In shadow

Last week, I was summoned to the HR department to negotiate with the manager (of Hitler-poster-on-the-wall fame) on what terms I would be willing to stay for another year, starting with the finalising of the pay-rise I was promised six months ago. I politely asked her if she was joking. She told me that no, she wasn't joking. I told her I wasn't willing to discuss the matter with her. She told me the Chairman had specifically asked her to represent him on this matter. I told her the Chairman picked the wrong representative. She asked me why. I bombarded her with ten minutes of the most articulately stoney-faced critique I could muster about how dreadful her and her ridiculous department is.

I don't think she's talking to me now, which is a shame, because the fancy letter HR want to advertise next month's employment fair will now (after the assistant that was sent over to the English department had to relay the information that I was in charge in Mr Boss's absence before clearly being advised to avoid me) be written by someone other than me, and will therefore be a load of shit.

I am so past caring, it isn't funny.