Raging Bullsh*t

I feel the need for a rant. Much the same way that I felt the need to yell at slow drivers, slow pedestrians, stupid people and anyone who happened to get in my way on the way home from work. If I'd thought it would have changed anything, I would even have contemplated yelling at people at work, like the guy who drives me insane at the best of times, but burst out laughing for no apparent reason when I was the only person nearby.

Most of all, I would have gone to the guy in human resources who manages payroll, and I would have given him a memorable bollocking for screwing up my bonus payment - or hopefully screwing it up, because otherwise I'm getting taxed at a rate somewhere north of 50 cents in the dollar. I don't make that much money in the first place, but to lose half the bonus that is supposed to even the playing field a little, makes me see red, feel red, be red.

Yep. Once again, my lovely employers have short changed me. And this time it's not through anything stupid I may have miscalculated. After waiting patiently all day for the money to land in my bank account, I nearly fell off my chair when it did arrive. Less than half the figure I had been told as the before tax amount. When the rushing sound in my ears went down a little, I began to consider my options and do some calculations. And I'm out of there. One way or another, I'm leaving. It's all a question of how soon I can get my ducks in a row and skedaddle.

I'm sick of the crap conditions, the annoying people, the pathetic pay, and the fact that being in government means we are under constant scrutiny and don't even get to let our hair down with a decent Christmas party. I hate that I can spend a day in head office and the only person who talks to me is the guy beside me, who says hi when I sit down and bye when I leave, and my brother's girlfriend, who works upstairs. I. hate. my. job. It's reached the point where I'm angry and frustrated enough to do something about it, beyond ranting on my blog.

It might not have been so bad if I hadn't found out a few other things today. Like my brother's much less qualified girlfriend is on significantly more cash than me. Her colleague, who is in a role junior to mine, is also on more than me, although not much. Her bonus is almost $2000 more than mine, however. Anyone who didn't know would think that I don't work bloody hard dealing with the morons and fielding the front line enquiries, keeping things on an even keel and burying how much I dislike what I'm doing, having sold out almost every belief I assembled during all my years of study.

So come Monday, when she's back from leave, I'm asking my boss if she'll be a referee for me. Tomorrow, I'm stomping my way to pay roll and demanding the rest of my bonus. And now, I'm consoling myself with the thought of what takeaway I can pick up from somewhere close, even though I've already changed into comfy trackies and a hideous by cosy cardy. Hell, last time I checked KFC didn't have a dress code on the drive through. I'm going to be cruising job sites and marking out potentials. I've already updated my CV recently. And until I can start sending it out, I'm looking at vintage dresses. Yep. Junk food and shopping, soothing the savage beast within. Or they would be if my bonus hadn't been so pathetically small that I can't really afford to buy anything. Stupid bastards.