Please cross your fingers for me: Every real (not-teaching-dogs) job I’ve had, has resulted from a friend telling me about an opening. Today, someone I originally told about my lay-off in 2012 just told me about an IT Analyst opening where she works. Plus, because HR ignored the posting, there’s a bit of urgency about the opening.
My resume is in, and fingers are crossed.
That makes it difficult to type.
As I mentioned in my last diary, with Joy’s death I’ve realized how much I’ve been affected by PADS in general. The additional time with my ride moocher isn’t helping — her constant commentary about how PADS has failed her and a myriad of other clients is driving me bat-shit crazy. I have frequently said (before I ever gave her a ride), “If you feel so negatively about PADS, find something else, and quit using their resources.”
On Tuesday night we were at St. John the Baptist Church in Winfield. A lot of people were on edge, and the discussions about Joy were turning into blame sessions — trying to determine who saw her last in the handicapped stall and who should have phoned 911, when. This became really important because the Bully keeps pushing the Karma message — basically, anyone in the bathroom at the same time as Joy who failed to call 911 is guilty, guilty, guilty.
Earlier, as I was sitting in a chair next to the last available pad, I giggled to myself as the client who was ironically nicknamed Princess thanked the lady next to her for “that information about narcissism.” She found it incredibly interesting, especially “because people don’t even realize that it applies to them!” Apparently, her daughter is a ‘classic case.’ And the apple didn’t fall from the Princess Tree.
Later, Princess was talking about a PADS client who was injured the day Joy passed away — he was bicycling along a major thoroughfare, and is now in critical care. I said it was a pity, but that he should not have been riding his bike while intoxicated. (A friend of his said that when the client had called him prior to his ride, he could not understand what was being said, at all. Plus, I feel sorry for the poor sap who hit him, and now has to live with THAT the rest of his or her life.) Princess lost her mind and started yelling at me that I am so fat that I am going to end up in critical care, and then SHE will talk about ME. She continued to yell, wishing evil curses upon my fat old self, even as a coordinator walked through the area, looking for empty pads — and she gave me permission to move my pad to a Princess Free area.
Apparently, dinner was spent on the Bully’s message of karma for those responsible for Joy’s death, because when Princess later found someone who would yell back at her, even more loudly and longer (all she had to do was spew some of her racist rhetoric), one of the PADS (Paid) coordinators stormed into the area and started screeching, “ARE YOU KIDDING ME? A woman died while you all stood by and let her go and IGNORED HER, and REMEMBER KARMA!!! and now you’re arguing about NOTHING?”
So, that was nice — because we were in the same building when Joy died, and because The Bully continues to bang her drum of hate, we are all guilty and caused her death. Like I said, it would be very helpful for some of us to see a psychiatrist...
Anyway, Princess shut her yap for the evening, but the first words I heard her yelling the next morning, “These blacks aren’t even FROM HERE! I was BORN in DuPage county….” and it went on from there. The same lady who had yelled at her the previous night picked right up where they’d left off. And Princess dialed 911.
Funniest thing I’ve ever seen, at least that day: Princess complaining to a policeman about all of the terrible, hateful things that Her Mark had yelled at her. And for every single one of them, I said, “Oh, like you said to me about being fat, last night?” Followed by her classic line: “I’m not a prostitute.”
I’ve never known anyone (ever) who felt it necessary to say those words.
Between that crazy stay, and then this morning being told by my ride moocher that she was just going to the bathroom at 6:35 as I was headed to the car… I nearly pulled out of the lot at 7 — she was nowhere to be seen — but instead, I pulled up toward the entrance to see if she’d been injured (since this was the location where I’d been clonked on the head, a week ago), and as I walked up to the door near 7:05, she walked out.
I repeated to her how much it upsets me to be late/breaking rules staying on-site (later reinforced when we hit some terrible traffic), and suggested Uber if she needs something on her own timeline. Of course, if I get the job mentioned at the top of the diary, she’ll have to figure out something else soon enough.
Fingers still crossed.