The Valleys Ain't So Great

On Wednesday, my boss told me that she no longer needed me to do the Runner job at the car dealership where I work. She said that there wasn't enough for me to do and that I was spending to much time idle. You know how sometimes when someone lies to you, you have that experience where you know immediately that you are being lied to? I had that experience Wednesday. I was so mad that I couldn't speak. I just grabbed my stuff out of my desk while slamming the drawers shut and rushed downstairs to my part-time switchboard operator that I still have (thank God). When I got down there to relieve the full-time switchboard operator she took one look at me and knew that something was wrong. She asked me if I was ok and I said no that I was definitely not ok. Then, she hightailed it out of the dealership. Then, I broke down in tears. I can't believe they did that to me.
Here's the thing: The office upstairs has 5 people, not including the owner's daughter and my boss. One of these people is the title clerk who is about 70. He NEVER does any work. He plays Solitaire and Hearts on his computer mostly and talks on his cellphone. On the odd occasion he does actually do some work, he makes so many mistakes that it takes someone else extra time to fix them when it isn't even that person's job. Now, I don't have a prejudice against old people at all. It's just that I don't understand why the dealership keeps paying him NOT to work. I talked to one of my best friends about all of this (as it happens she works with me and is the one who has to correct all of the title clerk's mistakes) and she seems to think that my boss will have him doing the work he was supposed to be doing, mistakes and all, AND my job as well. Tell me how a 70-year-old man is supposed to work two jobs? My dad is nearly 70 and he can barely walk without assistance. I don't think that's fair to him and I think it will probably make him sick, since our immune systems gradually decrease in effectiveness as we grow older. It's also not fair to me. My boss told me that I spend too much of my time "idle", which is total bullshit. I had so much to do with that job that I barely got to take a lunch. To clarify: the Runner's job at the car dealership where I work is the person who personally takes messages, bills, bank deposit runs and basically whatever else anyone in the dealership needs. I would routinely take the bank deposits (hella large sums of money) and go to the store for office supplies, go to the lawyer's office etc... THEN, when I wasn't running around in the Runner car doing errands, I had mountains of paperwork to file. My lunch was usually taken in the car on my way to or from somewhere. One day I spent 2 hours at the damn DMV because of Old Man Title Clerk and then had to go back that same day because of the mistake he made. He also sent me 30 minutes out of town on an errand to the WRONG PLACE. So, to say I was "idle" is clearly a gross understatement.
I fucking HATE office politics. I don't know why people can't just come to work, do their damn jobs and go home. It seems like every time I get a job I actually like it turns to shit because of this. Am I cursed or what?

Also, yesterday, I had to go to my dad's apartment because he said he wanted me to take this stray cat he had sort of adopted to the Humane Society. Evidently, the cat (non-neutered male) had gotten into a fight with either a cat or a dog and had gotten pretty messed up. When I saw him, I thought one of his back legs was broken and he had open sores on his neck. Going back a bit, this cat had pretty much always had open sores on his neck. They would start to heal and then somehow get opened up again. I told my dad to put some antibiotic ointment on it, but his hands shake so much that he really couldn't do it. He refused to get the cat any vet care. His excuse was that he thought the cat was going to die anyway. I couldn't believe that he took the cat in but refused it any medical help. He just sat in his recliner and watched the cat deteriorate day-by-day. I tried to take it to the Humane Society, but they wouldn't even let me inside the building. One of the gardeners when inside and came out with a little piece of paper with some numbers on it that he said were other organizations that could help me. I called every number and no one answered their phones. I left voicemails, but I knew that the cat needed immediate medical attention. So, I called the Animal Services center, knowing that if they couldn't/wouldn't help him that they would put him to sleep. When I got there, they made me sign some paperwork that I later realized was for me to surrender him to them. A man took him back to the vet and then a different man came back and gave me back my cat carrier and then was just going to walk away. I stopped him and asked him what the vet said. He told me that the vet thought the cat either had Feline HIV (FIV) or Feline Leukemia and that they couldn't afford to let it spread though their kennels so they were going to put him down. I didn't think that was very fair to the cat, but since I had already surrendered him, there was nothing I could do about it. I cried and cried and cried. I gave myself a fever being so upset. I got a call back later on that day from one of the other organizations I had called and the lady I spoke with told me that FIV and Leukemia were treatable in cats and that they usually lived a long time with that treatment. That started a new wave of crying. I felt so bad for letting them kill that cat. I realize that it might have been the humane thing to do considering that my dad wouldn't have taken the cat back even if he had gotten healthy and considering his health he would have been very hard to place in a home, but I still felt like a monster for doing that. I spent all afternoon in my room yesterday and I turned my phone off. Eventually, I called my dad back and told him what had happened. I also told him never to ask me to do that again. It might seem silly to be so upset over a cat, especially one that wasn't mine, but I can't help it.

I guess bad things happen in threes just like that old saying.