tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73689183751338596852024-03-13T13:17:39.607-07:00The Punching Bag ChroniclesThe Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.comBlogger13125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-41861569898038197442011-02-22T11:47:00.000-08:002011-03-24T07:27:56.582-07:00The Commander and Farty McFarterson - A Love That LastsA certain coworker of mine that we will call <em>The Commander</em> has a special kind of relationship with a certain coworker that you know as Farty McFarterson. This relationship can best be described like this: The Commander ABHORS Farty, like in the worst way possible.<br /><br /><strong>Exhibit 1</strong> - Recently, we underwent a departmental move. Teams were reorganized spatially in order to maximize efficiency, teamwork and communication. Bossman, stupidly, assigned Commander and Farty cubicles in which their faces would be gazing upon each other's all day long. This initiated an hysterical fit from The Commander. Long story short, her seat was moved away from Farty. Farty, none the wiser.<br /><br /><strong>Exhibit 2</strong> - Two years ago Farty made the mistake of boasting about an exceptionally successful day on his part. Not realizing that the Commander had an exceptionally awful day, he joked and laughed and teased and taunted to the point that we all knew the invisible line separating harmless teasing from overwhelming harrassment had long been crossed sending The Commander into full blown attack mode. <br /><br /><strong><em>"One more F-CKING WORD and I swear to God I will throw my shoe at your head!"</em></strong><br /><br />Us on-lookers knew the severity of those words.. and the honesty of them. We backed away slowly towards the cubicle partitions which we then hid behind until safety was attainable. <br /><br />But, Farty, in his ignorant glory, kept laughing and antagonizing.<br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TfIzCPdydjY/TWQRsYBfCnI/AAAAAAAAAxA/RJ0NnBhX1kA/s1600/gasbag.bmp" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" j6="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-TfIzCPdydjY/TWQRsYBfCnI/AAAAAAAAAxA/RJ0NnBhX1kA/s400/gasbag.bmp" width="400" /></a></div><br />Bossman was behind The Commander signalling Farty to shut up, but he misinterpreted the hand gestures for "Encore!" or "Bravo!" because he just kept going and cackling to himself.<br /><br />Within moments The Commander had been pulled into a conference room with the Bossman. Several minutes later she emerged.<br /><br /><strong>"Farty, I'm sorry for saying I was going to throw my shoe at your head, but you should have shut up."</strong><br /><br />We all knew that was the most sincere apology The Commander could offer and were quite impressed. We emerged from our safe havens and mindlessly went back to work.<br /><br />I, myself, have a special relationship with Farty. He has an ungodly attachment to Bossman. (i.e. Dwight Schrute). Since I am Bossman's assistant, Farty believes I know EVERYTHING that goes through Bossman's sick, twisted and mostly empty cranium. On a daily basis Farty asks me 3-4 times if I've heard if he's getting fired. We now have what I call the "stop sign". If I put my hand up in his face with no words spoken, it means I don't want to hear it, keep moving. It's amazing how well it works. He's like a really well trained Jack Russell Terrier. I'm sure it would be even more successful if I tossed a treat his way with every obedient gesture.The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-62509823747658088202011-02-18T08:43:00.000-08:002011-03-24T07:27:56.585-07:00The Paddle...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Every year there are 2 major events that take place in our office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One is specifically for my department, and for the sake of anonymity I’m going to omit the actual title of the event.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This affair is planned with the intention of<em> uniting</em> our team. They herd us all to an off-site location, lock us in a room and commence a series of so-called “activities” that more so reflect medieval rituals of torturing transgressors until the life literally runs from their bodies screaming for redemption.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is what this one day every year symbolizes to me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.etc-consulting.com/jack/aepi/animalhouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" j6="true" src="http://www.etc-consulting.com/jack/aepi/animalhouse.jpg" width="310" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last year the “committee” had a brilliantly schemed event, or so they thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Animal House.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I, myself, have never seen this movie, nor do I have any desire to, especially after what happened on that day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The day began with presentations and pep-talks… lulling the majority of us off into catatonic states in which we found our happy places, pretending as if we weren’t being held against our will inside a corporate torture chamber.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had just about drifted off into the oblivion of fantasy when the music started.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong><em>Karaoke.</em></strong></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">For the love!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Not just any karaoke, but Animal House karaoke.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Being that I had never seen said film, I reluctantly stood on the stage, arms crossed, lips pursed and fury disgorging from my baby blues while the rest of my squad, under the austere instruction of our captors acted like brainwashed POWs with a sudden onset of Stockholm Syndrome.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Next came a series of “drinking games” that were guised as team building activities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We played water pong, corn-hole, threw fake fruit through a clown’s mouth, miniature golf and something else that must have been so harrowing that I completely expunged the recollection from my mind. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I haven’t yet mentioned that the center pieces for each of our tables was a wooden paddle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I didn’t get it, but apparently it’s something to do with the movie.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So the day carries on and I feel the life inside me slowly being chiseled away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The activities were complete, no more presentations, but still no permission to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Someone decided (in the midst of their disillusionment) to try and have fun.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One person grabbed a paddle, someone else a ping pong ball and we started batting things around the room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Minding my own busy, scurrying after stray ping pong balls like a 4 year old, I felt a sudden burning sensation in my derriere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">FREAKING OUCH!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What the heck???</span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I turn around to see a Director from another team <em>grinning from ear to ear,</em> paddle in hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The suffering was no longer focused on the group, but on individuals.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I began running.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had to escape the evil pursuing me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Running for my life, dodging ping pong balls that were pelting me, plastic fruit wailed past my face as I attempted to lead the evil Director through the crossfire to his demise.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Finally, he found another target.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This carried on for about 20 minutes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hostage after hostage succumbing to the vengeance of the wooden paddle. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">When I thought I couldn’t take anymore, that the force inside me one calls life had come to an end, my eyes beheld something so beautiful and surreal.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;"><em>Sunlight.</em></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The doors had been opened.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our freedom granted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I quickly grabbed my belongings and joined the mass exodus as everyone attempted to squeeze through the door to taste the sweet sensation of fresh air and independence.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><strong>It was over.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And no one ever spoke of it again.</strong></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A week later, this second event was to take place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A dinner, to recognize and applaud employees who have committed to lifelong servitude to the company.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We dress up, act dignified and pretend to enjoy each other’s company when we aren’t getting paid to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s almost unbearable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My one ally and I had made it through the evening with grace, well, except for when she almost knocked over a tray of about 50 mugs and saucers because of too much wine, but we made it, nonetheless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We had agreed to meet some others at a bar not far away and were walking through the parking lot to the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were among the last to leave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The parking lot was relatively empty and almost completely dark.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We wobbled across the asphalt in our stilettos.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Half way there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1klpuzjJ6OERdhbZYoc7dRM0_9e0zFDCSCCfSkNzDnuuyd-B1T7-m0egOCPyUTUv2fM-RKfNSANyGkV53JCtqjlmr7pusw49CSfiRtSrmau0_luIfVoC8CFom4UU7NxB-YImgs3kqVAM/s1600/hazing.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="248" j6="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1klpuzjJ6OERdhbZYoc7dRM0_9e0zFDCSCCfSkNzDnuuyd-B1T7-m0egOCPyUTUv2fM-RKfNSANyGkV53JCtqjlmr7pusw49CSfiRtSrmau0_luIfVoC8CFom4UU7NxB-YImgs3kqVAM/s320/hazing.jpg" width="320" /></a><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That’s when we saw him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our paddle-wielding captor.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the distance he looked harmless.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nothing to be scared of.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">But then, suddenly, his gaze set in our direction, he began to acquire speed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His suit did nothing to nullify the evil he resonated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He ran toward us and as he passed under a street lamp, that’s when we noticed… <strong>THE PADDLE</strong>… in his hand.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;"><strong><em>“RUN!!!!”</em></strong></span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I screamed to my Ally.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We ran.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or wobbled at a slightly quicker pace than we had previously.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It was no use.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His determination and thirst for the kill had overcome our desire to survive.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bracing myself for impact, I threw my hand behind me to protect what little butt I have.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em><span style="font-size: large;">CRACK!!!!</span></em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The paddle hit my wrist.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I blacked out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t remember anything else until we were in the car.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>All I remember is saying <em>“Drive…. Drive…. Drive…”</em></span></span></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-83246944784857933782011-02-17T08:58:00.000-08:002011-03-24T07:27:56.603-07:00Pay No Attention to the (wo)Man Behind the Curtain...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last year at almost exactly this time, the VP of our department tendered her resignation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She just happened to be the umbrella that sheltered Bossman from all the crap-rain that he would bring down on himself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a result, he never suffered any consequences for the complete disregard of his responsibilities as a Director.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When she left, the position remained vacant up until about a week ago, leaving all mid-level management spiraling downward in a frenzy of “who are they going to promote”, power trips and mass chaos due to a lack of watchful eyes holding anyone accountable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In other words, the past year has been absolute anarchy in the realm of management.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, all existing managers were anticipated to vie for the position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A few were solid candidates in our eyes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They had experience, favor, education and the overall drive to accomplish the task.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then there was Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman was never around when anyone needed him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Never answered any of his multiple cell phones if you attempted to hunt him down.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Responded to emails weeks after they were initially sent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And was generally defiant to anyone in authority exceeding his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, he pursued the position of VP.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A certain co-worker of mine who doesn’t often bite her tongue addressed the palpable fact that he was going to interview for this position.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bossman’s response was, <em>“Of course I’m going for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I owe it to this company to be the Vice President.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After all they’ve done for me, it’s the least I can do.”</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">OH OKAY.</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You’re doing us a <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">FAVOR </b>by promoting <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">YOURSELF.</b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That is so selfless of you!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Needless to say, weeks passed by with no word of their acceptance of his selfless offering to fill the position.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman’s mood steadily declined toward a dark, mulling, brooding, festering and angry disposition. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="font-size: large;">Cue reality check.</span></span></span></i></b></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s been a few months since the rejection hit Bossman and now the position is filled.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The VP will be starting on Monday.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">What’s been taking place since the announcement is quite hilarious, to be honest.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman wants to make a good impression, because now he realizes his umbrella is gone and he’s left standing in the pouring rain, susceptible and defenseless, with no one to make excuses for his absences and his inappropriate derision.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s been cleaning his disaster area for 4 days now and I swear it’s getting worse.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess it’s like bronchitis… your cough gets way worse before it gets better.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>There are now small towers of documents on the floor surrounding his desk giving it the feeling of Mordor in LOTR surrounding and encasing the evil that dwells inside it’s boundaries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s even a pile of dirty towels behind his chair.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t know where they came from and when I asked him he just said, “I use those a lot.”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well, obviously… there are dark smears all over them, but WHY are they in the middle of the office floor and what the heck do you use them for??</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Bossman has also taken a sudden interest in <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">EVERY </b>aspect of my job.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He now wants to know everything that I do <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">(which is way more than he even thought).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>Frankly, it’s downright irritating, but he has to know in case the new head honcho asks.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His awareness of my duties has also led to him taking credit for the things I do.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s an obvious guilt that comes along with this, though, because last week he says to me:</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">BM:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> “You know I give you credit for things when you’re not around?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Me:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> “Um, did I say something to make you feel bad?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">BM:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> “No, I just want you to know I give you credit.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Me:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> “Well, obviously something has you feeling guilty, did somebody else say something?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">BM:</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"> “No! I just want you to.. never mind!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">Me</span></b><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;">: **snickering**</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I accepted long ago that I remain nameless/faceless in executive meetings that revolve around work that I’ve done.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m okay with that.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People will realize soon enough after I am long gone and Bossman suddenly has “forgotten” how to make flowcharts in Visio, calculate complex formulas in Excel or even simply save a file to his desktop (yes, seriously, he doesn’t know how to do that) that I was the brains behind this operation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’m the man behind the curtain. I, my friends, am the <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">Wizard of Oz.</b></span></span></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLR924ubiio/TV1R5GA7hEI/AAAAAAAAAuU/qfz2mDVAZyg/s1600/wiz.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="272" j6="true" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-WLR924ubiio/TV1R5GA7hEI/AAAAAAAAAuU/qfz2mDVAZyg/s400/wiz.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-56618703667528573962011-02-17T07:39:00.000-08:002011-03-24T07:27:56.608-07:00Secrets Secrets Are LOTS of Fun...<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">One thing I’m sure <strong>EVERY</strong> work place deals with is the <em>viral</em> spread of any and all <span style="font-size: large;"><strong>rumors</strong></span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Generally, I’ve found, that gossip spreads most quickly when it pertains to certain individuals lacking in the arena of <span style="font-size: x-small;">positive popularity</span> and <strong><em>thriving in infamy</em></strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I believe, however, that rumors always have a tiny amount of truth hidden amidst the bull crap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I mean, it had to start <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">somewhere</i>, right?</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://images.forbes.com/media/2009/12/10/1210_gossip_390x220.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" j6="true" src="http://images.forbes.com/media/2009/12/10/1210_gossip_390x220.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Not too long ago, Bossman was the epicenter of the gossip circulation because of his alleged break-up with <span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: x-small;">Satan’s Mistress</span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For about a week everyone in the office, and I mean <em>everyone</em> (even people in other departments that have a certain detestation for Bossman) was approaching me about the rumors buzzing around the halls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People ignorantly assumed that I, being his assistant, had the inside scoop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>WRONG</strong>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am the last person to know anything about his personal life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>1. He knows people are going to come and ask me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>2. <span style="font-size: large;">I don’t give a crap</span>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course, I played dumb.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kicker was when the Pres’s assistant cornered me in the hall asking for details.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Everything she said was accurate:</span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">All the photos of Bossman and Satan’s Mistress had been removed from BOTH of their desks.</span></span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">-</span><span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Satan’s Mistress had ceased wearing her engagement ring</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I informed her I noticed the same things, but I had no idea what it meant.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quickly after the conversation ended a switch flicked in my brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong><em>I had just been baited.</em></strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Our Pres despises rumors and gossip.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If he catches wind of something, it ends right then and there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They were trying to see if I was the originating gossiper!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Luckily, I had kept my mouth shut when she asked me what I knew.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>What I didn’t tell her</em> was that for weeks I had seen Bossman searching endless listings of homes for sale and that I had also found (completely by accident, I swear) a journal entry saved on a jump drive describing in detail the frail segments of their tumultuous relationship and his longing to be the center of her affection.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Bossman had inadvertently saved it to a drive he and I share…)<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">That afternoon Bossman and Pres were in a meeting for 3 hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Immediately after, Bossman instructed me to reserve a conference room and schedule a meeting for first thing in the morning.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The next day Bossman locked us all in the room and began his investigation of who started the rumors and why people can’t keep their mouths shut.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said the rumors were false and we all need to stop talking.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">An hour later, Farty McFarterson confessed to being the drive behind the rumor mill which then followed with extreme paranoia from him the rest of the day over whether or not he was going to get fired for it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A month later was when Bossman told us all they had actually broken up. <span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Duh.</strong></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;"><em>This is what happens when you have an office romance.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Whether you like it or not, your relationship is open to the public of the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Especially, if you’re one of the ding dongs that wears their heart on theirs sleeve, like Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He thinks he’s slick and evasive of our observations, but he’s not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he’s not happy he micromanages.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he’s happy he makes fun of us.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he’s miserable he takes 3 hours lunches, comes in late and leaves early.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When he’s in a good mood he gets here early, stays at his desk and works and acts like an attentive and caring manager.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We all know the signs of his good/bad moods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t want you to think I keep my mouth shut to protect Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I don’t have allegiance to him like that. No way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I do it to protect myself.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I only care about his well-being in regards to how it affects me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just wanted to lay that out here… <em><strong>my intentions through all of this are completely self-serving.</strong></em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Capiche?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-62759368312981846032011-02-16T10:06:00.000-08:002011-03-24T07:27:56.623-07:00"I Love My Thoughts"<span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">So many happenings in the past few months that I don't even know where to begin!</span><br /><br /><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bossman has had some personal issues which have resulted in him actually being pleasant at work. It's amazing. Bossman has experienced a devestating split from the mistress of Satan aka my arch enemy. Seeing as to how he is a 12 year old trapped in a 46 year old man's body and she is a 13 year old tramp with sagging orange skin that wears tutus with leggings and $15 four inch heels, I imagine the break-up happened something like this:</span><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.robswtfrant.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/break-up_note.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" j6="true" src="http://www.robswtfrant.com/wp-content/uploads/2010/04/break-up_note.jpg" width="361" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Since his <span style="color: red;"><strong>devil of a fiancee</strong></span> (or now ex-fiancee) is no longer an issue, it means life has been easy-sailing for me. Bossman and I have developed a more <strong>lighthearted </strong>rapport in which we actually joke around with each other. Here are a few short stories about my recent days here with the Bossman:</span><br /><br /><div style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Since his desk has been declared a disaster area by the federal government, I've decided to have some fun with it and hide arbitrary objects in and on his desk weekly. Last week, a wire hanger inside a file, which he only found today. Amazingly, upon discovering said hanger, he sincerely believed it was his that he had put there... no questions as to why a hanger was inside the folder... only, <em>"Oh, I found a hanger in my folder."</em> Which he then walked over to the closet and hung it inside. Tomorrow, I'll bury a tampon somewhere deep in the depths of the desk abyss. It will be fascinating to see whether or not he questions it's presence when he finds it. It's quite compelling for me. The only reason he even found the hanger is because he smacked his head off the brick wall yesterday after tripping over a box of plastic dishware sitting behind his chair and decided it was time to tidy up. </span></div><br /><div style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A few days ago Bossman asked me how to spell "girth". As punishment for the ignorance of the spelling of such a simple word, I told him, <em>"G-E-U-R-T-H".</em> He decided that spell check was wrong and I was right and sent the email. Not really sure who the recipient was, but I'm sure their opinion of Bossman lessened slightly at the sight of GEURTH. It's the little things in life, ya know?</span></div><br /><div style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Just a few moments ago I made a suggestion in regards to a workflow.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman responds, <em>“Well, here’s the thing.”</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He then picked up his coffee and walked away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He still hasn’t told me what the “thing” is.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe he has Adult ADD or Dementia or a loss of blood-flow to his brain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s no telling why a man can suddenly stop a thought, walk away, and carry on like the conversation never began in the first place. I'm perplexed. I'm not gonna lie. </span></div><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt 0.5in;"><br /></div><div style="margin-left: 0.5in; mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -0.25in;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Then, earlier today, the Pres of the company walks over and says, <em>“Bossman, do you have a second? I need to get your thoughts on this.” </em></span></div><div style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Bossman replies, <em><strong>“Oh yeah!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I love my thoughts.”</strong></em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div style="margin-left: 0.5in;"><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span>I snorted accidentally and caught the attention of Bossman and Pres.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman raised his eyebrows as if to say, “I’m so funny and I love me!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pres raised his eyebrows as if to say, “Good lord almighty, save us.” This, my friends, is the leadership of my company. The people I'm supposed to admire and strive to be like.</span></div><br /><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: 'Times New Roman'; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Now I <em>must</em> share this with you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This Dilbert strip is the perfect depiction of my relationship with the almighty Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve shared this with him, too.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His response was <strong>“My head is not fat.”</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Okay, Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><span style="font-family: 'Calibri','sans-serif'; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br /><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pbiequhCmRI/TVwHy2iElhI/AAAAAAAAAtI/B_jhekWGStM/s1600/37902_strip.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="122" j6="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-pbiequhCmRI/TVwHy2iElhI/AAAAAAAAAtI/B_jhekWGStM/s400/37902_strip.gif" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I need you all to understand that it is very difficult for me to filter through all of the stories and experiences I have, breaking them down and deciding which to include in my posts. There are so many to choose from and often, writing them down helps surface memories of more stories. So if things seem to not be cohesive and disconnected at times, forgive me, because I sometimes get overly enthusiastic about telling you what geniuses I work with.</span>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-13285628014865116292011-02-16T07:47:00.000-08:002011-03-24T07:27:56.631-07:00The End is Near.Yes, things have been undeniably silent around The Punching Bag lately, I know. For a while, there was such an overwhelming amount of drama encompassing this "job" of mine that I couldn't quite lay it all out in my head in an organized fashion. Now, though, it's time to release the Kraken. <br /><br />I'm not entirely sure if I ever came out and said this, but it is my belief that 90% of the torment I endured here was because of Bossman's fiancee a.k.a. Satan's mistress. She, also, works here and seems to think that everyday is a competition with me to see who can dress better and be skinnier. (I, however, do not compete in this game because frankly, I've already won.) She's at least a decade older than me, has tanned way too much in her lifetime resulting in skin that doesn't quite fit her scrawny little bod, and walks with way too much "look at me right now before I stick my stiletto through you calf" in her step. Honestly, it's just downright annoying. If she keeps up the way she's going now, she'll look like Camille Grammer in no time.<br /><br />The trends I choose to follow, she shortly thereafter adopts, forcing me to find something new and abandon the previous fad. First it was chains, then it was flowers in my hair, then it was belts, then it was patterned tights. On the bright side, it's keeping me creative with my wardrobe, trying to stay in front of her and her mimicking ways. <br /><br />Anyway, everything I've ever been reprimanded for has been the result of a dirty look from her. She gives me a dirty look, I know I'm getting pulled into a room. It always begins with, "You haven't really done anything wrong, that's why HR's not involved, but..." Really? Seriously? OMG.<br /><br />Now back to what I really want to talk about. About a month ago I get pulled into a conference room with the Bossman. Sure that I was going to get reprimanded for something I didn't do wrong, I hesitantly followed him.<br /><br />"I need to tell you something and I'd appreciate it if it stayed between us," Bossman says to me.<br />"Of course..." looking puzzled, I responded.<br />"Satan's mistress and I are no longer together." Staring, fidgeting.<br />Long pause on my part because what I really was feeling was relief.<br />"I'm sorry..." I finally blurted out, "But at least you're happy."<br />"I never said I was happy."<br />"Well, I mean, at least you have a chance to be happy now."<br />"What does that mean?"<br />"Um... I don't know, I don't know what to say really."<br />"Uh, okay."<br />"It's just sometimes even if you love somebody, they can't make you happy. You have to know when to let go."<br />"Okay. Just don't tell anybody."<br /><br />With that, Bossman exited the room.<br /><br />Hands down, the most awkward conversation I have ever had with him. <br /><br />The following weeks have proven to be quite interesting. He no longer hovers. I no longer am chastised for menial things. He actually asks how my weekends are. We joke around. It's freaking WEIRD. <br /><br />Now, I in no way enjoy my job. I just want to make that clear. He has 3 years of being a meanie to make up for. But things are improving slowly.<br /><br />The other day he asked me how to spell "girth". I responded with "G-E-U-R-T-H". Once he realized I lied, he actually laughed! Baby steps. I've also started hiding random objects on and in his desk. It's such a catastrophe that Obama has actually declared it a natural disaster. Today he found a wire hanger I hid inside a file. It only took him a week and a half to find it there. Tomorrow, I'm hiding a tampon in his pencil cup.<br /><br />No more Satan's mistress = a happy Bossman. The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-30459552883231406662010-11-02T07:57:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.638-07:00It's Been One of Those Days... Now get off your butt and go vote!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://ww2.ramapo.edu/emplibrary/ADP/vote.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="267" nx="true" src="http://ww2.ramapo.edu/emplibrary/ADP/vote.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>It’s been one of those days</em>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Everything is just <strong>off.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I woke up early to get to the polls before work, all excited to make my tiny little contribution to our democratic civilization, and they couldn’t find me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No worries, they only have 3 different poll stations in the same building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Third try was the charm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I couldn’t figure out the stupid ballot thing, despite the fact that I haven’t missed an election since turning 18, thus earning my legal right to have an opinion.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I went back and forth in the ballot for about 10 minutes trying to figure out how the heck to end it before I saw the giant red flashing button that said <strong><span style="color: #cc0000; font-size: large;">VOTE</span></strong> in bold white letters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>DUH.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I go along my merry way, with extra time to spare because apparently, not as many people care about this election as I think should, resulting in no lines at the polls.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I decide to treat myself to <em>Starbucks.</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> **cue mouth watering and "mmmmmmm"** </span>I don’t drink there much, but only because of the absurd amount of calories per tasty treat, not for economical purposes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d rather eat a giant bowl of pasta soaked in olive oil and garlic to spend my calories rather than a delicious soy caramel macchiato that I leave 1/3 of behind because I have a slight phobia of backwash… even if it is my own.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">About one minute from Starbucks, a lightning bolt of intelligence strikes my dense skull and I realize I left all my school books at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>(Something I never mentioned before, I’m a full-time student in addition to the position of full-time Douche bag Assistant).</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Crap.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I drive home, grab the books and try to ignore the pathetic dog in his cage in my basement crying for his mama.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>**sniff sniff**<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I actually made it to work early, not that it matters because I’m always the first to get here anyway.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman promptly shows up 30 minutes late, as always.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>15 minutes later he puts his coat back on, grabs his back pack and starts walking for the door.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><em>(The backpack goes everywhere with Bossman, but he never opens it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>EVER.)</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong> – “Are you leaving for the rest of the day”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Bossman</strong> – “Uh, I have to go close my garage door.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><em>Keep in mind, Bossman lives at least a 30 minute drive away.</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong> – “And you need your backpack for that?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Bossman</strong> – “Well, you never know.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So that leads to Mystery #2 – <strong><em>WHAT IS INSIDE THAT FREAKING BACKPACK??</em></strong></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eMYslU2_Tkw/TNAjlBVyfpI/AAAAAAAAAsk/z06RpQ72F-M/s1600/turkey12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_eMYslU2_Tkw/TNAjlBVyfpI/AAAAAAAAAsk/z06RpQ72F-M/s320/turkey12.jpg" width="230" /></a></div><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once again, the foremost consensus in the office is junk food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I disagree.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s still losing exorbitant amounts of weight which is evident by the loosening of his waddle.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(def: Waddle – the flabby gathering of skin under one’s chin (any Ally McBeal fans will know what I’m talking about)).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Does the backpack and the truck time have a correlation?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We may never know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’ve pondered sneaking a peak into the pack when Bossman is M.I.A.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Perhaps one day I’ll summon the courage to do so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span><br /><br />Now to give you my shpeel about voting. This society that we live in, this <em>land of the free,</em> it's about <strong>choice</strong>. Everything SHOULD be about <strong>choice</strong>. So yes, it's a <strong>choice</strong> to vote or not, however, if you <em>DON'T</em> vote, you're <strong>giving up your right</strong> to choice, because in essence, by not voicing your opinion, you're saying you don't care. In my opinion, if you don't care, then you have no right to complain or make demands of our government. <br /><br />So <strong><span style="font-size: large;">do your part</span></strong>, tell them what you think. You get to live in this country with all of its freedoms and all that is asked of you in return <span style="font-size: x-small;"><em>(besides a gazillion dollars worth of tax money)</em></span> is your opinion. Whether you think so or not, your one little voice can <strong>make or break</strong> an election. I don't know about you, but I'm insanely grateful that I even have the chance to say what I think. My freedom to think is something I will never take for granted.</div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-39076493501402694312010-11-01T09:17:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.657-07:00I Like Totally Don't Know What To Call This Post<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I present to you yet another, ceaselessly entertaining co-worker <em>Dingy Von Airhead</em>.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Dingy is lovable, very pleasant and always light-hearted.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For this, I appreciate her very much.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I also appreciate very much the fact that the majority of her thought patterns are nowhere near what one would classify as <em><strong>normal</strong></em>.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">When Dingy was first hired, her biggest obstacle was not trying to fit in or getting to know her co-workers, it was how to use the phone.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Across the office we heard in her valley-girl accented tone, “Uh, do I like have to pick UP the phone before I dial?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Oh my.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">She continually refers to clients as <strong><em>sweetie, </em></strong>which in most instances would be considered rude and disrespectful, but somehow, coming from Dingy, it's almost endearing. </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Once, Dingy boastfully told the story of being out of town on a business trip and not being able to figure out how to work the alarm clock.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her solution was simply to stay up all night so as to not sleep in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This resulted in an extra dingy Dingy Von Airhead the next day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An event I’m sorry to have missed in person. I'm sure the dinginess reached on that day far outshone any other amount of dinginess.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I suppose she forgot that the front desk can do wake-up calls or that her Blackberry most likely has an alarm on it, too?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But, I guess if she can’t figure out how to<em> DIAL</em> a phone that the chances of her being able to set an alarm on one are pretty minuscule.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Another time, as I was in the middle of a conversation with Bossman, Dingy interrupted.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Dingy</strong>: “OH MY GOD.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You just scared me so bad!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>**giggle giggle giggle**</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong>:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“How did I do that when I was standing here talking to Bossman?”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Dingy</strong>: “I was like at the printer making copies and all of a sudden papers started coming out!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong>: “That’s usually what printers do when you make copies, Dingy.”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Dingy</strong>: “But I like SO did not push the ‘Start’ button.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I looked and they all had<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>YOUR name on them and I was like, ‘Oh my god, how is she doing that??”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong>: <em>**crickets chirping**</em></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Dingy</strong>: “I like so did not know that you could print from your computer onto the copier!! I thought it was possessed!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong>: ……….</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Dingy</strong>: “I know, I’m SO funny, right?!”</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><strong>Me</strong>: …………………………….</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">With that, Dingy hopped away, and Bossman and I shared a glance of complete shock and disbelief, then carried on like nothing happened.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I am grateful for the plethora of personalities and uniqueness that my office shelters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No one can ever say that diversity is something we lack.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">However, I have been reported to HR for being racist before… but that’s another story for another time.</span></span></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"></span>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-16111395159659483042010-10-29T08:37:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.672-07:00Today's AQI: 350 - Stay Indoors, I Repeat, STAY INDOORS<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today I’m introducing a coworker to you that offers quite a bit of unintentional comic relief for me throughout my time at the office.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d like you to meet <em>Farty McFarterson.</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Farty is that guy that always talks to you when you don’t want him to, always states the obvious (several times until someone tells him to ‘shut up’) and laughs hysterically at things that aren’t funny, AT ALL.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s the guy that says your name and then sings a song about it because somehow the sound of your name triggered a reaction leading to the song “Yellow Polka Dot Bikini” which he then sings every time he sees you.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s the creep that uses his grand girth as a means to accidentally grab your butt when walking past because he can’t fit through the space unless his hand makes contact with your @ss.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s the guy that you tell something to 50 times and he still doesn't remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He’s the guy that everyone wonders how the heck he still has a job.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Farty is also the guy that waddles (and I say waddle because Farty consists of an exceptional amount of mass unlike anything you have ever before perceived with your eyes) past your desk leaving behind a train of gag-reflex inducing odorous emissions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.pixiport.com/photography/daddona/images/gas%20mask.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" nx="true" src="http://www.pixiport.com/photography/daddona/images/gas%20mask.jpg" width="313" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I like to call these “Drive By Bombings”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I write about this today, because already, and it’s only 10:52am, I have been victim of 3 drive by bombings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong><span style="font-size: large;">THREE</span>.</strong><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The last of which forced me to evacuate the premises until air quality control could sustain itself and the normal, odorless air could return: about 20 minutes overall.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I’m hoping that whatever is happening inside that creeper subsides sometime soon because I have work to get done and if I have to keep vacating the premises to avoid being asphyxiated by toxic fumes, I’ll never get a thing finished. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s hard to explain to Bossman why I’m standing in the hallway alone, not working, <em>“Uh, Farty is releasing toxic emissions into the atmosphere and I was afraid for my life”?</em><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or perhaps, “<em>Bossman, I cannot work under these hostile conditions. I feel my life is being threatened with every breath I take.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I can feel my brain cells dying.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Is that what you want? <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><strong>Do you want my brain cells to die</strong>? “</em></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Usually all I say is, “Farty is having some intestinal issues today, apparently.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Bossman says, “Uh, then I guess I’ll be away from my desk a while in case anyone is looking for me.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I like to refer to this evacuation period as the <span style="color: #e06666; font-size: large;">Fart Fiesta.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><span style="color: #e06666; font-size: x-small;">*Photo by Louise Daddona - <a href="http://louisedaddona.artspan.com/">http://louisedaddona.artspan.com/</a></span></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-32567632166139308412010-10-28T07:17:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.678-07:00There's A Storm a Brewin...<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Lately, the area in which I reside has been hit with some pretty dreadful and devastating storms.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This past Tuesday was no exception.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Around 5pm a wall cloud raced across the sky as I watched from the 15 foot wall to wall windows that line the exterior wall of the lounge.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was as if the clouds were literally swallowing every ray of sunshine that forced its way through the atmosphere.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>One by one, the beams disappeared until the sky was an ominous shade of bluish gray.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The trees, dazzling the hillside with their brilliant shades of orange and yellow seemed to be casting light from within.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The landscape seemed to take on the properties of a dark cave filled with golden coins from a lost treasure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eMYslU2_Tkw/TMmD7xkTH0I/AAAAAAAAAsg/znIYO73poAs/s1600/storm.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><img border="0" height="265" nx="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eMYslU2_Tkw/TMmD7xkTH0I/AAAAAAAAAsg/znIYO73poAs/s400/storm.jpg" width="400" /></span></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><em><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">Photo courtesy of WTAE News Pittsburgh</span></em></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then the roaring began.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I watched as all those little gold coins blew in bursts off those sparkling trees and got caught in winds blowing in circles, then up into the sky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The roaring shook the entire building.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It sounded like we were being attacked by some other-worldly creature (</span><a href="http://www.kidreviewer.com/images/2008/feb/cloverfield-monster-head-2.jpg"><span style="font-family: inherit;">think Cloverfield</span></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">All the while, Bossman, who was supposed to be at a work-related event, was at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>*Ahem* I do believe God brought this storm on to reveal the fact that the Bossman is a liar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People get their come-uppins, ya know.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">So Bossman is at home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Forecasters had been calling out the storm all day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>People were preparing for the worst.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except for Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Bossman was<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>on a ladder fixing a cable line on the second floor roof of his house.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yes, really.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Cue ominous clouds, roaring winds and then the rain/hail.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">According to Bossman, he was too afraid to climb down the ladder, so he just hung on for dear life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Attempting to preserve the smidgen of dignity that he thought he had.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Suddenly, a gust of wind pinned him against the ladder, knocking the air out of him and began hurling branches from nearby trees through the air.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">One of the kamikaze branches just happened to choose the path of Bossman’s face and quickly and very abruptly made contact with the round empty cranium of his.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He blacked out, of course, still clinging to the ladder.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">He managed to climb down after the wind died down a few minutes later, blood trickling down his face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was over.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Then the ding dong went and played hockey and managed to get himself smashed into the sideboards head first.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Yesterday, after hours of pain (he eventually showed up at the office around 2pm), Bossman says to me, “I’ve had this headache since last night and I can’t figure out why…”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I, pulling from my wealth of knowledge developed from hours of watching CSI, NCSI, The Mentalist, Grey’s Anatomy and Private Practice, deduced that it was a concussion/contusion due to blunt force trauma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I diagnosed him and told him he needs to go to the hospital because he could have a subdural hematoma and die suddenly if he doesn’t get it taken care of.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>((hehe))</span><br /><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Later, I hear him on the phone with who I’m assuming was a doctor and he says, “I really think I have that blood force confusion* thing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I need a scan because I don’t want to die of an epidural hemophilia*.”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*<strong>Blood Force Confusion</strong> – Blunt force trauma / contusion</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: x-small;">*<strong>Epidural Hemophilia</strong> – Subdural Hematoma</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Today, he isn’t here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Maybe his <em>blood force confusion</em> made him think it was Saturday?</span></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-33286828751839930192010-10-28T07:15:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.683-07:00Techknincalodgically Stupid...There's one thing that causes me to lose respect for someone more than anything and that is poor grammar/vocabulary/spelling skills.<br /><br />Unfortunately for Bossman, he lacks refinement in all 3 of these areas. This has only one outcome: my complete and utter lack of respect for him. <br /><br />It's horrible, right? He's my superior, he <strike>deserves </strike>demands respect because of his title. Well, I'm one of those that believe a person should earn respect, title or no title. Certain qualities must be proven in order to gain respect from those beneath you. <br /><br />When working with Bossman I am often reminded of Dan Quayle and the potato debacle. Bossman is continually correcting spelling of words already spelled correctly. If I correct his so-called correction, he corrects the correction of his correction and we end up spelling it wrong twice over in the end. <br /><br />Recently, I was handed a report that needed the correction of a typo made. In red ink at the top of the report was written the following: (actual scan of report... yes, I saved it because it was THAT GOOD.)<br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eMYslU2_Tkw/TMjGh88tTFI/AAAAAAAAAr8/0QUdwT742hY/s1600/techk.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="30" nx="true" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_eMYslU2_Tkw/TMjGh88tTFI/AAAAAAAAAr8/0QUdwT742hY/s400/techk.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><br /><br />TECHKNOLEDGY.<br /><br />What. the. heck.<br /><br />At first sight, I yelped... an unsuccessful attempt to restrain the laughter billowing up inside my gut. Luckily, Bossman had walked away right after handing me the report.<br /><br />I couldn't keep this to myself. Hecks no! I jumped up on my 4 1/2 inch stilettos with report in hand and ran to reception so someone else could share in the euphoria of basking in someone else's mistakes that I was experiencing at that moment. <br /><br />After spreading the love, I stuffed his doodled-on report in my purse to archive in the Bossman is a Ding Dong file I keep at the homestead.<br /><br />I completed the revisions he asked for, omitting his spelling correction, of course, and laid the completed version on his desk. Minutes later the report was back on my desk, scribbled on again in red ink, with the same exact correction to be made. So, I made the correction and gave it back to him. Again. But, this time I actually typed in "Techknoledgy".<br /><br />Later that afternoon, with a puzzled expression, Bossman was back at my desk with the report in his hand. This stupid report, back and forth, back and forth, over one word that I was pretty sure, up until that point, was a pretty common word to know how to spell. I guess the word "common" is relative, though, subjective. <br /><br /><strong>Bossman</strong> - "I'm thinking 'techknoledgy' is spelled wrong."<br /><strong>Punching</strong> <strong>Bag</strong> - "Really?"<br /><strong>Bossman</strong> - "Yeah, you should have used spellcheck before printing this out."<br /><strong>Punching Bag</strong> - **silence** Cue inner monologue, "Are you <em>FREAKING KIDDING ME</em>? I gave you the correct spelling and you <span style="font-size: large;">un-corrected</span> it! Remember, you hired me because you're too stupid to do this stuff yourself. But, I guess you're too stupid to remember that."<br /><strong>Bossman -</strong> "Can you spellcheck this right now? I don't know why, but it doesn't look right."<br /><br />I turn around to face my computer and open a Word document accompanied by the biggest eye roll in the history of eye rolls. (He only saw the back of my head.)<br /><br />I type: techknoledgy.<br />Word gives the red squiggly line indicating definite folly.<br /><strong>Bossman</strong> - "What does that thing mean?"<br /><strong>Punching Bag</strong> - "It means it's spelled wrong."<br />I right click, select the correct spelling. Technology.<br /><strong>Bossman</strong> - "Wow, I can't believe we spelled it THAT wrong!"<br /><br />By this time I was fed up with the association of stupidity he was giving me with himself and out of my mouth flew, "Uh, WE didn't spell it wrong, you did that all on your own." <br /><br />Then I felt guilty, mean, rude.<br />So I followed it with, "But that's a really hard word to spell, I can totally see how someone would get confused and think there's a 'd' in there. I mean, the word EDGY has a 'd' in it."<br /><br />Bossman, "Exactly!" And he walked away.<br /><br /><em>Moron.</em>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-88598450315642296482010-10-28T07:14:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.690-07:00I Spy With My Little Eyes...<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Everyday, without fail, Bossman says to me, “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I gotta run out to my truck.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">“Okay”, I say, indifferently.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>However, the wheels in my noggin start cranking as I attempt to come up with an explanation as to what he could possibly be doing out there at numerous points of everyday.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Drugs?</i></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>No, he’s too coherent.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And definitely not emaciated enough for that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Twinkies, perhaps?</i></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His fiancée <em><strong>is</strong></em> a weight nazi that happened to lose ginormous amounts of her exceptional girth recently and has demanded the same of him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He could have a stash in his truck to satiate his inner twink-fiend.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Phone calls to a secret someone?</i></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Certainly possible.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But who would be hopeless enough to spend time having meaningful conversations with him? (If there is such a thing.) His mother, possibly?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Motivational CDs?</i></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It has to be.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The kind that you record your own name and it then inserts it into key parts of the motivational shpeel so as to make one believe that Tony Robbins is speaking directly to oneself<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">…<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>“It’s a great day to be </i>**<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Punching Bag</b>**.<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></i>**<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Punching Bag</b>**<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> can succeed in all things!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You are awesome, </i>**<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;">The Punching Bag</b>**<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">.”</i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Nah, he’s too miserable and beastly for that.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Being ever so desperate to uncover the truth of the truck time, I even approached security and attempted to enlist their help in watching over surveillance cameras in the parking lot to see what exactly takes place when he’s gotta run to his truck.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They said no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some kind of violation of privacy or crap like that. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I tried following him once, but apparently whatever he does out there makes him unbelievably paranoid and he saw me, so I was forced to act as if I was going to my own car to get something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">The truck was not always the choice for his escape, however.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Last summer, as I took a jaunt around the parking lot during my lunch, I happened to see someone standing in a shed in the back of the field set far behind the parking lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Upon further straining of my neck and eyes, I discovered it was Bossman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I continued my afternoon stroll and parked it at my desk, anxiously awaiting his return so I could put him on the spot.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">He walked past me and I said, staring at my computer as I typed an email, “Saw you out in the shed Bossman, is that your secret clubhouse or something?”</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><a href="http://www.i-mockery.com/minimocks/largemarge/large-marge-animated.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" nx="true" src="http://www.i-mockery.com/minimocks/largemarge/large-marge-animated.gif" /></a><span style="font-size: small;"><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Guilty as charged.</i></b><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like a deer in headlights.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>His beady little eyes inside his sunken in face bulged out like <em>Large Marge</em> (@ left).</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Stumbling over a few indistinct syllables, he finally said, “What were you doing in the parking lot?”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sure, try to deflect your guilt on me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I shrugged off the questions, knowing he wouldn’t want to pursue the conversation.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">I happened to mention this to the head of maintenance, not realizing what an upset it was going to be… </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">The next week on my afternoon frolic, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the shed was gone</i>.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Like, there was just a giant grass-less square in the field where a shed once stood.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">That’s when the truck time commenced.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What HAPPENED in that shed??<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The horrors!!.. I can’t even imagine. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If it was that bad that it had to be torn down??<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>**chills**</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">A mystery to this day, my investigation continues.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-size: small;">Maybe he just needs to fart a lot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In that case, I’m grateful for truck time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7368918375133859685.post-87846725141165155902010-10-28T07:13:00.000-07:002011-03-24T07:27:56.699-07:00The Biggest Booger of Them All<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Something that occupies quite a large portion of my time, but that I rarely write about (on the other blog with my name on it… this must remain anonymous so I don’t get fired. OBVIOUSLY) is work. I have a job. I have a job that leaves me feeling frustrated and trampled on at the end of each day. Who'd think that being an assistant would be so emotionally taxing? Well, it is. One thing my employers failed to mention upon hiring me was the clause in my job description that deemed me as "<b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">the office punching bag a.k.a. the office doormat</i></b>".</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Think of an office as a social hierarchy. I loosely refer to Gossip Girl when painting this mental image. In the world of Serena Van Der Woodsens and Blair Waldorfs, I am the Jenny Humphrey. Sure, I have a lot going for me and I probably have more potential than 98% of the people I work with, but simply because I am an <b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">assistant</span></b>, I have been cast to the very bottom of the office totem pole.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fortunately for me, this position is temporary. A means to an end. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">A typical day for me is not much different from that of Pam from The Office. I deal with a boss who truly believes he is the most compelling man in existence and laughter at his jokes is a requirement to maintain the balance of joy/misery for the day. If one fails to respond to his banter with devastatingly joyful laughter, you can be sure that the next 8 hours will be met with acute micromanagement. Not to mention the absurd degree of ungratefulness resonating from every pore of his being. When I was first hired, he informed me that he will not say "please" or "thank you" to me, that I should always assume it is implied. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Implied? IMPLIED?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">So when you come to my desk with a report, slam it in front of me and bellow, "YOU NEED TO DO THIS NOW", I should presuppose that what you really intended to say was, "I was wondering if you could please find some time in your busy schedule to complete this report for me. I would really really appreciate it. Thank you." ???</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Something seems lost in translation here. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Last week, in an attempt to conciliate a very discouraged team, the Bossman bought us all lunch. Feeling obligated to do so, we all ate lunch with him in the lounge. First thing out of his mouth was, "I read this in a management book." </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Feeling too at ease with the situation, I inadvertently blurted out, "What? To force your employees to spend time with you by buying us food? Great management skills."</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Immediately after "skills..." left my lips I realized what I had just said. Did I really just debase the most egocentric person I know in front of his entire team?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Yep. Yep I did. I gave myself an imaginary pat on the back for finally speaking my mind. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">Fortunately, everyone laughed and so did he. I thought for a moment that I was turning over a new leaf... not taking anyone's crap anymore. My plan boomeranged. The outcome was worse than I expected. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Bossman felt as if we bonded. I expect he felt that since I was at ease enough to slight him it meant that we were friends.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The rest of the afternoon was spent flaughing (fake laughing) <s>with</s> at him. I'm not very good at it, but I think I'm getting better.. lots of practice, ya know. I listened to stories about hockey and pumpkin carving. I listened to stories about him fighting girls off with a stick (which I imagined in my head to be more like the blind guy, Blinkin, from Men In Tights when he was sword fighting with the wooden pole). Then I tried to stare at his chin as he talked and in a failed attempt to ignore the giant booger hanging out of his shnoz. I accidentally let out a little gagging sound and had to pretend I was having a coughing spasm. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">I’m not afraid to say it. I hate boogers.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">With that I leave you.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><br /></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri;">The Bossman called in sick today which means I need to go do his job for him. Oh wait, I do that even when he’s here.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>The Punching Baghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15134642277542838528noreply@blogger.com0