Wednesday, November 9, 2011

Cake, or Death: Because You Can't Have It and Eat It, Too.

Last spring, when my mother became dangerously ill again, Hopkins did something that triggered my notoriously hideous (yet well-controlled most of the time) temper : he fired off a snitty little e-mail about the IT job listings I was sending him from my employer, the statewide community college system. The thing read like Dr. Seuss: am not, will not, could not, should a boat, with a coat, et cetera, ad nauseum. I went from zero to blind rage in less than a nanosecond.

The e-mail came at exactly THE worst possible moment, and I fired back an equally, if not hotter, e-mail stating that my mother was on the brink of death and I was sorry if he didn't understand that I was attempting to help him. If I hadn't been so profoundly enraged, I might've returned it in full-Seussian verse, but I was simply too furious. At that point, the Interwebs went dead silent and I washed my hands of the whole bloody mess.

So here we are, some seven months later, and things have changed. I'm not going to elaborate, but I posted a Facebook status that we had an IT opening and guess which one of my friends wasn't getting the ad...then I heard from his sister, asking that I reconsider, explaining why. With a sigh, I shot him a brief e-mail that opened with the statement that I was sending him the job announcement as a favor to his sister, then I braced for him to bite my head off again.

I was shocked out of my socks when he didn't. He e-mailed me immediately to say thanks, he'd uploaded a resume'.

Two days later, it dawned on me that you can't upload a resume' unless you have an existing application file. The application is monstrously long and I heard from him within TEN MINUTES of sending him the link.

To wit: in April, he handed me my head on a plate, when he'd already applied for jobs with the system.

Score: Hopkins, 1; AiredaleGirl, 0- I know when I've been played and there are damn few as can do it. Don't get me wrong. I'm still all for dragging him, kicking and screaming, toward what I know to be some modicum of his potential, but I'd like to cheerfully strangle him, too.  One of these days, I'm going to of these days.

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