Nevermind

Well, a few hours before I thought I was taking a week off, my boss tells me I'm not.

Of course, her excuses were the following, at random intervals and intensities.
1) We can't get anyone to replace you.
2) I didn't know about it.

Both are half-lies, which is good enough if you are in management.

However…

It's not like I had management from all over the office coming up to me a couple weeks ago and ramming the idea down my throat that I maxed out my vacation time and requesting I go away for a week.

It's not like I spent roughly a week training someone to fill my spot.

It's not like I talked to my boss yesterday about dividing up my responsibilities between a couple staffers.

And, during that conversation, it's not like I floated the idea of sticking around an extra week to help Keith (the guy who is partly filling in for me), and my boss shot down the idea, inferring that I was taking off starting Thursday.

And therein lies the rub. My boss can hide behind an ironclad excuse: It wasn't written down. A formal request wasn't made. With that, I have little case to make. Sure, I can whine and scream about conversations. I can protest until I’m blue in the face, but it won’t do any good.

When my boss dropped the bomb on me, I did a very good job controlling my rage. I have to remember that I’m taller than most women, especially when they are sitting and I’m standing. I didn’t get loud or make harsh, violent gestures. I merely swayed and got quiet, eyes glazing over as I made a damage report of this shot across my bow.

“I have to get my mind around this,” I told her, and I walked off. I didn’t talk to her for the rest of the day.

Cori sent me an e-mail, replying to my frantic missive that my vacation was scrubbed. In part, she was pissed at me for me earlier not wanting to leave my job for fear of being afraid of being replaced. Cori said that this proves I’m irreplaceable.

And I replied that no one could do my job with my skills and instincts. I also said that in order to be deemed irreplaceable, one has to go through the motions of being replaced first.

My wife, after hearing the news, actually called me on my mobile, asking if I was okay. She usually goes by e-mail. I was all out of sorts on the phone and said I’ll be better about this at home tonight.

I was looking forward to taking time off so I could get my head in order. I just need to get away from deadlines, ringing phones and the army of press releases on my desk and in my e-mail inbox. I may not vacate well, but I was looking forward to the idea, the sumptuous prize dangling in front of my eyes.

It's so painful it's funny. I have eight weeks of vacation and I can't use them.

Now more than ever, I wish the Nintendo gig would have come through so I could go up to my boss and tell her to fuck off. I've busted my ass for her and her department for years, only taking a handful of days here and there. I came in when I was sick. I doubled as a copy editor when needed. I offered to get lunch for busy co-workers.

She didn’t whip out her scheduling book to pencil in a future date. She didn’t give any inkling that she’d look into the problem and try to work something out. She didn’t even have the courtesy to say “I’m sorry.”

This is a fucking vacation. Time off. It’s the sacred treasure of the working man’s life.

If my boss tries to screw me out of going to Europe, so help me God, there’s going to be a palace coup.