That’s how I feel lately at work, except less with the “that’s right” and much with the “you’re wrong.” Multiple times a day for the past I-can’t-remember-how-long, whatever way I’ve picked to do a given aspect of my latest project will be deemed by the person who checks my work as wrong. Even when I’ve done it that way before and it was considered okay. Even when the person checking the work is the same person who earlier told me that the way I did it was the way to do it. Even if the way I did it is technically okay, but now, in this particular instance – with the way the wind is currently blowing and the planets in their collective state of alignment – the way the checker-person is now touting is by *far* the superior choice.
Oh, excuse me. Do I sound a bit annoyed by all of this? Internet, annoyed doesn’t even scratch the surface of how I feel.
And it’s not the correction that is stressing me out. Recall that I have all but begged for help, assistance, support, training, etc. I *know* that I have much to learn, and therein lies the frustration: I don’t feel as if I’m learning anything. Seriously, I didn’t feel this worthless when I started the job, but then again, that was back before I was overwhelmed by this complete lack of consistency.
Topping this off, the checker-person, who I’m convinced talks to people for the sole purpose of disagreeing with them, has lately taken to spouting off his little directives in a tone that implies that it’s always been so even when it’s the first time he’s mentioned it. And! When I venture to ask a question, more often than not, he demands in reply, “Why would it be THAT way?”
Alright, I admit it: I’m the CHIEF of Stupid Questions. But I realize more and more that when you’re talking to someone who thinks that making you look bad makes him look good, there are *only* stupid questions.
On a better note, I did recently get to have a small victory. A co-worker got my attention – interrupting my enjoyment of a Traveling Wilburys CD, I might add – to say that another co-worker (the checker-person, in fact) needed a spellcheck. I stopped the music and took off my headphones. I sat back, imagining a queen situating herself on a throne to perform some royal duty. “What’s the word?” I asked. Finally! They acknowledged that I’m good for something.