Oh, Manchester, So Much To Answer For

This morning, in yet another pointless divisional meeting at work, our Acting VP for our division talked about wanting to know ways in which we (the rank-and-file, the little people, Bebe's Kids) want professional development/training, to "advance [our] careers ... help reach our goals." I've found that. It's called moving, and leaving what's increasingly become a ridiculously sad and pathetic place to work. For example, I just really learned that the contract we have with Chesapeake Social Services (for whom we subcontract the particular program I work with) - which was just renewed in June - includes raises for all the employees. However, because of the Planning Council's regulations, we don't actually see that raise (if we see it at all) until our yearly review; mine's in November. No, I couldn't use that extra money in my check now, that's okay. Fuckwads. And then our management has the fucking gall to push us, hard, to "donate" (if it's nearly forced, it's hardly "voluntary") to the United Way at our monthly staff meeting. Our president is very interested in having 100% participation, so she can crow and share that fact with her society friends/board of directors. Number one, no fucking way am I giving money to an organization which still financially helps support the Boy Scouts and their open discrimination against gays. Number two, I don't make enough fucking money as is to be donating it. Number three, I find the way in which management leans on their employees to give rather offensive. Give me the information and let me decide. Don't show me a film every year about all the purported good the United Way does. Don't ask me to give a shit if we have 100% participation. Don't waste my fucking time. Fuck off with your shit, and as long as they continue to support discrimination against homos, FUCK THE UNITED WAY, too.