Jan 23 2002
Working girl
Ah, the trials and tribulations of the working girl. No, not that kind — though they undoubtedly have plenty — the kind who works in an office. A girl like me. In fact, me.
Yesterday, my boss and I had our annual goal planning meeting, something which is almost as much fun as a root canal, as done by Candi’s evil dentist. My boss used this opportunity to give me a very, very hard time, which I thought and still think utterly undeserved and unfair. It upset me so much that I actually went home and cried.
I think the whole thing really is because I refused to go to this year’s drinkfest and ego stroke-a-thon in Dallas, and the part of me that didn’t want to immediately burst into tears from all the undeserved criticism made me want to tell her to go fark herself, as Wil Wheaton would say (yes, that Wil Wheaton. And his blog is damned good reading, too).
But this morning, my unusual bout of self-restraint was rewarded by my boss immediately and abjectly apologizing for her remarks yesterday. The apology was as unexpected and unheralded as the earlier attack, making me wonder what the hell was going on even more than usual. Good thing she apologized, too, because I once again ended up covering for our lameass Admin Assistant, who came in at 9:30, then left at 11:30 for a dentist appointment, even though she knew we had materials which had to be delivered to our client by 3:00 this afternoon. Now, there’s a deserving target for a torrent of criticism.
So I not only produced the client materials, I printed them, had them bound, wrote the cover letter, packaged them up, and delivered them personally. By the time I left to deliver the package (2:30), our AA still hadn’t returned to the office. I better not hear one more word about not being a team player, especailly because I have to go and touch up my make-up now before Webster’s takes my picture to illustrate the “team player” section of their forthcoming dictionary.
Ready for my close-up. Mr. Webster.