Thursday, August 28, 2008
Job offer
I call my daughter a drama queen, but after yesterday, I have to think she comes by it naturally. Actually it started Tuesday night. Just before heading to bed, I discovered that I had an e-mail from Buster, my old boss at Wombatsch. It was very straightforward--we want to hire you now because were drowning in work. My first reaction was, "Crap. Why now?" You see, a number of weeks ago when I was facing my tenuous finances and inadequate salary, a mail like this would be a sign from God. I had decided that even though my current job seemed heaven sent, it was probably time to move on to something that paid better. Of course, after a few discussions with Noodles, that included the idea that I start moonlighting, we decided the best idea might be for her to start easing back into the workforce. So she's been applying and interviewing for a number of part time teaching positions. She's grown to like the idea and really wants to begin working on her second, er, third career. (Or is it fourth? Nah, she never used her first degree. Not professionally, anyway.)
So now this job offer turns up. We still could use the money, because for all of Noodles' efforts, she isn't pulling in any income yet. Work at Yoyodyne has been rather slow and boring, and going back to Wombatsch would mean more challenging work, even if I get hired as just another grunt in the catalog department. On the other hand, there is that commute out to Eastside. And it would probably mean a switch to second shift. Oh, yeah, and I dimly recall being quite dissatisfied with the place some three, four years ago. I figured I'd wrestle with all this overnight and give Buster a call on Wednesday afternoon. As an afterthought, I decided to ask Noodles if she had any thoughts on the matter. Surprisingly enough, she did.
While she liked the idea of a higher salary as much as I did, she was less tempted to have me make the change. A second shift job out on the Eastside essentially ties me to the car. That would tie her hands if and when she manages to find a teaching gig. Plus the whole reason for her embarking on the job search was to bring in extra income. If she starts bringing in money, that reduces my need to chase a higher salary. Noodles also cross-examined my boredom with Yoyodyne. Even as I explained my ennui, I realized that the excitement of a job change would be fleeting at best. (Overtime, however, springs eternal.)
So after a half hour or so of conversation, I headed to bed. Come the morn, my attraction to Wombatsch had pretty much vanished. My mind no longer whirled with pros and cons--rather my thoughts were awash in the dread of having to actually tell someone "no". Actually, I wasn't quite 100% on the side of refusal yet. I figured I should see what the day brought while the question simmered on the back burner. Give God some time to give me a divine revelation and all that. When I got to work I shot off a quick reply to Buster to tell him that I was thinking about it. When I later peeked at my personal e-mail, I saw that he had sent a quick, hopeful response. This caused the pot on my back burner to boil over and fill my brain with the aromas of anxiety. I ran through all sorts of scenarios, thinking of what excuses I could give and what kind of arguments I might have to fend off. Buster was quite explicit about the need at Wombatsch. What if he asked me to moonlight? I had to double check the employee manual to confirm that it was forbidden. I even had the (fleeting) idea that maybe he could contact my current boss-man, John Emdall, and set up some sort of sub-contractor situation where I could do Wombatsch work for a Yoyodyne paycheck. I so dearly wanted to help out! To offer some sort of hope or comfort as I so callously served my self interest and refused the job, after stringing poor Buster along for all these hours.
Eventually my shift ended and it was time to make the call. Oddly enough, my day was quite busy--including a job that gave my layout muscles a stretch. Was this the heavenly sign I sought? I doubt it, but I decided to turn Buster down anyway. When I reached home, I screwed in my courage... or is that screwed up? Whatever the metaphor, I made the stupid phone call. Part of me was hoping for a voice mail, but I was fully ready for a voice-to-voice conversation. Good thing, too, since Buster was at his desk and answering his phone. Following his example, I got straight to the point and told him I was turning him down. Buster said something along the lines of, "Oh, well, it didn't hurt to ask." Then he asked how things were going. I stammered out that things were okay. He made a joking reference to my fainting spell, and I recounted my only near encounter. He again asked how I was doing and I again couldn't say more than "okay". A sales pitch I was ready for; small talk threw me off guard. Buster then stated that I was always welcome to try to re-apply at Wombatsch and then got back to work. I hung up the phone relieved and feeling a bit foolish.
In retrospect, I think I should have known better. When it comes to the busy season at work, Buster's correspondence has always verged on hyperbole. Back when he was asking everyone to work "as much as they can stand", I'm sure he expected that many folks would only be able to stand an hour or two of overtime. Likewise when he said they needed me to come work, he knew it was a long shot. I, on the other hand, take his messages too darn seriously. Ah, well. It's nice to know that I'm wanted, even if folks can live without me just fine.
So now this job offer turns up. We still could use the money, because for all of Noodles' efforts, she isn't pulling in any income yet. Work at Yoyodyne has been rather slow and boring, and going back to Wombatsch would mean more challenging work, even if I get hired as just another grunt in the catalog department. On the other hand, there is that commute out to Eastside. And it would probably mean a switch to second shift. Oh, yeah, and I dimly recall being quite dissatisfied with the place some three, four years ago. I figured I'd wrestle with all this overnight and give Buster a call on Wednesday afternoon. As an afterthought, I decided to ask Noodles if she had any thoughts on the matter. Surprisingly enough, she did.
While she liked the idea of a higher salary as much as I did, she was less tempted to have me make the change. A second shift job out on the Eastside essentially ties me to the car. That would tie her hands if and when she manages to find a teaching gig. Plus the whole reason for her embarking on the job search was to bring in extra income. If she starts bringing in money, that reduces my need to chase a higher salary. Noodles also cross-examined my boredom with Yoyodyne. Even as I explained my ennui, I realized that the excitement of a job change would be fleeting at best. (Overtime, however, springs eternal.)
So after a half hour or so of conversation, I headed to bed. Come the morn, my attraction to Wombatsch had pretty much vanished. My mind no longer whirled with pros and cons--rather my thoughts were awash in the dread of having to actually tell someone "no". Actually, I wasn't quite 100% on the side of refusal yet. I figured I should see what the day brought while the question simmered on the back burner. Give God some time to give me a divine revelation and all that. When I got to work I shot off a quick reply to Buster to tell him that I was thinking about it. When I later peeked at my personal e-mail, I saw that he had sent a quick, hopeful response. This caused the pot on my back burner to boil over and fill my brain with the aromas of anxiety. I ran through all sorts of scenarios, thinking of what excuses I could give and what kind of arguments I might have to fend off. Buster was quite explicit about the need at Wombatsch. What if he asked me to moonlight? I had to double check the employee manual to confirm that it was forbidden. I even had the (fleeting) idea that maybe he could contact my current boss-man, John Emdall, and set up some sort of sub-contractor situation where I could do Wombatsch work for a Yoyodyne paycheck. I so dearly wanted to help out! To offer some sort of hope or comfort as I so callously served my self interest and refused the job, after stringing poor Buster along for all these hours.
Eventually my shift ended and it was time to make the call. Oddly enough, my day was quite busy--including a job that gave my layout muscles a stretch. Was this the heavenly sign I sought? I doubt it, but I decided to turn Buster down anyway. When I reached home, I screwed in my courage... or is that screwed up? Whatever the metaphor, I made the stupid phone call. Part of me was hoping for a voice mail, but I was fully ready for a voice-to-voice conversation. Good thing, too, since Buster was at his desk and answering his phone. Following his example, I got straight to the point and told him I was turning him down. Buster said something along the lines of, "Oh, well, it didn't hurt to ask." Then he asked how things were going. I stammered out that things were okay. He made a joking reference to my fainting spell, and I recounted my only near encounter. He again asked how I was doing and I again couldn't say more than "okay". A sales pitch I was ready for; small talk threw me off guard. Buster then stated that I was always welcome to try to re-apply at Wombatsch and then got back to work. I hung up the phone relieved and feeling a bit foolish.
In retrospect, I think I should have known better. When it comes to the busy season at work, Buster's correspondence has always verged on hyperbole. Back when he was asking everyone to work "as much as they can stand", I'm sure he expected that many folks would only be able to stand an hour or two of overtime. Likewise when he said they needed me to come work, he knew it was a long shot. I, on the other hand, take his messages too darn seriously. Ah, well. It's nice to know that I'm wanted, even if folks can live without me just fine.
Labels: life, marital discussion, money, Wombatsch, work
Monday, July 07, 2008
Dough-re-mi
Boy, I wish I was rich again. In the past few weeks I took the time between Stargate SG-1 episodes and did some number crunching. Unless we keep getting little presents like the one from Uncle Sam a few months ago, we're going to be spending about $100 more than we take in each month. Getting a raise from Yoyodyne doesn't seem likely, and for various reasons I'm reluctant to go out searching for a different employer. I thought about trying to get a second job to make up the shortfall, but when I mentioned the idea to Noodles, she nixed it in no uncertain terms. Um, perhaps I should instead say that she strongly requested that I not pursue that course of action, lest I give you the impression that I'm not lord and master of my household or something like that.
Then today I had to deal with another low-income irritation. Ever since coming back home, we've been taking advantage of the health insurance that Washington State offers. It seems like what we save in dollars and cents we make up for in paperwork. Like a good steward of the taxpayers' money, the folks at Basic Health insist that we document our income in order to prove our need for assistance. That might work fine for a lot of folks, but it seems like the system wasn't designed for us. The requirement is that, if we have a significant change in monthly income, we document the change and send it in to them. Well, when we applied for Basic Health, we were unemployed, though receiving a rental income. Then I got a job and the renters moved out. Then Noodles got a one time writing assignment. Then Noodles got a part time music teaching gig. A few months later, after we began to realize that my salary wasn't cutting it, she managed to rouse up a second client for her music class. Each time that meant I needed to send in an income adjustment form. What fun!
But it appears that Basic Health was doing their own number crunching. In December, they announced that we were making too much money and no longer qualified for the program. I booted up Quicken and ran the reports. Much as I would have liked to have made too much money, we hadn't. So I sent my data in and they cancelled our cancellation. The other day, I got another notice that we were too rich for the program. Once again I did the math and once again I found out that we were as poor as I thought. This time, however, Noodles called down to Olympia and talked to a real, live, somewhat snippy human being. According to her, the folks down there were using last year's tax return for their calculations. By figuring in our rental and Noodles' writing income, we would be making too much money to qualify. So now I'm sending another note explaining why they shouldn't cancel our health insurance. But this time I'm light on the documentation. I mean, how do you document that we're not making money?
Part of me longs to just do without health insurance. The rationale goes, "Hey, we're poor*, so lets just live like poor people do." But then all I have to do is think about the friends who've had to deal with catastrophic illnesses and I know that paying off the insurance man is worth whatever scrimping and saving we might have to do. Ah, well. At least blogging's free.
_______________________________________
*I use this term jokingly. I don't think we're close to real poverty, even by American standards.
Then today I had to deal with another low-income irritation. Ever since coming back home, we've been taking advantage of the health insurance that Washington State offers. It seems like what we save in dollars and cents we make up for in paperwork. Like a good steward of the taxpayers' money, the folks at Basic Health insist that we document our income in order to prove our need for assistance. That might work fine for a lot of folks, but it seems like the system wasn't designed for us. The requirement is that, if we have a significant change in monthly income, we document the change and send it in to them. Well, when we applied for Basic Health, we were unemployed, though receiving a rental income. Then I got a job and the renters moved out. Then Noodles got a one time writing assignment. Then Noodles got a part time music teaching gig. A few months later, after we began to realize that my salary wasn't cutting it, she managed to rouse up a second client for her music class. Each time that meant I needed to send in an income adjustment form. What fun!
But it appears that Basic Health was doing their own number crunching. In December, they announced that we were making too much money and no longer qualified for the program. I booted up Quicken and ran the reports. Much as I would have liked to have made too much money, we hadn't. So I sent my data in and they cancelled our cancellation. The other day, I got another notice that we were too rich for the program. Once again I did the math and once again I found out that we were as poor as I thought. This time, however, Noodles called down to Olympia and talked to a real, live, somewhat snippy human being. According to her, the folks down there were using last year's tax return for their calculations. By figuring in our rental and Noodles' writing income, we would be making too much money to qualify. So now I'm sending another note explaining why they shouldn't cancel our health insurance. But this time I'm light on the documentation. I mean, how do you document that we're not making money?
Part of me longs to just do without health insurance. The rationale goes, "Hey, we're poor*, so lets just live like poor people do." But then all I have to do is think about the friends who've had to deal with catastrophic illnesses and I know that paying off the insurance man is worth whatever scrimping and saving we might have to do. Ah, well. At least blogging's free.
_______________________________________
*I use this term jokingly. I don't think we're close to real poverty, even by American standards.
Labels: government, life, money, whining
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
January round-up
I know, I'm a couple of days early, but odds are I wouldn't find the time to blog in those two days. I'm a bit surprised that I managed to find time today. Interesting how much my blogging seems to spring as much from the time to write as it does from the desire to write. Ah, well. Anyway, during the past week or so, there were a few things that I wanted to blog about, so I should just write down the short versions.
+++
The last weblogger's meetup gave me the incentive to update the old blogroll. One interesting addition is My Shrapnel, where Gila is posting various writings dealing with her survival of a suicide bombing. Gila's a good writer regardless of the topic, but when she's recounting something so compelling as this, she's fascinating.
+++
A link at Unshelved led me to this blog, where I discovered this post about comic book super-heroes. All I can say is that Eric Burns has perfectly captured my own feelings on the matter.
+++
I got another e-mail from Bloatmeal the other week, asking me if I was ready to switch jobs yet. Surprisingly enough, I felt a moment or two of temptation. Those higher paychecks and benefits were nice to have. Of course, once I started recalling acid reflux and stress headaches and lack of sleep and corporate b.s. and all that, I had an easier time replying, "no."
+++
In a tangential vein, my current boss' last day is Thursday. The whole company is invited out to a dinner/retirement party after work. We're also taking up a collection for a farewell gift. I have to admit that I had a moment of resentment over that. He's the one selling out for big bucks, right? sigh. I can't believe I've gotten so stingy....
+++
I finished Season One of Stargate SG-1. It's so... American. Take the episode "Singularity", where the crew find out that the little girl they've rescued has a nuclear time bomb implanted inside her. A great bit of drama. If it were Farscape, the bomb would have exploded and the crew's anguish and sorrow would have played out over a number of episodes. Instead we get a bomb that magically defuses and dissolves away once the child ventures far enough away from the stargate. Not very satisfying television. Ruminator is right--I should be seeking out the new Battlestar Galactica.
+++
I had a busy Saturday: a Bible class, a memorial gathering and a program on making comics. The memorial was for Anita Rowland. It was nice to hear again how wonderful a person she was. She truly deserved to be loved by as many folks as she was. (Or should I say "as she is", since that affection hasn't gone away.) It did feel a bit weird being there, though. I really didn't know her all that well, and her friends and family even less. I kind of slipped in late for the program and then slipped out early during the socializing. I felt like a ghost mourner, come to pay my respects.
+++
Regarding the comics program, it did give me an idea for a creative endeavor. One of the presenters, David Lasky, gave a workshop on mini-comics, where we were supposed to create our own. While throwing out starter ideas, he wrote down the title "My Most Embarrassing Moment". It occurred to me that a mini-comic might be just the vehicle to tell the tale of my most embarrassing moment in China. It's something that takes up many pages in my writing steno book, but might be able to be condensed into a short, illustrated tale. Of course, if I don't have time to type in a blog, when will I find time to illustrate a comic?
+++
The last weblogger's meetup gave me the incentive to update the old blogroll. One interesting addition is My Shrapnel, where Gila is posting various writings dealing with her survival of a suicide bombing. Gila's a good writer regardless of the topic, but when she's recounting something so compelling as this, she's fascinating.
+++
A link at Unshelved led me to this blog, where I discovered this post about comic book super-heroes. All I can say is that Eric Burns has perfectly captured my own feelings on the matter.
+++
I got another e-mail from Bloatmeal the other week, asking me if I was ready to switch jobs yet. Surprisingly enough, I felt a moment or two of temptation. Those higher paychecks and benefits were nice to have. Of course, once I started recalling acid reflux and stress headaches and lack of sleep and corporate b.s. and all that, I had an easier time replying, "no."
+++
In a tangential vein, my current boss' last day is Thursday. The whole company is invited out to a dinner/retirement party after work. We're also taking up a collection for a farewell gift. I have to admit that I had a moment of resentment over that. He's the one selling out for big bucks, right? sigh. I can't believe I've gotten so stingy....
+++
I finished Season One of Stargate SG-1. It's so... American. Take the episode "Singularity", where the crew find out that the little girl they've rescued has a nuclear time bomb implanted inside her. A great bit of drama. If it were Farscape, the bomb would have exploded and the crew's anguish and sorrow would have played out over a number of episodes. Instead we get a bomb that magically defuses and dissolves away once the child ventures far enough away from the stargate. Not very satisfying television. Ruminator is right--I should be seeking out the new Battlestar Galactica.
+++
I had a busy Saturday: a Bible class, a memorial gathering and a program on making comics. The memorial was for Anita Rowland. It was nice to hear again how wonderful a person she was. She truly deserved to be loved by as many folks as she was. (Or should I say "as she is", since that affection hasn't gone away.) It did feel a bit weird being there, though. I really didn't know her all that well, and her friends and family even less. I kind of slipped in late for the program and then slipped out early during the socializing. I felt like a ghost mourner, come to pay my respects.
+++
Regarding the comics program, it did give me an idea for a creative endeavor. One of the presenters, David Lasky, gave a workshop on mini-comics, where we were supposed to create our own. While throwing out starter ideas, he wrote down the title "My Most Embarrassing Moment". It occurred to me that a mini-comic might be just the vehicle to tell the tale of my most embarrassing moment in China. It's something that takes up many pages in my writing steno book, but might be able to be condensed into a short, illustrated tale. Of course, if I don't have time to type in a blog, when will I find time to illustrate a comic?
Labels: blogging, China, comics, life, money, TV, work
