Last Thursday, Robin announced to the cube-de-sac that she was leaving the company. She was, she said, heading up to Boston. The people there were nicer, the offices were nicer, and she the new position would free her from all the petty tasks, currently inflicted upon her, that are beneath her stature: like, say, her work.
When asked if she had told her boss already, she answered no. She did not, she said, already have the job. But she was confident that an offer was in the works.
Friday, she blew off her work and told her boss, to his face, that she hated writing marketing copy (a major responsibility of a marketer like her) and would appreciate it if he would assigning her writing duties. She explained that she was more of an idea person and the company would be better served if she worked less and dedicated more of her efforts toward strategic planning.
To be fair, I believe the company would be better served by her working less. I'm less certain about all that other stuff.
The PtB fragment that is her boss told her that writing was pretty much her entire job and if she really hated, she might want to consider other work.
With a dramatic flourish, she announced that she would do just that.
There was no offer on Thursday.
There were no offer messages over the weekend.
Robin came in late Monday. She told several sales staff members that she'd be happy when she didn't have to see their faces again. She called the receptionist "chunky." She confessed to the cube-de-sac that she's letting all her work side. "Soon," she said. "It won't be my problem."
She missed not one, but two meetings because she was out shopping.
There was no offer on Monday.
When asked if she expected an offer, she said, "They want to interview some internal candidate. I don't know, people. These people. They just crawl out of the woodwork."
I got word Monday, from an ex-coworker in firm Robin is attempting to join, that an ex-coworker of Robin's was in the HR department and recognized the name. HR is no trying to convince the marketing department that they don't want Robin. They're frantically offering alternative candidates.
I suggested to Robin that she might not want to treat this as a lock.
"Whatever," she said, dismissively.
Watched Blade Runner last night. I don't know how many times I've seen that flick, and I still love it. Interestingly, some of the elements that seemed futuristic in the '80s, and then dated the film in the '90s, seem less jarring in the '00s. The Vangelis soundtrack, for example. Though still dangerously close to the cheesy side of things, it seems less dated now than it did ten years ago due to the revival of post-punk, electronic, droning music. I'm certain some indie band could make a respectable go at the whole band thing these days doing nothing more than creating Vangelis like electro-drones.
Other things aren't just dated, but induce nostalgia. In 2019, Deckard uses a pay phone. Nobody has cell phones. You can also see several shots of electronic billboards for Pan Am and Atari.
Still, these things are more smile inducing rather than groan inducing. The movie is still every bit as good as I remember it.
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