Every now and then, Husband says something that causes me to go toe to toe with him, do a Harrison Ford angry finger-in-face point, and growl, “I’m blogging this!”*
Let me back up, for context. Fair warning: this is a rant, because I am angry.
My husband came home after only being at work for two hours. Why? Oh, see, as an engineer with an actual degree, multiple professional certifications (can’t list them; they’re meaningless to me) and several years of experience with this company, he has to pull a goddamned split shift. That’s right, he’s going back at midnight and working another eight hours.
Now, you’re a rational, intelligent, sensitive person. I know this because you read my blog and that shows excellent taste. (It also demonstrates an almost painful level of sexiness, and that you are likely met with resentment and awe by the less-cool who flock to your shadow, but we’re not here to talk about you.) You are, therefore, outraged, and at this very moment demanding to know who is responsible for this wildly unfair treatment of such a brilliant intellectual resource as my husband. Well, I’ll tell you.
Scott’s been a feature at The Company for as long as I can remember. In fact, he was there when Husband was just a contractor, when Scott marched into a department that was a sparkling model of product improvements and told them (this is not one of my colorful exaggerations) to stop everything they were doing and do all new things, then proceeded to list all the things they’d done a few years back, before they refined their processes. Scott was eventually sacked when he asked Husband to prepare some visuals showing the overall productivity and trends of the department, and his superiors couldn’t help but notice that the steady upward trend had taken a sudden nosedive the very day Scott arrived. Poor Scott was given a coffee cup and told to go wander the halls and find someone who would hire him, Husband got Scott’s job, and the rest is history.
Now they’ve crossed paths again. And Scott’s still fucking things up. Only now he’s doing it in such a way that causes many people to have to work horrible hours, and Husband – who has a teenager, so no daycare issues to work out, and a wife at home who can handle the animals, so no “I have to be home to let the dog out” excuse – gets the worst of the shifts.
ME: Seriously? They’ve got you – a salaried engineer – working a goddamned split shift?
HIM: Yep. But if it makes you feel any better, I’m not technically going back today.
ME: No… don’t even say…
HIM: Yeah, midnight to eight A.M.
ME: Are you fucking with me right now???
ME: (angry, Harrison Ford finger point) I’m blogging this!
HIM: (nods) I figured.
ME: (storms off) Scott’s a dick!
HIM: (following) Technically, it’s not his fault I’m doing the third shift… It just worked out better because –
ME: (shouting) Whose fault is it that this shit wasn’t done right the first time?
ME: And he’s?
HIM: (sighs) A dick.
HIM: So it’s two nights, tonight and tomorrow night –
ME: You’re killing me with this shit.
HIM: … But that should be all.
HIM: And I won’t have to do the morning tomorrow, so…
HIM: … Yeah. I’m gonna go grab something to eat real quick, and then I guess I’m gonna try to get some sleep?
ME: (more silent fuming)
HIM: (heads out to kitchen)
ME: (mutters) Scott is such a dick.
* Yes, that’s my actual worst threat. Can we just – you know, we’re not going to get anywhere if you interrupt me for minutia. Yes, I threaten him with my blog. It’s called marriage.