Wow. I had an epiphany this afternoon. After stressing out so much, too much about this self-evaluation at work, as I was on my cigar break at 3 PM, I figured it out. Now, I would like to think I do some of my best writing when I am upset, or even depressed. And for the past couple of weeks, I was both upset and depressed.

The writing was in relation to the job. Specifically pointing out wrongs I have seen, the way I have been treated, things like that. Almost itemized. I would write, re-write, save somewhere, and print out hard copies.

I even woke up this morning earlier than usual (since I went to bed earlier than usual) and dictated notes into my phone for more writing. There are two people at work I feel comfortable with discussing these matters and they were helpful but not filled with the fire I had in my belly. I was carrying around a lot.

As I walked up Broadway to my perch on Thomas Street, crossing Chambers Street, the epiphany struck. I don’t have to do anything. This whole self-evaluation is bullshit designed to make management feel good about themselves and possibly knock down any self-confidence I might have.

Ideally, it would be better if employees evaluated management but those sausages are so thin-skinned with their six-figure salaries they would likely have a nervous breakdown. I don’t have to submit my best writing to these nincompoops.

I realized that if I did that, I would be lowering myself to their level and attempting to uplift them with the quality of my writing and they are just not worth it. I think they would be expecting my lengthy wordy responses. And that is what they are not getting from me.

Schlomo the DKP gave me a C grade, with 6 successful scores, 1 above average, and 3 below expectations. In their world with their math that averages out to a ‘C’. It’s bullshit and I think they know it is bullshit and designed to piss me off and storm off into the sunset.

Instead, I’m just going to say ‘thanks’. I think this new perspective will frighten them. There are goals that must be stated and I think I will write that I hope to trust my co-workers again. It may confound them and I am fine with acting against their expectations.

They’re good at what they do but outside of their areas of expertise they really aren’t terribly bright. Sure they might be decent people but ultimately they cannot be trusted, but they’re the ones who I am not at all interested in trusting. It’s their house and their rules and you can’t win against their house.

So Barbara Shorten and Schlomo, and the Supervisor’s supervisor (and his offspring) fall way short of any faith I may have in them, besides faith of them being self-serving and general idiots. And that’s cool. Life is short and not worth having them infect my life with their petty ways.

I have to admit, it felt like a great weight had been lifted off of me. I sat at my desk with a new, better attitude and I felt like I was high. I wasn’t high but it felt like it. Like endorphins had been released.

I felt good.

It goes on and on and on. It never ends does it? It was another Wednesday, they keep coming around every seven days or so. I keep writing and rewriting my self-evaluation as if I were James Joyce writing a laundry list. It’s more like Samuel Beckett with the existential morass that is my work week.

I do enjoy the clients though. I engage them and put them at ease. It’s quite a varied group, especially the ones that just show up without an appointment. They claim to have spoken to someone on the phone but can never remember just who was at the other end of the line.

Both yesterday and today I had people who received mass mailings and since they were in the neighborhood, they thought they might drop in to see someone about it. And since all someone has to do is say they’re there for the legal company, they get sent right up to the 18th or 22nd floor with no notice from the lobby guard.

My friend Kate fills in for me for my break and she mentioned to me that she was stressing the self-evaluation. I played it cool then but the past few days I’ve kept her abreast of my writings. She told me I should stop writing and I believe she is right. I have got to stop. Tomorrow I will stop.

For my break today I went in a different direction. Instead of north to Thomas Street I went south and sat by One World Trade Center. I needed some sunlight but the trade-off is a lot of tourists whereas Thomas Street is almost a ghost town with less than a dozen people on the sidewalks as I sit and smoke.

I don’t know, I am finding Tribeca to be so dull. Would I prefer midtown? Perhaps. Tribeca has a lot of families in it whereas midtown is mostly all business. I started working in Manhattan in midtown and that was the eighties.

I think the majority of jobs that I’ve had in the twenty-first century were mediocre at best. Really looking back on what I have done, it seems things had started out strong and then fizzled out. Putnam Lovell, Alger to name two. Both of those were financial companies and both were incredibly awful.

ABIO-IB was wobbly to begin with, no one seemed to know what was going on, including Ashish Shangrawhatchamacallit and he was the head of the pimple.

I heard from an old friend from the Maxwell’s days, Stephen Siparoti. It was a text asking if I would be at a proclamation for the original owner of Maxwell’s, Senor Fallon. It’s going on at Hoboken City Hall next week and I sort of helped out with it.

The organizer asked me for some tidbits about Senor Fallon and I told her what I could, what could be said in public without regret. It’s a limited amount of what could be said so I was quite kind and informative.