never even come in contact with the worst qualities of your persona, seem uncontrollably inclined to pick them up anyway. Am I right?
Take promptness, for instance. I don’t know Zilla well enough, really to make a concrete judgment as to her time management skills, but having known Boss for several years, I can say with absolute certainty that he is not a punctual person. Since Zilla hasn’t yet utterly gone NUTS about Boss’ lack of adherence to scheduling, I can only assume she condones it. I mean, her own WEDDING was an hour late! Consequently, I have trouble imagining that his spawn will be ahead of schedule, or actually anywhere adjacent to his due date of August 7. But time, of course, will tell.
Boss does not adhere to the conventional restraints imposed by our time-oriented US culture. Which is not to say that he hails from a foreign land. A foreign PLANET, maybe, but not a foreign land. He is American born and bred, all the way.
Admittedly, I have not historically been the most well-timed individual on earth. I have made great strides in the punctuality department, but in the past, it has not been unusual for me to be a couple of minutes late. Or maybe five, at the most. Not acceptable, rude to those who are waiting for me, unprofessional and all that. Like I said, I’ve been working on that for decades, and have met with some real success. I’m actually usually EARLY now, thank you very much.
So, given my struggles with promptness, it was quite a shock to enter into employ for someone who is even worse at being Johnny-on-the-Spot than I was. I mean, Boss is NEVER on time. Unless he’s meeting someone whom he considers to be just EXTREMELY more important and influential than he is , which is not often. And which makes his lack of timely arrival to be even MORE offensive to the average Joe, because you are slapped in the face with the fact. You know, the fact that suggests that you aren’t important enough for him to trouble himself to be on time for your appointment.
There are a number of excuses that Boss gives for his tardiness. It usually boils down to Divine appointments. So basically he routinely blames his overdue arrivals on God, which is just WRONG. And tends to make us all look like blundering buffoons, but then he covers it up by being so unfailingly charming and filled with compassion, that his tardiness gets overlooked. Which is nothing short of AMAZING to watch.
Clients are increasingly ticked when Boss is a no-show. Irritation grows by the minute. So irked are they, that when Boss finally comes whirling in, they’re hopping mad. Thinly veiled fury. Nonetheless Boss privately convenes with them, and somehow, by the time they take their leave, they’re thinking Boss is the greatest thing since indoor plumbing and they can barely contain themselves until they can come back and wait impatiently on Boss again at some meticulously scheduled but totally unlikely time in the future. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I’m not talking that Boss is five or ten minutes late, either. Oh, no. NEVER earlier than fifteen minutes late, and that’s if he really likes you or esteems your time as very valuable . Typical timeframe? More like thirty minutes, anywhere up to TWO HOURS, under what he considers extenuating circumstances.
It doesn’t take much to be classified as an extenuating circumstance, either. Zilla “needed my help with some things.” (And I’ve got seven kids who needed help with some things too. Yet here I am, right on time. Go figure. Sorry to keep playing the personal family experience card, but some of these things just really chap my fanny. ) “I was up really late last night.” (See previous comment.) “I ran into XXX at the pancake house. It had been a long time and he needed some encouragement.” Well, yeah, Boss, we could have all used some encouragement too, as we chilled our flat butts waiting two hours for you to come direct the staff meeting.
And you might wonder why Boss has never been called to task for this before. It’s the heredity thing, I tell you. Many of the employees of our organization are also members of Boss’ family. Nepotism at its best. So when Boss isn’t on time, most of the other aforementioned employees aren’t even THERE yet, so they have no idea how late Boss is. The whole family is always late. That’s just the way they are. Everyone who waits for them hates it, becomes embittered against them and treats them differently, etc. Their children are penalized at school and on sports teams because of their tardiness, but because lateness is summarily excused by everyone in the bloodline, nobody accepts responsibility for it or accepts the fact, even remotely, that their lack of punctuality is to blame for any unsavory outcomes. Duh, people.
Time after time I’ve gotten panicked phone calls from folks who had a meeting with Boss (or a closely-related employee) that involved a stringent time constraint. And I usually find out later that Boss was “on his way” or that the employee in question did arrive by his/her own description “a few minutes late.” Just for the record, in my book, a FEW minutes is three or four, NOT THIRTY. The crazy thing is that our business is BASED on time and the keeping of appointments. I just don’t understand how it all seems to work out. But work out it does. I’m flummoxed.
Just this last week for example, Boss had an early appointment scheduled with a couple of clients. When I arrived in the office at my appointed time and checked voicemail, there was a message from these folks. At the time of the voicemail, they were in the parking lot, it was time for the appointment to be OVER, but they just wanted someone to know that they had been there. They were leaving. Yikes. Great way to run a business, Boss. Anyway, I walked back into the common area, and low and behold, THERE were these clients, an hour and a half after their original appointment time. Boss had gotten in touch with them, they had come BACK for another try at the meeting, and they were thanking Boss profusely for working them in. After Boss had been the one who had been the no-show. Believe it. It happens ALL the time. I dare say it would happen to YOU, if you were one of Boss’ clients. And you would be initially infuriated, but ultimately placated.
So Boss’ son being born EARLY??? This pregnancy has been a microcosm of the way Boss runs his whole life, the business, his marriage. Set in motion way too soon, before anyone was even vaguely ready. By the seats of their pants, if you will, but such a word picture is way too graphic for me, thanks all the same. Embarked upon with little regard for preparation or education, and with apparent disdain for good reason. Unrealistic and fantastical expectations out the wazoo, backed up by incredible and irrational statistics. Wild speculation, which will customarily far outpace the comparatively disappointing reality.
Bottom line: When Boss and Zilla say that their extraordinary Little Man will manifest himself ahead of schedule, I don’t bank on it. I predict he’ll be at least a day late and a dollar short just like dear old Dad.
In fact – DH’s secret prediction on the birthdate? August 14. By induction.
Take promptness, for instance. I don’t know Zilla well enough, really to make a concrete judgment as to her time management skills, but having known Boss for several years, I can say with absolute certainty that he is not a punctual person. Since Zilla hasn’t yet utterly gone NUTS about Boss’ lack of adherence to scheduling, I can only assume she condones it. I mean, her own WEDDING was an hour late! Consequently, I have trouble imagining that his spawn will be ahead of schedule, or actually anywhere adjacent to his due date of August 7. But time, of course, will tell.
Boss does not adhere to the conventional restraints imposed by our time-oriented US culture. Which is not to say that he hails from a foreign land. A foreign PLANET, maybe, but not a foreign land. He is American born and bred, all the way.
Admittedly, I have not historically been the most well-timed individual on earth. I have made great strides in the punctuality department, but in the past, it has not been unusual for me to be a couple of minutes late. Or maybe five, at the most. Not acceptable, rude to those who are waiting for me, unprofessional and all that. Like I said, I’ve been working on that for decades, and have met with some real success. I’m actually usually EARLY now, thank you very much.
So, given my struggles with promptness, it was quite a shock to enter into employ for someone who is even worse at being Johnny-on-the-Spot than I was. I mean, Boss is NEVER on time. Unless he’s meeting someone whom he considers to be just EXTREMELY more important and influential than he is , which is not often. And which makes his lack of timely arrival to be even MORE offensive to the average Joe, because you are slapped in the face with the fact. You know, the fact that suggests that you aren’t important enough for him to trouble himself to be on time for your appointment.
There are a number of excuses that Boss gives for his tardiness. It usually boils down to Divine appointments. So basically he routinely blames his overdue arrivals on God, which is just WRONG. And tends to make us all look like blundering buffoons, but then he covers it up by being so unfailingly charming and filled with compassion, that his tardiness gets overlooked. Which is nothing short of AMAZING to watch.
Clients are increasingly ticked when Boss is a no-show. Irritation grows by the minute. So irked are they, that when Boss finally comes whirling in, they’re hopping mad. Thinly veiled fury. Nonetheless Boss privately convenes with them, and somehow, by the time they take their leave, they’re thinking Boss is the greatest thing since indoor plumbing and they can barely contain themselves until they can come back and wait impatiently on Boss again at some meticulously scheduled but totally unlikely time in the future. Lather, rinse, repeat.
I’m not talking that Boss is five or ten minutes late, either. Oh, no. NEVER earlier than fifteen minutes late, and that’s if he really likes you or esteems your time as very valuable . Typical timeframe? More like thirty minutes, anywhere up to TWO HOURS, under what he considers extenuating circumstances.
It doesn’t take much to be classified as an extenuating circumstance, either. Zilla “needed my help with some things.” (And I’ve got seven kids who needed help with some things too. Yet here I am, right on time. Go figure. Sorry to keep playing the personal family experience card, but some of these things just really chap my fanny. ) “I was up really late last night.” (See previous comment.) “I ran into XXX at the pancake house. It had been a long time and he needed some encouragement.” Well, yeah, Boss, we could have all used some encouragement too, as we chilled our flat butts waiting two hours for you to come direct the staff meeting.
And you might wonder why Boss has never been called to task for this before. It’s the heredity thing, I tell you. Many of the employees of our organization are also members of Boss’ family. Nepotism at its best. So when Boss isn’t on time, most of the other aforementioned employees aren’t even THERE yet, so they have no idea how late Boss is. The whole family is always late. That’s just the way they are. Everyone who waits for them hates it, becomes embittered against them and treats them differently, etc. Their children are penalized at school and on sports teams because of their tardiness, but because lateness is summarily excused by everyone in the bloodline, nobody accepts responsibility for it or accepts the fact, even remotely, that their lack of punctuality is to blame for any unsavory outcomes. Duh, people.
Time after time I’ve gotten panicked phone calls from folks who had a meeting with Boss (or a closely-related employee) that involved a stringent time constraint. And I usually find out later that Boss was “on his way” or that the employee in question did arrive by his/her own description “a few minutes late.” Just for the record, in my book, a FEW minutes is three or four, NOT THIRTY. The crazy thing is that our business is BASED on time and the keeping of appointments. I just don’t understand how it all seems to work out. But work out it does. I’m flummoxed.
Just this last week for example, Boss had an early appointment scheduled with a couple of clients. When I arrived in the office at my appointed time and checked voicemail, there was a message from these folks. At the time of the voicemail, they were in the parking lot, it was time for the appointment to be OVER, but they just wanted someone to know that they had been there. They were leaving. Yikes. Great way to run a business, Boss. Anyway, I walked back into the common area, and low and behold, THERE were these clients, an hour and a half after their original appointment time. Boss had gotten in touch with them, they had come BACK for another try at the meeting, and they were thanking Boss profusely for working them in. After Boss had been the one who had been the no-show. Believe it. It happens ALL the time. I dare say it would happen to YOU, if you were one of Boss’ clients. And you would be initially infuriated, but ultimately placated.
So Boss’ son being born EARLY??? This pregnancy has been a microcosm of the way Boss runs his whole life, the business, his marriage. Set in motion way too soon, before anyone was even vaguely ready. By the seats of their pants, if you will, but such a word picture is way too graphic for me, thanks all the same. Embarked upon with little regard for preparation or education, and with apparent disdain for good reason. Unrealistic and fantastical expectations out the wazoo, backed up by incredible and irrational statistics. Wild speculation, which will customarily far outpace the comparatively disappointing reality.
Bottom line: When Boss and Zilla say that their extraordinary Little Man will manifest himself ahead of schedule, I don’t bank on it. I predict he’ll be at least a day late and a dollar short just like dear old Dad.
In fact – DH’s secret prediction on the birthdate? August 14. By induction.
Chapter 14 - Pregzilla: The Countdown
The baby chatter is ramping up at the office. After months of surprisingly little commentary on Zilla’s pregnancy, except by Zilla herself, our place of business is suddenly abuzz with hype.
Seems that Pregzilla is currently 80% effaced and 2 centimeters dilated. Having experienced only c-sections, and personally possessing a cervix tighter than a preacher in a 10 dollar suit, I don’t have a lot of familiarity with early effacement and dilation. I DO know, however, that it is possible to have quite a bit of both and still overshoot the due date. Not saying that’s going to happen, but in the real world, it’s quite possible.
Not in the curious universe of Boss and Pregzilla, however. Zilla has chosen July 14 (yes, that’s TOMORROW!!! ) as her superlarge, superhuman baby’s birthdate. This was even before they found out about the dilation and effacement, based solely on the fact that she was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. Just last week, I inquired about Zilla’s condition, and was filled in by Boss regarding some of her thought processes, none of which he is himself familiar enough with pregnancy to refute. And that’s okay, I mean it IS their first baby, after all. But, you know, there ARE books about pregnancy…. Most of them readily available at your local library. But, alas, you have to be a reader to want to pay a visit the library. I’m just saying.
Boss finally assigned an actual number to his progeny’s hugeness, the immense size that Zilla has emphasized during each of her most recent visits with me, and no doubt with the rest of humanity. Their colossally-sized infant is in the 55th percentile for size. I paused and eyed Boss to make sure I’d heard correctly. Come again? Yes, 55th percentile.
Did Zilla pass middle school math? Apparently she was off honing her marvelous keyboarding speed while the rest of her fellow scholars labored away to crack the percentile code. If she had mastered this bit of mathematical competence, Zilla would have been able to deduce that the 55th percentile puts junior smack-dab in the center of the prenatal size range, and not anywhere close to the mammoth we’ve been advised to expect. Just average. But of course, it would be blasphemous to say that out loud to anyone involved, so I’ll stay mum.
When I was chatting with Boss on the phone last week (he actually called ME, so I’m guessing he’s planning on the upcoming birth distracting Zilla from confiscating next month’s phone bill and discovering that he placed a call to a female not related by marriage or blood), he mentioned Zilla’s frequent Braxton-Hicks, and in the same breath said BOTH that he and Zilla knew they were just “practice” contractions AND that they believed the spasms to be an indication that labor and delivery are imminent, and that their doctor had said that Zilla was very VERY early with her Braxton-Hicks. Boss spent several minutes on this, obviously seeking affirmation of this additional piece of ammunition for the argument that the baby is coming, and SOON.
Boss is eager to collect eyewitness accounts of pregnancy, as long as they reinforce what he believes to be true. So I knew he wouldn’t want to hear about my Braxton-Hicks. It wouldn’t “mesh” with his current philosophy, ya know? So lemme tell YOU what I’ve learned. After birthing seven younguns, I am certain I don’t know everything about pregnancy and childbirth. In fact, I am absolutely sure that I know even LESS about human reproduction than I THOUGHT I knew as a brand-spankin’ first-time mom. But I know what I know, which is enough to realize that my unique encounters have no bearing on what Pregzilla or any other pregnant female can expect from their own pregnancies. But he kept talking about her contractions, and fishing for my assessment… UGGGGH.
And so I told him that I too, had met with the discomfort and initial fear and trepidation of Braxton-Hicks contractions. And then (gulp), I remarked that having Braxton-Hicks five or six weeks prior to estimated due date is not in any way unusual, nor does it suggest that labor is about to begin in earnest.
You see, Zilla and I have something in common. The SAME OB. A guy whom, after seven children and a miscarriage, I know pretty well. Well enough to know what he considers to be early Braxton-Hicks contractions, and well enough to know that there is no WAY he would have told Zilla that she was experiencing BH contractions ahead of schedule when they started only six week prior to her due date. Knew that for a fact. You see, once when I came in for my first prenatal visit at 12 weeks, long about my third pregnancy or so, and he felt my uterus tighten as he was doing an exam – THOSE were early Braxton-Hicks contractions. Doc was kind of amazed about that, and he told me so, and he also said there wasn’t anything WRONG with having them that early. But I didn’t share that info with Boss.
Zilla’s contractions are strong sometimes, Boss said. Almost uncomfortable even. Hmmmm, I can relate. And toward the end of my pregnancies, the last trimester or so, those stupid contractions would have me stopping what I was doing and breathing through them – and I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance. But that was just me.
Boss went on to say that all these Braxton-Hicks that Zilla is having are just achieving so much on her behalf and will make her labor so much shorter and easier and cause it to occur so much earlier than her due date that it will just be wonderful to behold. Oh, Boss. Oh, Zilla. I wish it were true, but sorry, not always. Maybe not EVER. Where I was concerned, those stupid things did NOTHING to prepare my body for delivery. They were just futile torment, because I never could dilate past 5 centimeters, even after 40 hours of labor. Have faith, the Braxton-Hicks did zippo for me. But I didn’t tell Boss that either.
In fact, I tried to bite my tongue altogether, but I had to comment. I just mumbled something about having lots and LOTS of Braxton-Hicks, for many months before the births of my children, and that they hadn’t been effective at ALL in speeding up or facilitating delivery. Even when they came five minutes apart for weeks on end. But that’s just me, I said.
Boss was offended. I could tell, because he was quiet there on the other end of the phone line. Silence is so rare where Boss is concerned that you tend to take note when it occurs. In a moment, he responded that just because I had my experience with Braxton-Hicks didn’t mean it would be that way with Zilla, and besides, this was her first baby. Which had been my point exactly. Since he’d pressed the issue, I was simply offering my view on the subject, to an obviously misled, inexperienced dad-to-be. One who had been probing for my outlook on the efficacy of incidental tightening of the uterus during pregnancy. I couldn’t help that my experience was totally different than the theory that he and Zilla had cooked up.
Honest. Oh, well. Boss and Zilla ended up spending that evening in the Family Life Center at the hospital. Her exam that morning had caused a little bleeding, Zilla was sure it was “time” (honestly understandable for a new mom), so they had to hang around the maternity unit until they could be talked into a later delivery date. They’d tried to pin down the doctor for a more definite idea of when junior would be making his entrance, but he wouldn’t fork over specifics. Spoil sport.
The whole baby-at-hand anxiety prompted a new fixture at the office though. We now have an entire 4’ x 5’ white board devoted to a Delivery Date Poll for Little Man. Right next to the changing table and baby swing, which are unaccountably present in our meeting room. The months of July and August are drawn in, and everyone who passes by is supposed to write his/her name on the date they guess the blessed event will take place. Zilla has already claimed July 14, Boss chose the 10th or the 22nd, and random other visitors have selected various dates up through mid-August. It somehow reminds me of a Super Bowl pool.
For my part, I’m loathe to enter a guess. Boss’ and Zilla’s militancy about the certainty of an early birth has taken all the usual fun out of the typical prenatal speculation. And also I’m not sure what the prize (or penalty, perhaps!) is for the winning guess. The honor of providing a year’s free babysitting to the new parents, perchance? Or maybe those six extra nipple shields from the shower registry!?
Seems that Pregzilla is currently 80% effaced and 2 centimeters dilated. Having experienced only c-sections, and personally possessing a cervix tighter than a preacher in a 10 dollar suit, I don’t have a lot of familiarity with early effacement and dilation. I DO know, however, that it is possible to have quite a bit of both and still overshoot the due date. Not saying that’s going to happen, but in the real world, it’s quite possible.
Not in the curious universe of Boss and Pregzilla, however. Zilla has chosen July 14 (yes, that’s TOMORROW!!! ) as her superlarge, superhuman baby’s birthdate. This was even before they found out about the dilation and effacement, based solely on the fact that she was having Braxton-Hicks contractions. Just last week, I inquired about Zilla’s condition, and was filled in by Boss regarding some of her thought processes, none of which he is himself familiar enough with pregnancy to refute. And that’s okay, I mean it IS their first baby, after all. But, you know, there ARE books about pregnancy…. Most of them readily available at your local library. But, alas, you have to be a reader to want to pay a visit the library. I’m just saying.
Boss finally assigned an actual number to his progeny’s hugeness, the immense size that Zilla has emphasized during each of her most recent visits with me, and no doubt with the rest of humanity. Their colossally-sized infant is in the 55th percentile for size. I paused and eyed Boss to make sure I’d heard correctly. Come again? Yes, 55th percentile.
Did Zilla pass middle school math? Apparently she was off honing her marvelous keyboarding speed while the rest of her fellow scholars labored away to crack the percentile code. If she had mastered this bit of mathematical competence, Zilla would have been able to deduce that the 55th percentile puts junior smack-dab in the center of the prenatal size range, and not anywhere close to the mammoth we’ve been advised to expect. Just average. But of course, it would be blasphemous to say that out loud to anyone involved, so I’ll stay mum.
When I was chatting with Boss on the phone last week (he actually called ME, so I’m guessing he’s planning on the upcoming birth distracting Zilla from confiscating next month’s phone bill and discovering that he placed a call to a female not related by marriage or blood), he mentioned Zilla’s frequent Braxton-Hicks, and in the same breath said BOTH that he and Zilla knew they were just “practice” contractions AND that they believed the spasms to be an indication that labor and delivery are imminent, and that their doctor had said that Zilla was very VERY early with her Braxton-Hicks. Boss spent several minutes on this, obviously seeking affirmation of this additional piece of ammunition for the argument that the baby is coming, and SOON.
Boss is eager to collect eyewitness accounts of pregnancy, as long as they reinforce what he believes to be true. So I knew he wouldn’t want to hear about my Braxton-Hicks. It wouldn’t “mesh” with his current philosophy, ya know? So lemme tell YOU what I’ve learned. After birthing seven younguns, I am certain I don’t know everything about pregnancy and childbirth. In fact, I am absolutely sure that I know even LESS about human reproduction than I THOUGHT I knew as a brand-spankin’ first-time mom. But I know what I know, which is enough to realize that my unique encounters have no bearing on what Pregzilla or any other pregnant female can expect from their own pregnancies. But he kept talking about her contractions, and fishing for my assessment… UGGGGH.
And so I told him that I too, had met with the discomfort and initial fear and trepidation of Braxton-Hicks contractions. And then (gulp), I remarked that having Braxton-Hicks five or six weeks prior to estimated due date is not in any way unusual, nor does it suggest that labor is about to begin in earnest.
You see, Zilla and I have something in common. The SAME OB. A guy whom, after seven children and a miscarriage, I know pretty well. Well enough to know what he considers to be early Braxton-Hicks contractions, and well enough to know that there is no WAY he would have told Zilla that she was experiencing BH contractions ahead of schedule when they started only six week prior to her due date. Knew that for a fact. You see, once when I came in for my first prenatal visit at 12 weeks, long about my third pregnancy or so, and he felt my uterus tighten as he was doing an exam – THOSE were early Braxton-Hicks contractions. Doc was kind of amazed about that, and he told me so, and he also said there wasn’t anything WRONG with having them that early. But I didn’t share that info with Boss.
Zilla’s contractions are strong sometimes, Boss said. Almost uncomfortable even. Hmmmm, I can relate. And toward the end of my pregnancies, the last trimester or so, those stupid contractions would have me stopping what I was doing and breathing through them – and I’ve got a pretty high pain tolerance. But that was just me.
Boss went on to say that all these Braxton-Hicks that Zilla is having are just achieving so much on her behalf and will make her labor so much shorter and easier and cause it to occur so much earlier than her due date that it will just be wonderful to behold. Oh, Boss. Oh, Zilla. I wish it were true, but sorry, not always. Maybe not EVER. Where I was concerned, those stupid things did NOTHING to prepare my body for delivery. They were just futile torment, because I never could dilate past 5 centimeters, even after 40 hours of labor. Have faith, the Braxton-Hicks did zippo for me. But I didn’t tell Boss that either.
In fact, I tried to bite my tongue altogether, but I had to comment. I just mumbled something about having lots and LOTS of Braxton-Hicks, for many months before the births of my children, and that they hadn’t been effective at ALL in speeding up or facilitating delivery. Even when they came five minutes apart for weeks on end. But that’s just me, I said.
Boss was offended. I could tell, because he was quiet there on the other end of the phone line. Silence is so rare where Boss is concerned that you tend to take note when it occurs. In a moment, he responded that just because I had my experience with Braxton-Hicks didn’t mean it would be that way with Zilla, and besides, this was her first baby. Which had been my point exactly. Since he’d pressed the issue, I was simply offering my view on the subject, to an obviously misled, inexperienced dad-to-be. One who had been probing for my outlook on the efficacy of incidental tightening of the uterus during pregnancy. I couldn’t help that my experience was totally different than the theory that he and Zilla had cooked up.
Honest. Oh, well. Boss and Zilla ended up spending that evening in the Family Life Center at the hospital. Her exam that morning had caused a little bleeding, Zilla was sure it was “time” (honestly understandable for a new mom), so they had to hang around the maternity unit until they could be talked into a later delivery date. They’d tried to pin down the doctor for a more definite idea of when junior would be making his entrance, but he wouldn’t fork over specifics. Spoil sport.
The whole baby-at-hand anxiety prompted a new fixture at the office though. We now have an entire 4’ x 5’ white board devoted to a Delivery Date Poll for Little Man. Right next to the changing table and baby swing, which are unaccountably present in our meeting room. The months of July and August are drawn in, and everyone who passes by is supposed to write his/her name on the date they guess the blessed event will take place. Zilla has already claimed July 14, Boss chose the 10th or the 22nd, and random other visitors have selected various dates up through mid-August. It somehow reminds me of a Super Bowl pool.
For my part, I’m loathe to enter a guess. Boss’ and Zilla’s militancy about the certainty of an early birth has taken all the usual fun out of the typical prenatal speculation. And also I’m not sure what the prize (or penalty, perhaps!) is for the winning guess. The honor of providing a year’s free babysitting to the new parents, perchance? Or maybe those six extra nipple shields from the shower registry!?
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Chapter 13 – Pregzilla: Hold the Phone
Yes. Yes. I HAVE rethought my commitment to our organization, many, many times. These bizarre episodes that I share with you are typically short-lived, and it is SO cathartic to journal them here, by the way. Thank you. Boss will have some knee-jerky reaction to a situation and make a peculiar snap decision that benefits no one in the long run, and hurts an essential someone's feelings in the short run. It just happens. Over and over. And he means NOTHING by it. He just has a total blind spot in this area of his people skills.
Where the staff is concerned, Boss knows our hearts, knows we're there to serve...but then when he wants things to go in a slightly new direction, like auditing all the accounts to make sure everything is decent and in order (which I presume is what HIS part in the password-swiping incident involved); he forgets who he's discussed things with and....commences the demolition before he's evacuated the building, so to speak.
I've experienced mental whiplash more than a few times since coming to work there. Most recently, he decided to reassign “my” computer to our newest staff member, whom I’ll call “Eddie.” I was off on the day Boss made the decision, Eddie needed to use a program that was installed on “my” machine, his need for that program was determined to be ongoing, so Boss called me at home, asked for my network password and notified me that there was an “adjustment”: “my” laptop was no longer mine, but would be given to Eddie. Yep. Just like that. Some nameless donor had coincidentally offered to bring in an unspecified computer (of what size or suitability we were unsure) and set it up for me at some nebulous time in the future. No hurry, bro, it’s not like I need a computer to do my JOB or anything!
In the end, clearer heads prevailed. Eddie, bless his heart, talked Boss OUT of modifying my setup, and a new laptop was purchased especially for him. I heard this third-hand, though. Boss has never spoken again about the matter to me, “We changed our minds, and decided it was better to just get Eddie a new machine, so you just keep your laptop,” or anything like that, just to make sure he touched base with me and I felt informed, as he would surely HAVE done, incidentally, in his pre-Zilla days. He just jetted on to the next issue. No offense meant, but it’s a real stretch not to TAKE offense, I’ll be honest. But I do try. There’s no “I” in TEAM, and all that rot. I know, particularly with Pregzilla and the new baby coming, he’s got a lot on his plate. Sigh.
So, back to Zilla’s and my first simultaneous day on the job, and the main reason why the near-rage of the two previous chapters’ affronts to me kind of ebbed. As I was in the midst of recording the financial disorder she had imposed on our bank accounts, Zilla shut Boss’ office door and proceeded to make a phone call. As a faithful, circumspect employee of this organization, I take great care NOT to eavesdrop on private telephone calls. No self-praise here, just truth. But when the volume of the thing escalates to a high-pitched WHINE, there’s no way to avoid overhearing. And besides, one-sided though it was, I found the chat riveting.
I somehow instinctively knew who she was talking with, even before Zilla said her name. It was an out-of-state mentor she’d been assigned by Boss when all her bosom friends forsook her. As if she were in a doctor’s exam room, Zilla complained first about her honeymoon bladder infection and resultant pelvic rest, then covered the unique and fabulous news of her painful ovulation (without calling it that, of course ), then grumbled about the awful cold she had developed, how ill she had felt ever since the wedding, and how sick and tired she was of being sick and tired.
With each new disclosure, Zilla’s pitch got a little higher, a little more emotional, and a little more audible. When she paused, snuffling softly, I knew that the woman on the other end was offering some herbal, homeopathic, naturopathic solutions to Zilla’s ailments. She prescribed several dosages of activated charcoal, which I knew was gonna go over like….well, like what they are. Burnt wood slushies. Yum.
After discussing the health of Zilla, I guess the mentor next asked after the health of Zilla’s marriage. That’s when the real waterworks began. I kept my nose to my computer screen, but I could hear the sobs intensifying behind me. Sooooo many women……soooo much history. Um, yeah. You just bought the VALUE sized bottle of romantic history there, savvy consumer. And considering his dating life has been at least TWICE as long as yours, I think you probably should have seen that one coming. Caveat emptor; let the buyer beware.
She’d also made a jarring discovery, even while the honeymoon was yet still in progress. Boss continued to greet females and males alike with the same extroverted enthusiasm he did before the wedding. Which meant that he would hug people, touch people, find out about people’s personal lives. Now SURELY she understood this about Boss before walking down the aisle in that blaze of backlit redneck glory. It’s spectacularly obvious that Boss is utterly devoted to people. And statistically, about half of all people are female. Soooooo, Boss continued to talk to chicks. Not in an “EYYYY BABEEEE!” way, just with the authentic compassion that is one of Boss’ trademarks. (And yeah, I say that even after the password thing, and the computer thing. ) Their waitress at Denny’s. That lady in the same aisle at Wal-Mart. Random forlorn females who looked like they needed a friend.
Zilla didn’t feel “special” to Boss, she whined LOUDLY, notwithstanding the intimate conjugal conversation that was carrying on between them. Somehow, it had escaped her observation that the level of considerate platonic attention that she had enjoyed during their fleeting engagement was not all that rare in his world. He really was that nice to EVERYBODY. Yet another remarkable fact she would no doubt have picked up had her courtship lasted longer than a mortgage payment grace period. (I winced at my desk outside the office. Did I really want to hear this? But I couldn't tear myself away. )
She recounted Boss’ lengthy phone directives of counsel and encouragement, not a few to people of the female persuasion; the endless stream of ladies of every age, shape and size that would hail Boss eagerly wherever he might roam. He knows an insane number of people, and Zilla was a lot overwhelmed by his popularity. He’d run into someone at the gas station that he hadn’t seen for awhile, and be subsequently an hour or two later getting home than Zilla was expecting. Drove poor Zilla craaaaaaazy. Even right now, he was engaged in an incessant meeting with someone besides her. And it was AFTER bankers’ hours. She didn’t sign on for this, she said. (OH yes you did, Honey, right after you sponged down Boss’ feet in that chip bowl. Saw it with my very own eyes. )
And THIS was why I had tried to talk Boss into a wedding deferral. To give them a little time to acquaint each another with their distinctive expectations and lifestyles, or even to cause the relationship to go kaput if it needed to do that. (And perhaps, that’s EXACTLY the method behind Boss’ madness in the rush to the altar. He didn’t want to give her a chance to see things differently and change her mind.) Accordingly, Zilla had NO idea what she was getting into. And as it turned out, neither did Boss. What they both THOUGHT they were getting into turned out to be a cruel mirage in the desert. A far-off vision of a lush, green, matrimonial oasis. A fairytale…..turned into a cautionary tale. If I hadn’t seen it already, it was pretty clear now. The handwriting on the wall again. This union was not gonna be easy. For any of us. Yikes.
Nattybananas post on FFD was so insightful and spot-on, I had to include it. Read on below:
The somewhat more subdued tone of the most recent installment is sobering. Truth is, some of the funniest things in life (Zilla drama) reflect some truly serious problems in life (employability potential, yo - and emotional stability and preparedness to handle having your first child!! Demanding lil buggers, aren't they - and they can't even tell you what's wrong, YOU HAVE TO TRY AND FIGURE IT OUT. Can you tell I've also been watching The Baby Borrowers?? Schadenfruende, I love you so.).
You are very patient. And you are very dedicated. And obviously there are myriad reasons for why you stay in your job.
Seems like the honeymoon is waaaaaaaaaaay over, though. Geez.
They decided to take the accelerated track to EVERYTHING - engagement, marriage, childrearing, and the foundation to EVERY relationship - the rude awakening and advent of reality.
I somehow don't think they will get divorced. And if they do, things will have to get WAY super uglier, and it will be a meltdown of proportions even beyond Zilla's. I shouldn't laugh. Seems like Boss would have a lot of pride and such tied up in having a beautiful wife and a wonderful marriage. Having been a bachelor for so long, it's understandably a huge adjustment. They just didn't give themselves enough time to form a solid relationship, and find their identities within that relationship, and be all stable, before having everything else thrown at them.
Like others, I cannot WAIT until the last month of pregnancy and until she delivers. Hoo boy.
Where the staff is concerned, Boss knows our hearts, knows we're there to serve...but then when he wants things to go in a slightly new direction, like auditing all the accounts to make sure everything is decent and in order (which I presume is what HIS part in the password-swiping incident involved); he forgets who he's discussed things with and....commences the demolition before he's evacuated the building, so to speak.
I've experienced mental whiplash more than a few times since coming to work there. Most recently, he decided to reassign “my” computer to our newest staff member, whom I’ll call “Eddie.” I was off on the day Boss made the decision, Eddie needed to use a program that was installed on “my” machine, his need for that program was determined to be ongoing, so Boss called me at home, asked for my network password and notified me that there was an “adjustment”: “my” laptop was no longer mine, but would be given to Eddie. Yep. Just like that. Some nameless donor had coincidentally offered to bring in an unspecified computer (of what size or suitability we were unsure) and set it up for me at some nebulous time in the future. No hurry, bro, it’s not like I need a computer to do my JOB or anything!
In the end, clearer heads prevailed. Eddie, bless his heart, talked Boss OUT of modifying my setup, and a new laptop was purchased especially for him. I heard this third-hand, though. Boss has never spoken again about the matter to me, “We changed our minds, and decided it was better to just get Eddie a new machine, so you just keep your laptop,” or anything like that, just to make sure he touched base with me and I felt informed, as he would surely HAVE done, incidentally, in his pre-Zilla days. He just jetted on to the next issue. No offense meant, but it’s a real stretch not to TAKE offense, I’ll be honest. But I do try. There’s no “I” in TEAM, and all that rot. I know, particularly with Pregzilla and the new baby coming, he’s got a lot on his plate. Sigh.
So, back to Zilla’s and my first simultaneous day on the job, and the main reason why the near-rage of the two previous chapters’ affronts to me kind of ebbed. As I was in the midst of recording the financial disorder she had imposed on our bank accounts, Zilla shut Boss’ office door and proceeded to make a phone call. As a faithful, circumspect employee of this organization, I take great care NOT to eavesdrop on private telephone calls. No self-praise here, just truth. But when the volume of the thing escalates to a high-pitched WHINE, there’s no way to avoid overhearing. And besides, one-sided though it was, I found the chat riveting.
I somehow instinctively knew who she was talking with, even before Zilla said her name. It was an out-of-state mentor she’d been assigned by Boss when all her bosom friends forsook her. As if she were in a doctor’s exam room, Zilla complained first about her honeymoon bladder infection and resultant pelvic rest, then covered the unique and fabulous news of her painful ovulation (without calling it that, of course ), then grumbled about the awful cold she had developed, how ill she had felt ever since the wedding, and how sick and tired she was of being sick and tired.
With each new disclosure, Zilla’s pitch got a little higher, a little more emotional, and a little more audible. When she paused, snuffling softly, I knew that the woman on the other end was offering some herbal, homeopathic, naturopathic solutions to Zilla’s ailments. She prescribed several dosages of activated charcoal, which I knew was gonna go over like….well, like what they are. Burnt wood slushies. Yum.
After discussing the health of Zilla, I guess the mentor next asked after the health of Zilla’s marriage. That’s when the real waterworks began. I kept my nose to my computer screen, but I could hear the sobs intensifying behind me. Sooooo many women……soooo much history. Um, yeah. You just bought the VALUE sized bottle of romantic history there, savvy consumer. And considering his dating life has been at least TWICE as long as yours, I think you probably should have seen that one coming. Caveat emptor; let the buyer beware.
She’d also made a jarring discovery, even while the honeymoon was yet still in progress. Boss continued to greet females and males alike with the same extroverted enthusiasm he did before the wedding. Which meant that he would hug people, touch people, find out about people’s personal lives. Now SURELY she understood this about Boss before walking down the aisle in that blaze of backlit redneck glory. It’s spectacularly obvious that Boss is utterly devoted to people. And statistically, about half of all people are female. Soooooo, Boss continued to talk to chicks. Not in an “EYYYY BABEEEE!” way, just with the authentic compassion that is one of Boss’ trademarks. (And yeah, I say that even after the password thing, and the computer thing. ) Their waitress at Denny’s. That lady in the same aisle at Wal-Mart. Random forlorn females who looked like they needed a friend.
Zilla didn’t feel “special” to Boss, she whined LOUDLY, notwithstanding the intimate conjugal conversation that was carrying on between them. Somehow, it had escaped her observation that the level of considerate platonic attention that she had enjoyed during their fleeting engagement was not all that rare in his world. He really was that nice to EVERYBODY. Yet another remarkable fact she would no doubt have picked up had her courtship lasted longer than a mortgage payment grace period. (I winced at my desk outside the office. Did I really want to hear this? But I couldn't tear myself away. )
She recounted Boss’ lengthy phone directives of counsel and encouragement, not a few to people of the female persuasion; the endless stream of ladies of every age, shape and size that would hail Boss eagerly wherever he might roam. He knows an insane number of people, and Zilla was a lot overwhelmed by his popularity. He’d run into someone at the gas station that he hadn’t seen for awhile, and be subsequently an hour or two later getting home than Zilla was expecting. Drove poor Zilla craaaaaaazy. Even right now, he was engaged in an incessant meeting with someone besides her. And it was AFTER bankers’ hours. She didn’t sign on for this, she said. (OH yes you did, Honey, right after you sponged down Boss’ feet in that chip bowl. Saw it with my very own eyes. )
And THIS was why I had tried to talk Boss into a wedding deferral. To give them a little time to acquaint each another with their distinctive expectations and lifestyles, or even to cause the relationship to go kaput if it needed to do that. (And perhaps, that’s EXACTLY the method behind Boss’ madness in the rush to the altar. He didn’t want to give her a chance to see things differently and change her mind.) Accordingly, Zilla had NO idea what she was getting into. And as it turned out, neither did Boss. What they both THOUGHT they were getting into turned out to be a cruel mirage in the desert. A far-off vision of a lush, green, matrimonial oasis. A fairytale…..turned into a cautionary tale. If I hadn’t seen it already, it was pretty clear now. The handwriting on the wall again. This union was not gonna be easy. For any of us. Yikes.
Nattybananas post on FFD was so insightful and spot-on, I had to include it. Read on below:
The somewhat more subdued tone of the most recent installment is sobering. Truth is, some of the funniest things in life (Zilla drama) reflect some truly serious problems in life (employability potential, yo - and emotional stability and preparedness to handle having your first child!! Demanding lil buggers, aren't they - and they can't even tell you what's wrong, YOU HAVE TO TRY AND FIGURE IT OUT. Can you tell I've also been watching The Baby Borrowers?? Schadenfruende, I love you so.).
You are very patient. And you are very dedicated. And obviously there are myriad reasons for why you stay in your job.
Seems like the honeymoon is waaaaaaaaaaay over, though. Geez.
They decided to take the accelerated track to EVERYTHING - engagement, marriage, childrearing, and the foundation to EVERY relationship - the rude awakening and advent of reality.
I somehow don't think they will get divorced. And if they do, things will have to get WAY super uglier, and it will be a meltdown of proportions even beyond Zilla's. I shouldn't laugh. Seems like Boss would have a lot of pride and such tied up in having a beautiful wife and a wonderful marriage. Having been a bachelor for so long, it's understandably a huge adjustment. They just didn't give themselves enough time to form a solid relationship, and find their identities within that relationship, and be all stable, before having everything else thrown at them.
Like others, I cannot WAIT until the last month of pregnancy and until she delivers. Hoo boy.
Chapter 12 – Pregzilla: Password Protected
What you will read below would probably be a workplace dealbreaker for most, I’m fully aware. But because of the bizarre and outrageous surrounding circumstances, because I wholeheartedly believe in the mission of our organization, and because I, like many of you, can’t wait to see what happens next, I decided to hang in there. You can call me a glutton for punishment, if you wish. I prefer to think of it as The Mitford Years, only with way-weirder characters.
Before I’d left on my professional sabbatical, I’d equipped Boss with a current list of all the corporate account passwords, email passwords, you name it. Cause, I mean, since I’d first started working there, I had never been gone more than a couple days at a stretch, and just in case Boss wanted to check the bank balances or something, (or mayhap I met some tragic end during my absence) I wanted the business to be able to go on seamlessly without me. I assured him that all bills were current, paid up, and that all would be well until my return.
I spoke way too soon about the all being well part, because I didn’t realize that Zilla was planning to get her mitts on the list, apparently with Boss’ blessing, and change every password, including the one to my personal Gmail account, which I’d included on the list because I archive my corporate emails there. I had noticed that something was up when one day from home I tried to check up on a couple of business utility payments, to make sure they’d been posted. I mistakenly thought that my inability to log in to the accounts was just a dial-up fluke, or I’d bungled the password, or something.
So when I returned to the office that first day, immediately after the mass emailing fiasco had begun to simmer down in Boss’ office, I casually mentioned to Boss that I was having trouble accessing the corporate accounts. Truthfully, I was beginning to panic just a touch. Because if I couldn’t get into them (and I’d by this time tried each one several times) then that must mean someone ELSE had gotten into them, and I was more than a little alarmed about the potential disaster that a hacker might inflict on our unpretentious not-for-profit.
Oh, yes. Well, they’d changed the passwords, Boss and Zilla had, and they’d be doling them back out on a “need to know” basis. And this, dearhearts, is where Zilla’s newfound position of power and/or grievously misplaced resentment and/or whatever was in her craw began to rear its ugly head.
Because I realized, unfortunately better than she , the immensity of the role she had so hastily embarked upon, I felt enormous compassion for Zilla, I can’t emphasize that enough. I also can’t overemphasize how incredibly VEXED I was. I was THINKING, “COME ON!!!” …and “After all I did to try to make that slapdash wedding of yours respectable, THIS is the thanks I get?” …and “What could I possibly have done while I was GONE, to deal the deathblow to both my dependability AND my integrity????” …and “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!” and a number of other vitriolic but totally defensible reflections. But what I actually SAID was, “Um, if you want me to pay the bills, I’ll need those passwords,” with the sweetest smile I could muster.
“Zilla, could you give Ellen the utility account passwords?”
Now Zilla and Boss had been on the phone for awhile trying to straighten out the mass email debacle (without success, I might add, though they later DID get the mess somewhat rectified, and we seem to be mostly out of the cyberdoghouse) So Zilla sighs heavily, gets up from her chair, closes Boss’ door almost on my nose and goes digging in a drawer. A drawer that only days ago, I was fully authorized to access, but that now contained top secret information too sensitive for me to even be in the same room with. She conferred with Boss, scribbled for awhile, opened the door and slapped a piece of paper down on the table.
“There you go.”
The list looked a little…..short.
Thinking there must have been some items they overlooked in their angst over the email thing, I asked, “Could I have the bank account password?”
“No, we’re going to keep that confidential. Nobody needs access to that information.”
Duh…..Nobody except, perhaps……MEEEEEEE! “I can’t pay bills or keep the books without being able to check on balances and reconcile the accounts. That IS what you want me to do, right Boss?”
“Oh, yes, well. That’s right, Zilla, she does have to have that bank password after all. Ellen, make sure NO ONE ELSE CAN GET THIS.” Dag. Then I guess maybe I’m gonna have to go peel that Citibank username and password bumper sticker off my van then, huh? You mean I can’t tell ANYbody? Dang it.
What the heck!?!? More scribbling on the paper I’d handed back. I thought about what else I’d noticed lacking on that list.
Before she was finished, I asked, “Oh, could I have my email account password?” I felt like a recalcitrant 10 year old with a forbidden MySpace.
Boss chimed in again, “Well, from now on, we’re going to keep control of all those email accounts ourselves.” Stunned silence from me for several seconds.
“Um, Boss, that’s MY email account. I do keep archives of some business emails in the folders, and all my vital documents, so just in case our (crappy! but I didn’t say that) server crashes, we won’t lose important correspondence.” (“Like perhaps what happened to all of YOUR emails and your document files a couple of months ago ,” I wanted to add, but I resisted. And, of course, I was able to replace a significant chunk of what he lost. From MY personal Gmail account, that I set up for use at work. Yeah.)
“Oh. Give her that password too then, Honey.” Zilla looked like an elementary teacher’s pet trying to shield her “Capitals of Europe” test from the prying eyes of her unprepared classmates. Give me a stinking break. Geeeeeez. This was kind of like extracting teeth.
I started formulating nonsensical exclamations in my head: “NO, don’t give Ellen the business password to Staples!!! No telling what kind of havoc she could wreak with THAT!!” “Guard that Vistaprint username with your LIFE. She’ll go BONKERS and order 2 million double-sided glossy business cards.”
Even then, I was smirking a little, and had a real struggle making my way back to my desk before my shoulders started to shake with mirth. I’m kind of irreverent that way. Seriously though, Boss knew I wasn’t the type to misappropriate resources. WHAT could they be THINKING???
Anyhow, armed with my new arsenal of usernames and passwords, and yes, by the way, she’d changed most of the usernames too , I logged into our corporate bank account. I can’t express to you my shock. All the bills, even those that I’d already set to pay ONLINE, had been paid via paper check and snail mail, by Zilla. I could see their little cleared transaction records right there in front of me. Yep, her efforts meant this month’s bills had been paid TWICE, and again, without the benefit of a quick phone call to me to see whether they NEEDED to be paid, which of course they DIDN’T.
Boss was already more or less aware of this fact, because he mentioned it as he left the office area to return to his conference with the client. I wondered silently if this had been the subject of some angry words between them, because his acknowledgment seemed a little….strained.
Oh, and by the way, the insurance company had “messed up” and charged our bank account twice for the auto insurance premium, but he’d made sure to put them in their place, they were full of remorse, and they’d be reimbursing us.
Yeah, buddy. Wonder what they made of your tirade when they researched and discovered that they had received TWO paper checks. Written by Zilla on different dates, but both signed by YOU, Boss. It’s possible to see that sort of thing, you know, because there are copies of the checks on the bank website. (I’m sure Boss really didn’t know that it was his and his new wife’s mistake. Zilla no doubt had him convinced otherwise, because of course SHE couldn’t possibly have screwed it up!)
Even though I was more or less fuming, I cut her some slack here, because she’d already amassed a whole catalog of startling transgressions, and she hadn’t even been with us a fortnight.
And the day wasn’t over yet….
Before I’d left on my professional sabbatical, I’d equipped Boss with a current list of all the corporate account passwords, email passwords, you name it. Cause, I mean, since I’d first started working there, I had never been gone more than a couple days at a stretch, and just in case Boss wanted to check the bank balances or something, (or mayhap I met some tragic end during my absence) I wanted the business to be able to go on seamlessly without me. I assured him that all bills were current, paid up, and that all would be well until my return.
I spoke way too soon about the all being well part, because I didn’t realize that Zilla was planning to get her mitts on the list, apparently with Boss’ blessing, and change every password, including the one to my personal Gmail account, which I’d included on the list because I archive my corporate emails there. I had noticed that something was up when one day from home I tried to check up on a couple of business utility payments, to make sure they’d been posted. I mistakenly thought that my inability to log in to the accounts was just a dial-up fluke, or I’d bungled the password, or something.
So when I returned to the office that first day, immediately after the mass emailing fiasco had begun to simmer down in Boss’ office, I casually mentioned to Boss that I was having trouble accessing the corporate accounts. Truthfully, I was beginning to panic just a touch. Because if I couldn’t get into them (and I’d by this time tried each one several times) then that must mean someone ELSE had gotten into them, and I was more than a little alarmed about the potential disaster that a hacker might inflict on our unpretentious not-for-profit.
Oh, yes. Well, they’d changed the passwords, Boss and Zilla had, and they’d be doling them back out on a “need to know” basis. And this, dearhearts, is where Zilla’s newfound position of power and/or grievously misplaced resentment and/or whatever was in her craw began to rear its ugly head.
Because I realized, unfortunately better than she , the immensity of the role she had so hastily embarked upon, I felt enormous compassion for Zilla, I can’t emphasize that enough. I also can’t overemphasize how incredibly VEXED I was. I was THINKING, “COME ON!!!” …and “After all I did to try to make that slapdash wedding of yours respectable, THIS is the thanks I get?” …and “What could I possibly have done while I was GONE, to deal the deathblow to both my dependability AND my integrity????” …and “You’ve GOT to be kidding me!” and a number of other vitriolic but totally defensible reflections. But what I actually SAID was, “Um, if you want me to pay the bills, I’ll need those passwords,” with the sweetest smile I could muster.
“Zilla, could you give Ellen the utility account passwords?”
Now Zilla and Boss had been on the phone for awhile trying to straighten out the mass email debacle (without success, I might add, though they later DID get the mess somewhat rectified, and we seem to be mostly out of the cyberdoghouse) So Zilla sighs heavily, gets up from her chair, closes Boss’ door almost on my nose and goes digging in a drawer. A drawer that only days ago, I was fully authorized to access, but that now contained top secret information too sensitive for me to even be in the same room with. She conferred with Boss, scribbled for awhile, opened the door and slapped a piece of paper down on the table.
“There you go.”
The list looked a little…..short.
Thinking there must have been some items they overlooked in their angst over the email thing, I asked, “Could I have the bank account password?”
“No, we’re going to keep that confidential. Nobody needs access to that information.”
Duh…..Nobody except, perhaps……MEEEEEEE! “I can’t pay bills or keep the books without being able to check on balances and reconcile the accounts. That IS what you want me to do, right Boss?”
“Oh, yes, well. That’s right, Zilla, she does have to have that bank password after all. Ellen, make sure NO ONE ELSE CAN GET THIS.” Dag. Then I guess maybe I’m gonna have to go peel that Citibank username and password bumper sticker off my van then, huh? You mean I can’t tell ANYbody? Dang it.
What the heck!?!? More scribbling on the paper I’d handed back. I thought about what else I’d noticed lacking on that list.
Before she was finished, I asked, “Oh, could I have my email account password?” I felt like a recalcitrant 10 year old with a forbidden MySpace.
Boss chimed in again, “Well, from now on, we’re going to keep control of all those email accounts ourselves.” Stunned silence from me for several seconds.
“Um, Boss, that’s MY email account. I do keep archives of some business emails in the folders, and all my vital documents, so just in case our (crappy! but I didn’t say that) server crashes, we won’t lose important correspondence.” (“Like perhaps what happened to all of YOUR emails and your document files a couple of months ago ,” I wanted to add, but I resisted. And, of course, I was able to replace a significant chunk of what he lost. From MY personal Gmail account, that I set up for use at work. Yeah.)
“Oh. Give her that password too then, Honey.” Zilla looked like an elementary teacher’s pet trying to shield her “Capitals of Europe” test from the prying eyes of her unprepared classmates. Give me a stinking break. Geeeeeez. This was kind of like extracting teeth.
I started formulating nonsensical exclamations in my head: “NO, don’t give Ellen the business password to Staples!!! No telling what kind of havoc she could wreak with THAT!!” “Guard that Vistaprint username with your LIFE. She’ll go BONKERS and order 2 million double-sided glossy business cards.”
Even then, I was smirking a little, and had a real struggle making my way back to my desk before my shoulders started to shake with mirth. I’m kind of irreverent that way. Seriously though, Boss knew I wasn’t the type to misappropriate resources. WHAT could they be THINKING???
Anyhow, armed with my new arsenal of usernames and passwords, and yes, by the way, she’d changed most of the usernames too , I logged into our corporate bank account. I can’t express to you my shock. All the bills, even those that I’d already set to pay ONLINE, had been paid via paper check and snail mail, by Zilla. I could see their little cleared transaction records right there in front of me. Yep, her efforts meant this month’s bills had been paid TWICE, and again, without the benefit of a quick phone call to me to see whether they NEEDED to be paid, which of course they DIDN’T.
Boss was already more or less aware of this fact, because he mentioned it as he left the office area to return to his conference with the client. I wondered silently if this had been the subject of some angry words between them, because his acknowledgment seemed a little….strained.
Oh, and by the way, the insurance company had “messed up” and charged our bank account twice for the auto insurance premium, but he’d made sure to put them in their place, they were full of remorse, and they’d be reimbursing us.
Yeah, buddy. Wonder what they made of your tirade when they researched and discovered that they had received TWO paper checks. Written by Zilla on different dates, but both signed by YOU, Boss. It’s possible to see that sort of thing, you know, because there are copies of the checks on the bank website. (I’m sure Boss really didn’t know that it was his and his new wife’s mistake. Zilla no doubt had him convinced otherwise, because of course SHE couldn’t possibly have screwed it up!)
Even though I was more or less fuming, I cut her some slack here, because she’d already amassed a whole catalog of startling transgressions, and she hadn’t even been with us a fortnight.
And the day wasn’t over yet….
Chapter 11-Pregzilla: The Honeymoon’s Over
All of us at the office had such high expectations of Zilla. (Well, except for Boss’ remarkably prophetic Sis, who had already predicted that our hopes were in for a dashin’.) But notwithstanding, we hoped; almost all of us on tenterhooks with the prospect that Bridezilla would be, you know, not only a consort for Boss (an extinguisher to contain the fire in Boss’ pants if you will), but also a tremendous asset his personal life, and quite candidly, to our business as well.
Another pair of hands to share the oft demanding work. Someone to help talk Boss down from his periodically grandiose ideas. Someone to be a persuasive voice of gentility, civility and deportment where Boss sometimes seems to lack fundamental wherewithal. Someone to gently help reform Boss’ character and personality flaws, making him easier to work with and more effective in his endeavors. And instead of that amazing and breathlessly awaited Someone, we got Zilla. Yep, our hopes were definitely in for a dashin’.
My first indication that Zilla’s ready-made career wasn’t exactly meeting ANY of our expectations was the first day she and I were in the office together after the honeymoon. I was at my desk (the one outside Boss’ office), Boss was in our conference room meeting with a client and Zilla was at Boss’ desk taking care of some mass mailing details on the computer.
[A little aside here: That mass mailing she was doing was being sent using an email service that she and Boss had subscribed to during my little post-honeymoon holiday from the office. They entered into the contract at the recommendation of a recording artist that Boss really admires, and I have an idea that somewhat starstruck Boss wanted to be able to tell the guy that he’d taken his advice.
Thing was, we already HAD a mass email program, purchased by me, with Boss’ approval, at a TOTAL one-time cost equal to just ONE monthly installment of the service they signed up for. This was all news to me, but whatever works for Mrs. 80WPM, right? I mean, I thought it was a tad extravagant, but after all, if she was going to be doing all the future mass emailings, I earnestly wanted her to be within her comfort zone. ]
Cut to newly Preg-but blissfully unaware-zilla, freaking OUT in Boss’ office. THOUSANDS of these mass emails she’d sent out a day or so earlier were being bounced back as SPAM. The commotion in his office caused Boss to come FLYING in from the conference room to learn that our corporate account had been blacklisted, all our organization’s email addresses had been locked down, and all the major ISPs had been duly notified that we were officially email spammers.
How could this happen? Easy. During her “settling in” week, she had scoured my computer for email addresses. She downloaded EVERY email address that had ever existed on my system into this new program, including the Chinese spammers in my trash bin, thank-you-very-much, and used that list to send out a newsletter.
A little backstory on the email database issue. A few months previous, I had compiled the thousands of email addresses that Boss had amassed over the years into one single list. This had never before been attempted, except very halfheartedly, by a lackadaisical company that was the erstwhile managers of our website. I made it my fervent ambition that our organization would send ONLY to valid email addresses and ONLY to people who actually wanted to be on our email list. Does that make any kind of crazy sense? So, in order to accomplish that and not get our accounts flagged as spammers, I hand-sent only TEN emails at a time. Took a bit, with a 15,000 address list ...
It took me a little over three WEEKS to completely glean the good addresses from the 15K addresses that were originally in the database. I made note of every email that bounced, every duplicate address, hand-corrected the typos, removed the unwilling, and otherwise purified that original list until it was much smaller, and until EVERY address was absolutely correct and went to a real person that really wanted to read it. I saved that list and was using it successfully with my cheap-but-effective email program.
So instead of giving me a simple one minute PHONE call (“Ellen, where do you keep the current email database?” immediately springs to mind as a possible opening question) and alleviating the heartbreaking symptoms of ignorance … In one fell swoop, Zilla trashes our email reputation, locks out all our accounts so that no one in our office can send nor receive business emails, and ROYALLY ticks off several contacts with whom I’d been trying to forge a professional discreet business relationship. With a hundred word email “newsletter” full of haphazard inaccuracies, typos, misspellings and grammatical errors. The American recipients of this cryptic communiqué didn’t have much of a comprehension advantage over the proud new Chinese members of our mailing list. Wow. As I’ve said before, scorched earth. Maybe typing only 50 words per minute might have helped….
Another pair of hands to share the oft demanding work. Someone to help talk Boss down from his periodically grandiose ideas. Someone to be a persuasive voice of gentility, civility and deportment where Boss sometimes seems to lack fundamental wherewithal. Someone to gently help reform Boss’ character and personality flaws, making him easier to work with and more effective in his endeavors. And instead of that amazing and breathlessly awaited Someone, we got Zilla. Yep, our hopes were definitely in for a dashin’.
My first indication that Zilla’s ready-made career wasn’t exactly meeting ANY of our expectations was the first day she and I were in the office together after the honeymoon. I was at my desk (the one outside Boss’ office), Boss was in our conference room meeting with a client and Zilla was at Boss’ desk taking care of some mass mailing details on the computer.
[A little aside here: That mass mailing she was doing was being sent using an email service that she and Boss had subscribed to during my little post-honeymoon holiday from the office. They entered into the contract at the recommendation of a recording artist that Boss really admires, and I have an idea that somewhat starstruck Boss wanted to be able to tell the guy that he’d taken his advice.
Thing was, we already HAD a mass email program, purchased by me, with Boss’ approval, at a TOTAL one-time cost equal to just ONE monthly installment of the service they signed up for. This was all news to me, but whatever works for Mrs. 80WPM, right? I mean, I thought it was a tad extravagant, but after all, if she was going to be doing all the future mass emailings, I earnestly wanted her to be within her comfort zone. ]
Cut to newly Preg-but blissfully unaware-zilla, freaking OUT in Boss’ office. THOUSANDS of these mass emails she’d sent out a day or so earlier were being bounced back as SPAM. The commotion in his office caused Boss to come FLYING in from the conference room to learn that our corporate account had been blacklisted, all our organization’s email addresses had been locked down, and all the major ISPs had been duly notified that we were officially email spammers.
How could this happen? Easy. During her “settling in” week, she had scoured my computer for email addresses. She downloaded EVERY email address that had ever existed on my system into this new program, including the Chinese spammers in my trash bin, thank-you-very-much, and used that list to send out a newsletter.
A little backstory on the email database issue. A few months previous, I had compiled the thousands of email addresses that Boss had amassed over the years into one single list. This had never before been attempted, except very halfheartedly, by a lackadaisical company that was the erstwhile managers of our website. I made it my fervent ambition that our organization would send ONLY to valid email addresses and ONLY to people who actually wanted to be on our email list. Does that make any kind of crazy sense? So, in order to accomplish that and not get our accounts flagged as spammers, I hand-sent only TEN emails at a time. Took a bit, with a 15,000 address list ...
It took me a little over three WEEKS to completely glean the good addresses from the 15K addresses that were originally in the database. I made note of every email that bounced, every duplicate address, hand-corrected the typos, removed the unwilling, and otherwise purified that original list until it was much smaller, and until EVERY address was absolutely correct and went to a real person that really wanted to read it. I saved that list and was using it successfully with my cheap-but-effective email program.
So instead of giving me a simple one minute PHONE call (“Ellen, where do you keep the current email database?” immediately springs to mind as a possible opening question) and alleviating the heartbreaking symptoms of ignorance … In one fell swoop, Zilla trashes our email reputation, locks out all our accounts so that no one in our office can send nor receive business emails, and ROYALLY ticks off several contacts with whom I’d been trying to forge a professional discreet business relationship. With a hundred word email “newsletter” full of haphazard inaccuracies, typos, misspellings and grammatical errors. The American recipients of this cryptic communiqué didn’t have much of a comprehension advantage over the proud new Chinese members of our mailing list. Wow. As I’ve said before, scorched earth. Maybe typing only 50 words per minute might have helped….
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