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Nov 8, 2005

There's this wonderful woman at el rojo y negro who is in charge of business affairs and appears to have the brain capacity of a bowl of lukewarm pea soup. First, she has absolutely no idea what goes on upstairs. In the editorial department. Which is where, you know, they print the news. So she was completely unaware that I was hired; call me old-fashioned, but this seems like the sort of thing a manager of business should manage to make her business.

So, about two workdays after I was hired, I came to the office during my lunch break to do tax forms, because she works an earlier shift than I do. To my consternation, the receptionist informed me that pea-soup woman doesn't do tax forms anytime other than 2pm. It's a form, I explained to the receptionist. You give it to me, I fill it in, I give it back. There's no need for an appointment. If you want I'll do it now and have someone deliver it at 2pm. I have classes at 2pm.

I know, the receptionist replied, I understand. But she just doesn't do them.

The receptionist was even kind enough to go in the back and ask if an exception could be made for someone who showed up 45 minutes early. Apparently an exception could not be made. No tax forms could be allowed out of Soupy's room. Come back at 2pm.

I had a class I could afford to be late to about a week later, so I came in to do the forms. And of course she handed them to me, I filled them out, I handed them back. We hardly conversed until I mentioned that by this time I'd done about seven pages and was owed $70 for my work. At this point my filling out forms became a meeting, as she launched into a tirade of condescending little suggestions. "Didn't you go through the orientation website?" Yes, and it said to do tax forms, and the editors said I could do them later because you weren't around. "Well, they meant as soon as possible, not at your leisure." Well, it was your sacrosanct afternoon, not mine, lady! "Unfortunately we have very strict rules. You weren't an official employee until you filled out these forms. So you won't be paid for any work you did beforehand."

Oh, really.

I was instructed to talk to the editors about this. None of them know what to do. Fortunately, a final indignity affords me the chance to take the battle back to her. Just Sunday I got a little slip of paper that informed me that I had been entered into the Red & Black system. My e-mail address, nciazochi at randb.com, was ready for me.

Wait a minute. "nciazochi"??

Yes, ladies and gentlemen, there's a reason I didn't describe her as alphabet soup. Apparently the challenge of telling the difference between an R and a Z, repeated several times across many pages of forms, was just too much for her. This doesn't just mean I have a silly science fiction e-mail address, though. I am now credited in the paper as Nick Ciazochi. If ever I get a paycheck, it will in all likelihood be made out to the mysterious Mr. Ciazochi.

You'll get yours, pea soup. One of these days...
Nick ::: 8:43 PM ::: 2 comments

2 Comments:

Aagh I am going tomorrow to fill out my tax forms. And not at 2 pm! Jessica Kennedy said I could go anytime before five.
Fuckers. I better not go through what you went through. But I haven't had anything published that I should be getting paid for, so at least they won't steal my money.

By  Amy, at 12:17 AM  

Dude, maybe you were just mean to the lady. Because I went yesterday at 3:30 and although they did ask if I could come back someday at 2, when I said I had class at 2 every day, they were very friendly about it and it was easy. AND they spelled my name right. I saw yours spelled incorrectly in the Staff box in the paper today though and giggled. Sorry about that.

By  Amy, at 4:12 PM  

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