Friday, May 19, 2006

The Joy of Estrogen

Ok. First let me start off by saying I'm NOT a misogynist.


Allow me to borrow from a time-honoured racist phrase and say, "Some of my best friends are women." Its true. Sheri was my beer-swilling, hockey-watching, concert-going, cribbage-playing best friend down here in North Cakalacky until she moved. Heck, I would have married her in a heartbeat had it not been for the fact that she has a vagina instead of a penis.

But I digress.

What I want to focus on today is that although women can be fun to play with, they are decidedly not fun to work with. Or manage. And I have the unfortunate task of managing NINE women. All of whom seem to hate one another with a passion reserved for only the darkest of Edward Albee plays. Or soap operas.

The lab where I work is a daytime drama, minus any hot, shirtless men and/or love interest. I think it would do rather well on CBS. The name I have picked out is "Days of our Lab-ias". Its just a working title, mind you.

The women that I manage range in age from 24 to 54 and they seem to delight in stabbing each other in the back. Rather that work as a team to overthrow the evil tyrant (aka ME), they tattle on each other incessantly. And over the most inane stuff!

"J___ is selling Avon on work time"
"C___ is using FMLA when really her boyfriend beat her up"
"S___ took 40 minutes for lunch"
"M___ is surfing the internet"
"B___ spent 2 hours on ONE inspection"
"T____'s radio is too loud"
"L____ is on the phone too much"

You think I'm making this stuff up? I couldn't make up shit this good. Of course, each tattling puts me in a bind. I have to investigate the allegations, and then decide if action needs to be taken. I've actually written up nearly everyone in my lab for one infraction or another.

And of course, each writeup merely serves to add gasoline to the fire. Because after the person gets written up, they go on a quest to find out WHO told on them. And then it becomes their mission to find something else to tell me about to get back at the person who told, and the whole cycle (pun intended) starts again.

I swear its enough to make me go postal. But that would mean I would have to register for a gun license, wait, then go to Wal-Mart to buy a gun and some ammo (where else would one buy a gun??) and then make my hitlist... uggh. Its just too much work and I'm far to lazy for that.

So yesterday I tried to foster some teamwork by point blank telling them that they could absolutely run this lab if they merely worked with, rather than against, each other. Seriously. I'm so easygoing that as long as the work gets done, I couldn't care less if they took 40 minutes for lunch or sold avon or surfed the internet.

But I'm confident that it won't happen. There are too many Betas in my fishtank for there to be any peace.


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