I do not HAVE a problem.

A great many people have inquired as to my new job.  I got this job on February 2nd, and have mentioned it in passing a couple of times.  I have deliberately not printed the name of the place or any of the names of the people I work with in this blog, for fear that I would be instantly Dooced by upper management.  My job is the Visual Supervisor for one branch (one anchor store in one mall) of a major department store.  As such, I am meant to be overseeing everything that you see when you walk into such a place, from the advertising directing you to where you ought to be spending your money, to the lettering on the walls, to the look of the mannequins.  But not the feel.  If you're feeling up the mannequins, get out or pay extra, you sick fuck.

I don't know how I feel about it, yet, other than the two things I know for sure: It's not to be taken seriously - and, it's just a job.  That has made the past couple of weeks a bit harder, since management has been going nuts about an impending visit from - you guessed it - more management.  So, I get tossed into the deep end of the pool, and worked almost 50 hours this week between Sunday and today getting as much shit correct for this "visit" as I can.  Since management is coming to review how things are doing, this is a bit like cleaning your house before the maid comes, but I get time and a half - so what do I care? 

The most difficult thing to deal with this past week has been the panoply of conflicting attitudes exhibited by other people (and no, B., I will NOT go into detail here).  Suffice it to say, when that many people are in one place, and all make demands of your time, you find yourself humming nasty little tunes about them in your head.  I think I got brain damage from this week on the job.  Wednesday afternoon, I was disassembling a rifle in my head while working - I was doing something else entirely, and my mind wandered, and I suddenly realized that this is what it had wandered off to do.  I was, needless to say, surprised, and had a quick mental wrestling match with myself.  I read a lot about the death of George Reeves, the original TV Superman, and I ate lunches by myself, sitting in my car.  I would get my mind noise just about quieted, and then I would walk back into work, and the carping would begin.  I think I just need an iPod or something.

They make so much noise, I have been mentally electing one of them "Queen of the Harpies" once a day.  Or, picturing them with no mouths, like what happened to Keanu in the 1st Matrix movie.