“I concur. So stop rejecting my team’s reports because you don’t agree with the standard procedures you signed off on,” I say, because askingare you not overstepping right now, Carter? would only sidetrack this bullshit, as this man is incapable of ever admitting that he’s wrong.
“Idoagree with my procedures.” His words, blunt as ever, cause my spine to straighten becauseha, as if. “My only concern is how your team is interpreting them?—”
“We are only followingyourdocumented steps. If you don’t like it, then might I suggest you review your SOPs more frequently and see what calibration needs to be done? Just to ensure that everything goes more smoothly in the long run, of course.” My voice practically oozes with a note so saccharine that it’s sickening. “Now, I must respond to your emails and prepare for my next meeting. Goodbye.”
Then I exit the call, lean back in my seat, and glare up at the ceiling. How is it possible for one person to ruin your day before it’s even eight in the morning?
“Have you ever considered,” my younger sister chimes in, and my head swivels in her direction just in time to witness her stretching her arms over her head, “taking a day off? I’m just saying. Your mental health would thank you.”
My lips press together as I unplug my headset and set it down. Unlike Bell, I do not call out sick when I’mnot feeling it.Not feeling itdoes not pay for basic necessities and rent. We cannot keep mooching off of our older sister, Betty, and her fiancé’s generosity. Not with how cramped it is with the four of us under one roof.
I was only supposed to stay with them for a few weeks, not two years.
“Well—”
A notification pings from my laptop, and I twist in my seat to glower at the screen again.
E. Carter: I’ve reached out to Help Desk and told them to remove your annuity SOP suggestions from their July release slate as they are unnecessary.
“You’re fucking unnecessary,” I hiss, and my sister snorts.
E. Carter: Next time, reach out to me first so we do not have to give Ally a runaround when she has other SOPs to create. Let’s not waste people’s time if we can avoid it.
My jaw becomes impossibly tight as I push my seat back and let out a frustrated huff.Maybe I wouldn’t have had to do so if you had checked your emails, Carter.
Launching to my feet, I grab the laundry basket and spare my sister an even tighter smile. “I’ll be right back. I need to get the laundry started and some caffeine in me before my next meeting. Can you feed?—”
“I’ll handle Pie,” she breathes out, and she’s already scrambling out of her bed. “No worries.”
With one less thing to deal with, I drag the laundry out the door and level a polite smile in Betty and Vincent’s direction, wishing I didn’t feel super guilty when Betty shuts her wedding planning book.
Wordlessly, I head toward the balcony where the laundry unit is. Despite the rough start to this morning, at least the clear blue sky promises nothing but sunshine and, hopefully, a brighter day. I knock on wood just in case I jinxed myself.
Once the washing machine’s started and I’ve fixed myself a mug full of instant coffee that would have disappointed my Vietnamese mother and swiped a stale donut left on the counter, I’m back at my desk, prepping last-minute for the status update meeting with my manager and making notes of everything my QC team has been up to since last week’s call.
Chewing on my donut, I’m barely jotting down the hiccups my team’s facing due to my canker sore of a coworker I refuse tothink of in the few minutes of solace left when the ringtone goes off and a pop-up appears in the bottom corner.
I hop on the call two seconds in and, already, I’m the last one to arrive. There are only three of us, but still.
A grimace forms around the edges of my lips when I hear my manager laughing along with Carter’s deep and hearty chuckle—the only thing warm about him in what I’m quite sure is that cold-blooded reptilian body of his.
Knowing howbro-yCarter is and having gone through this at least five hundred times now, I hit mute, lean back in my seat, and glaze over as he continues to talk sports with our manager.
This is only supposed to be a thirty-minute call where we’re supposed to give Ed a recap of everything our own teams have been up to so he can report back to his boss that we’ve been productive.
Chatting about last night’s game isnotproductive. Then I groan when I hear Carter recommend some hiking trail for Ed and his wife to check out if they’re ever in the area. He’s so weekend warrior, it hurts.
Since it’ll take a while, I scroll through my phone and check my application progress, making sure everything crucial has been submitted and perking up slightly when I see an unread response from an old college advisor.
Then I woodenly stare at my notes for today’s update and wonder why Ed doesn’t just ask us to send them in via email. I still need to meet up with my team and fix the hiccups spilling over from yesterday, so my team and his don’t passive-aggressively fight for three hours on end via emails.
Seventy-two emails.
With everybody CC’d to the chain.
All because the QA team didn’t like the fact that we pointed out a typo. That’s been repeatedtwo hundred timesfrom therandom legal documents we pulled to analyze and audit. My team did their job. It’s not my fault that his team didn’t do theirs.
“All right, my B&E team,” Ed says cheerfully. “What do we have going on in QC, Barbie?” Before I can set my mug down, his tongue clicks a beat. “Besides the fact that you’ve now been with us for two years.”
