Tales From the Dark Side

So I wrote a few posts ago about how a colleague had assigned roles from Star Wars to the people in the office, and bitched about working with the Dark Side. They'd put the AVP in as Palpatine. At first I didn't realize it, because after all, Palpatine (or Darth Sidious, if you want to put it that way) is an old white guy, whereas she's not that old and definitely not white. But after (finally) watching Episode III, everything became clear as crystal. While physically she might not look like Palpatine, she displays all of his evil, manipulation and deception - although not quite on par with his level of intelligence (or however intelligent Lucas manages to write him).

Last week she sent out an email to almost everyone in the office. She likes to do this periodically to show that she's "working" - hell, it seems to be the only thing she knows how to do anyway. In it she assigned me to cast an entire series coming up. All this without discussing it with me in any way whatsoever. And she knows, she completely knows that I abhor casting, because I'd made that clear before. I'd been warned before about the possibility of her taking her revenge for me working on the musical, but never thought she'd actually carry it out, and in such a devious way too. She always writes very lovely emails, because she makes it look like you were chosen for your task (a.k.a. bitchwork) because you were good and capable and a huge asset to the company. I'm not one to fall for cheap flattery though, and shot back a reply that it was impossible due to my writing commitments. The two tasks could not co-exist.

Very nicely, she replied, again copying it to everyone on the planet, that I was absolutely correct, and hence my writing was going to have to stop until the series was over. Theoretically, according to her warped logic, since the show I was writing for wasn't due to start production until late October, I can cast until the series ends in September, then have plenty of time to start writing.

I didn't know what else to do besides launch a protest and absolutely refuse to work, so I went to my VP (a.k.a. Obi-Wan Kenobi). Strangely enough, he seemed to tolerate her presence much like one would tolerate a fly buzzing around one's head - while annoying, the fly never directly harms him, so he doesn't bother swatting it. I explained the situation, and while he agreed with me on my analysis of the impossibility of the writing situation, he also said it was complicated and we needed to consider other aspects of the matter as well. But he agreed to talk to her about it, so I was relatively pacified.

He spoke to her, and after a couple of minutes they gestured for me to enter her office (or rather, lair). A compromise had been reached: I would cast for two episodes while they looked for a freelancer to come in and do the rest of the series. A freelancer would be so much easier and cheaper - she could already rattle off a couple of experienced names for the position off the top of the head, so it was obvious she'd wanted me to do it for the sole purpose of ruining my life in the short term. I agreed to the compromise.

It was then that she really pissed me off. She insinuated that I was unfriendly, selfish, unmotivated and untrustworthy. By refusing to do work like this, and doing a bad job with the previous casting assignment, I was showing how uncooperative and irresponsible I was. Basically her argument was that because I was such a complete fuck-up, no one in the office wanted me to be on their team.

Now this woman, when she gets started on something, she's like a fucking freight train - nothing can stop her mouth from moving, and she seems to go on autopilot mode. When she's exhausted everything she has to say, she'll go right back to the beginning and start all over again. Her mouth opens and closes, and nothing coming out makes any sense, like a sheep bleating. While it's amusing to read about it here, in person it's really fucking annoying. To get her to stop and allow yourself to get a word in edgeways, all you can do is raise your voice. And once you do that, she's won. That's what she wants you to do, to make you lose control and look like a fool.

At that moment, facing all these baseless accusations, I had to speak. So I raised my voice just a tad and made it a little bit harder-edged. It wasn't even a third of what I'm fully capable of - you don't work two years in a military prison and not know how to really fuck someone over verbally.

Who exactly have you been speaking to, I asked, because I'm quite certain that not everyone in the office thinks this way.

Actually I knew exactly who she'd been speaking to - her cronies Boba Flat and Jabba the Slut. The sycophantic sisters-in-arms. She really only cares about their opinions, which is really too bad, because they probably share ten brain cells between the two of them, and more annoying and bitchy traits than a roomful of over-the-hill drag queens. Okay, I'll admit I'm being too cruel. Jabba probably rates higher in my book, because she actually knows how to do her job - but then again, she's had over a decade of experience. Boba just knows how to scream - she's like a skinny Asian version of a banshee.

But I digress.

Palpatine started giving examples.

"Jar Jar Binks (my former EP) doesn't want you back."

Not a huge surprise. While she and I are OK with each other in our daily interactions, she's not the type to like her subordinates feisty and questioning her decisions, which I did a lot of. I don't hate her, I just think it's better we stay out of each other's path as far as work goes.

"Jabba thinks you're irresponsible, leaving the last casting job like that. She doesn't want you working under her."

Oh hell no, I wouldn't want that either, I said. Although it's an unfair statement, since Palpatine herself pulled me out of that previous assignment to work on the musical with half a day's notice. I didn't say the last bit, because her type doesn't see reason.

This (casting assignment left unfinished) situation was subtly brought up and discussed at the post-mortem of the musical at the end of the week, and our Big Boss made it clear while not naming any names that people should not be blamed for not completing their daily tasks when put on a Special Task Force. That pleased me.

I digress again.

Obi-Wan stepped in, sensing he had to rescue the situation before I blew up further. Quickly, we wrapped it up and everyone agreed to the compromise. I didn't really want to do it, but I went along because I didn't want to put him in a difficult position.

As we walked back to his room, he said, "You have to keep your cool, I can't do anything if you lose it."

Thing was, I hadn't lost it. Not even close. In fact, I was feeling a very uncomfortable rolling in my chest and stomach because I'd been controlling myself. I get that way everytime someone pisses me off and I try to hold my full fury back. I guess I have what one might call an explosive temper. But I do try to control myself.

For example, I was at a bank signing some papers when I was told we had to come back another day because my driver's license was not valid as a form of ID with the bank - they needed an identity card. I pointed out, with murder in my voice, that everywhere else accepted a driver's license as a perfectly valid form of identification. Why would the government bother with upgrading everyone's driving licenses to a fancy new one with a bar code and a photo if they didn't intend for it to be used in other situations too? My IC was made when I was 12 and I look nothing like the photo on it. Did they need verification of the address? No? Then it made no sense to only accept the IC.

But this is Singapore, where if something is changed, there is no logic that says, rightfully, other things should be changed in turn in a domino effect. No, one change is one change. Everything else stays the same, nothing is affected. Change the driver's license all you want, but we only accept the IC.

Fucking idiots. I hate Singaporeans.

Anyway, I was feeling that familiar rolling in my chest, but I thought I was doing a very good job of holding it in. My friend pointed out after the fact that I was actually very nasty to the poor girl.

Well, I might have been nasty in tone, but I made sure I was still polite. I used "please" and "thank you" and all that jazz. That's how I show my displeasure. I kill you with my tone of voice, but on the surface I exchange pleasantries. It seems I deal with anger like a character in a soap opera.

Well, it's either that and feel the rolling in my chest, or give in and explode, smashing the place up and yelling that people are fucking morons. I usually choose the former.

Dammit, I digressed yet again.

One of these days I just might explode in the office. Then everyone will know the full force of my fury.

They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. Well, believe me, they ain't seen nothin' yet.