Multi-Task Hero

One of my favorite people at work is KM.  She is the Organizational Development (OD) specialist for a >1,000 person organization that consists primarily of scientists and engineers.  She should get combat pay for dealing with introverted, communicationally-challenged and surprisingly emotionally needy humans on a daily basis.

We bonded fairly early after my arrival in the new shop about two years ago.  Every now and then she would stop by my office just to say “Fuck” because it was a safe place for her to say it.  We have provided mutual respite care for each other when the corporate “You’ve Got To Be Shitting Me?” factor reaches alert levels…

One of the reasons she’s my hero is that she is not only a professional management consultant, but she’s an engaged wife/mother and citizen of the community around her.  Oh, and she decided to start pursuing her PhD this year on top of everything else she takes on… 

We agreed a few months ago that i would be her “Boot In The Ass, B.I.T.A”, checking in with her periodically to watch the stress levels, provide a source of non-judgmental “how’s that working for you?” reflection, and gossip about the nerd-force assess other environmental factors affecting her ability to juggle all of it.

Today was B.I.T.A. Session Number One.

i got to her office around 3:00pm.  She apologized up front…

OD Goddess:   Between the time I pinged you, and the time you got here, I got sucked into an interactive chat session.  A woman at the front office needs to unload some back story about this website development activity we’ve both worked…

daisyfae:  Hey, i can come back later if you need to focus on it… no worries…

OD Goddess:  Oh, no.  I just need to give her a virtual “head nod” every now and then.

She then turned to the computer screen, and typed “Gotcha!” in the chat window.  From there?  She started to give me the status update of her coursework. 

We continued our conversation, and she would periodically disengage for a microsecond, catch up on the chat history, and type “Wow!” or “Oh, Lordy!  Not again!” and then without missing a beat, go on to re-address her current playing field – at work, school and home.  As she laid out her circumstances, we talked about what she really needed from me as “B.I.T.A. Counselor”.  And she continued to provide encouragement to the stressed-out colleague uploading a painful bureaucratic experience.

By the end of the conversation, she needed to re-engage her virtual colleague, and we’d covered the turf necessary.  She laughed as she said “And the next time we’re on chat, you’re going to wonder who the hell is in my office, and what I’m REALLY doing!”

With her ability to multi-task? i suggested there could be a second career for her working sex-chat rooms.  And we could sit together, yak, drink beer and eat chocolate while it was all going down…

Note from a fly…

If there had been a fly on my wall last night, roughly between the hours of 8:30-11:00 pm, this is sort of what happened…  

Not an atypical evening at home, which is probably why the reaction seemed weird when i was trying to explain it to a friend at work this morning….  And probably why i do not just sit around at home more often.  

In the big leather armchair, at the laptop.  Five different windows open, flipping between them, while on the phone with Mom, making arrangements for a visit this weekend.  Deciding to take Mom to see a local theater production, buying tickets while listening to Mom describe all of the food she’s eaten since Sunday.  

Off the phone with Mom, pulls up phone number from computer. Dials.  Leaves message with friend of stroke victim, who is primary care  coordinator while friend is still in the hospital.  Hangs up, wanders into kitchen, opens refrigerator and stares at contents.  Closes fridge, snags purple popsicle from freezer, returns to chair and laptop.   

Daughter enters room, with toys from pet store for dog and cat.  Once dog is distracted with stuffed duck, both trample down the stairs to torture cat with robotic mouse.  Cat only mildly amused.  Mother and daughter highly amused.  For about five minutes.  

Return upstairs to chair, snagging SCUBA book en route.  Turn Presidential “State of the Union” address on kitchen TV, and listen while doing homework.  In between homework questions, alternate between surfing internet and yelling at television “C’mon, Muthafuckah!  You are the President!  Take it!  Command the room!  COMMAND THE PEOPLE!”  

Finish first chapter of homework, and realize that if Mom is visiting over the weekend, the television in the guest room needs to be operational.  Trample downstairs to storage room, retrieve 13″ television and digital converter box.  Clear off bed, desk and whatnot while untangling cords, and still occasionally yelling at the kitchen television.  Watch approximately one minute of presidential address from small television.  

Stop by refrigerator, open door, stare at contents — disappointed that something new and tasty has not magically appeared over the past hour or so.  Grab an orange popsicle from freezer, return to chair, check e-mail, start SCUBA chapter 3 homework.  Scream at television “Overturn ‘Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell’!  Oh, yeah!  But really do it this time…”.   

Return to refrigerator.  Ignore food.  Fix cranberry-vodka cocktail.  Respond to e-mail ping – message from ex-girlfriend of stroke victim.  Another update, suggestion that his local network will need lots of help when he’s released from the hospital, and that he responded with huge smile when they told him i’d been in touch.  Weep uncontrollably*, while responding to her message.  

Blow nose, loudly.  Return to homework.  Yell at television a few more times while drinking cranberry-vodka cocktail.  Turn television off to avoid hearing Republican response.  Finish homework, simultaneously finish drink.  Put on pajama pants and down jacket, put dog on leash,  go out to garage.  Smoke cigarette with daughter’s boyfriend, while dog destroys plants with urine.  

and i wasn't even that jacked up yesterday...

  

* Not a plea for “hugs”.  i cry a lot.  It’s not a big deal.  Fuck, at my age?  i can get weepy at a god damned Honda commercial…