Monday Work Woes

Another Monday already? Come ON. I was so enjoying my makeup-less, yoga panted, wine and chocolate infused, doesn’t-matter-if-I-shower weekend.

Mind you, I have a job that is usually done by middle-aged, overweight, bitter family men who have to make money for their 4 kids in University, so it’s not very enjoyable. I make reports (with numbers, no less) so that management can make super important decisions about whatever the data reflects. I have two problems with this (well, okay, I have 100 problems with my job, but I picked these as the top 2):

1) I am an English major. This means that I spent four years reading classic and modern literature, writing essays on what the flower in the pot represents in a Keats poem, and analyzing conversations between Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth Bennett in Pride and Prejudice. Numbers are not my thing. I still add things up on my fingers. True story.

2) My mental stability is questionable. The amount of tension that these people carry with them is shocking. They stress out, which in turn stresses me out, and then mistakes are made. The fact that mistakes would probably have been made on my part regardless of the stress level is neither here nor there. I never said I was good at my job. The amount of responsibility put on me and the Senior Data Analyst is suffocating. Like, everything depends on the numbers that are presented in our reports. That is WAY too much on my shoulders at my young age of 22. I can barely send an email to higher level management without sweating a questionable amount. Make me generate a report that decides someone's livelihood and I'm ready to assume the fetal position and cry for my Mommy.

The project is about to make a huge turn that will affect a lot of people and the data has to be absolutely correct. Therefore, my nerves are really high, interfering with my regular eating habits (I only ate one chocolate bar today – if it goes down to none, I’m going to have to quit) and my trips to the bathroom become more and more frequent.

I’m terrified of my boss right now. Seriously, I hear people walk near my cubicle and freeze, hoping to God that it isn’t my manager wanting more data or asking me questions to which I most likely won’t know the answer. You’d think I’d be a lot skinnier with the stress that comes from avoiding my manager and supervisor on a regular basis, but no – my metabolism sure is a trooper.

I mean, I know I’m awesome and everything, but what makes people think that a 22 year old English major can handle the responsibilities of an important data job? I had a hard enough time writing my own essays on time in University.

4:19 pm: As you, my dear readers, get the pleasure of me writing this post while at work, you also get the pleasure of reading what happens to me on a minute to minute basis. A prime example? I was called into my manager’s office with my supervisor to talk data, a mistake I made (it’s the stress, I tell you!), and the fact that another manager here says that my friend and I spend too much time chatting in my cubicle. This is the same manager who acts like she loves us and are the best people in the world (we are, though). If you’re going to bitch me out, Manager Who Looks Way Older Than She Is, then say something to me first. Despite my maturity level being far below what it should be, I would appreciate being treated like an adult. Add to the fact that Colleague Bella and I don’t actually talk as much as some people here (I know because I eavesdrop all the time), and she’s just being a PMSing, power hungry bitch.

If nothing else, this job does show me what I don’t want for my career. No desk job. No boss. No numbers.

I’m going to be poor.

Love,

Bella