The Bloody Doors Off

Today was brutal.

You’ve been warned.

Up at 6am for a doctor’s appointment in North York (8am). It’s the bitch of working 10am-6:30pm. Can’t get an appointment at a decent hour, and I need to see my psychiatrist. It’d been 3 weeks, and I’ve been frustrated and manic and. Well, I’ve written about it.

He’d called yesterday and asked if I could do 8:20. I would’ve said yes, but I had to see the bankruptcy trustee at 9:30 back downtown. So I got there at 8, only he had an emergency, so it was 8:20 anyway. It meant a shorter session, whatever.

I’d gone on about the frustrations and many a thing. And then the doctor said to me:

Why are you allowing yourself to get shat upon?

That hit. Hard. Being told I allow myself to be a doormat. I don’t like confrontation, I’m a Libra.

But it’s true. In that moment, I knew it to be true.

And fuck, it hurt.

It stewed all the way down to the trustee. Of which I was 10 minutes late, because the TTC has its head up its ass as it seems that once it’s 9am, rush hour magically goes away and it takes forever. And fuck, being told that May actually counts towards whether or not my bankruptcy gets extended to 21 months (instead of 9) after she said last month it wouldn’t? Because of what I’m going to bring in this month? Basically, the only way out is if I spent a couple hundred bucks on business expenses to balance it out.

I want to save that money. Sure, I deduct 25% off the top for income taxes and that helps. But JESUS. The hits keep on coming.

I’m out the door and walk over to the bank to check my bank account, because I have a horrible feeling the agency fucked up and didn’t pay my invoice today. You know, the money I need to pay rent, utilities, groceries, metropass, yada yada.

And it’s NOT there.

I get to King and Bay and call my liaison before going into the office. It goes to voicemail. I leave a very concerned message. Two hours go by. Still nothing. I call again and finally get her. She hadn’t even checked her messages (said she was in a meeting all morning, plausible).  But the fuck of it is, she’s telling me that I was on an exception (because of all the fuck ups on their end) and should’ve been paid. Turns out, a fuck ton of people didn’t get their money either.

And I hear my doctor.

I refuse to be a doormat.

I flat out state that this is unacceptable and expect a resolution before the end of day. That it’s unprofessional, against what they put in writing when I signed on with the contract. It’s been 32 days and I demand I get paid, one way or the other. It takes her another two hours to get back to me. She says it might be possible to get a wire transfer, but I have to provide a shitload of information to make it happen (branch, transit number, account number, codes)… stuff they already have because I signed on for direct deposit. I provide it anyway.

Then she says:

It still might not go through until Monday.

NO.

This is not going to happen.

And I say they’ve got until 6pm to rectify the situation.

At 5:30, with still no word, I send another email. I get a response that it’s been run up the chain to the Senior VP (damned right it should be there).

Not good enough, says I.

At 5:59pm I get an email. The money’s been wired to the account, and please verify.

It’s there. Well, the invoice for April 1st to 15th. They still owe me March 31st. Which I tell them. And then thank her.

Because while I refuse to be a doormat any longer, and will be as big an asshole as I have to be to get results, I’m still going to thank someone for doing their job.

Don’t fuck with Mister Zero.