Caterwauling

I got a call from someone you never want to get a call from at 5 p.m. on a Friday: Human Resources.

Getting a call at that hour on that day sends up alarm bells that it’s “firing time.”

But yesterday I swallowed the trauma response. As someone who’s had to DO the firings, I know that you don’t need to panic unless they bring a witness.

I earned a little talking-to because one of my people is taking off four days and wanted to change one of those days. I’d told her I hire adults and I don’t care if you update our system. Enjoy your trip and thanks for ensuring your absence is covered.

WELL. Someone cares.

Anyway since they already had me on the line, they wanted to ask about a conflict I was having with someone.

I said oh? I assumed it was with LVP2 since HR had called one day right after LVP2 screamed at me and I was in tears.

Nope, someone else.

I said we have different communication styles, and we will never have an easy time working together. But I don’t even think about them most days.

I waited for a follow-up question about LVP2, but that was it, Fort Pitt.

A guy I used to work for (not a fond memory) was on one of his coke binges and referred to someone as “inconsequential.”

I’m going to keep that word handy for the next time I get a call.

It’s so weird. I have fans on my staff and all around the company. People WANT to come to my team because it’s so functional.

So for me to have cultivated a reputation for not getting along with people — Breaking Brad, Moldilocks, Covid Boy, LVP1 and 2 (thanks to 1 for calling HR on me because I blocked you on Twitter! Your petty bullshit still hangs over us, but you proved my claim that you’re crazy) — I prefer to think that I’m just clear about not suffering fools anymore.

Like all those times I was forced to listen to those Don Jr.-esque ramblings. It was always so painful. But I remember marveling at how he savored that word.

I like it too. Now I invest my time in those who are consequential to my day, my life, my joy and my survival.

The rest … as I initially replied … “Who?”

One of Taylor Swift’s best songs is about a little boy named Ronan.

I can’t listen to it too often. I mean, I don’t get enough music in my life, and it can’t make me sad when it does. But every now and again, shuffle serves it up. And today, four years to the day that I moved into this condo, I listened to it.

It really makes me think of Cocoa, who I met three years ago around this time. I don’t know how old she is (vets have offered anywhere from 4 to 14 — my new vet thinks she’s closer to 7) or how much time we’ll get together. So I just love on her and tell her that our story has many chapters ahead.

Anyway I’m sure there’s something else I’m supposed to remember about this time.

And I imagine I’ll get reminded about it because someone’s addicted AF to me.