Maybe It Is the Law
Apr. 21st, 2005 03:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
akirluThe boss's birthday is Monday.
And the Passive-Aggressive Cow-Orker who cannot decide to tie her own shoes without my "input" and approval (NB: I am not in PACO's chain of command; I am not her supervisor; I know next-to-nothing about her job and am happy that way) thought it would be a good idea to "do" something. Actually, I agree. We have a strictly fabulous boss, and something should be done. Which is why I'm doing all the actual organizing, despite the fact that this eventuated from PACOs little dance of "Oh, what do you think we should do? Should we do something? What do other departments do? Do they have parties? What do you guys do? Is there a University policy? Would it be inappropriate? Should we get a cake? What do you think? Oh, what should we doooooooo?" Normally this much whiny, manipulative grovelling would lapse me into shrugs and stony monosyllables until PACO went away again, but I am a grown up, and I'm not going to be talked out of a good idea just on the basis of a really irritating presentation.
So I'm ordering and picking up the cake, because that seemed easier than explaining to the police why it was in fact a moral imperative that I beat PACO to death with a weighted-bronze bookend. I couldn't have given a good reason for stuffing the bright yellow, sponge-plastic squeezy-brain into her mouth afterwards, anyway. EDIT: After all, the correct procedure is obviously to apply the gag first and then bash her skull in. Geez.
And never mind the fact that PACO could have walked down to QFC and ordered the cake just as easily as me. The curse of competence, I tell you. Or possibly, this is the Divine teaching me cheerful acceptance of the PACOs of the world.
Swinnyway, I ambled down the hill to U-Village, and thence to the QFC bakery counter, whereat of three or four possible servitors, I was eagerly greeted by the Creature with the coy smile in the corners of his eyes who could easily have been my son if I had gone down that particular path. And I swear he was doing the flirty eye thing with me the entire time he took my order. No. Really. Barely old enough to shave, this kid. I dunno, maybe it's a sales technique. Kinda wasted on someone who marches up and says they want to order a cake, tho.
Sales technique also does not account for one of the faculty, right out of the clear blue, feeling compelled to mention that he's free for lunch on Monday in an e-mail otherwise concerned with the Hiring Plan Committee.
Is it something in the water?
And the Passive-Aggressive Cow-Orker who cannot decide to tie her own shoes without my "input" and approval (NB: I am not in PACO's chain of command; I am not her supervisor; I know next-to-nothing about her job and am happy that way) thought it would be a good idea to "do" something. Actually, I agree. We have a strictly fabulous boss, and something should be done. Which is why I'm doing all the actual organizing, despite the fact that this eventuated from PACOs little dance of "Oh, what do you think we should do? Should we do something? What do other departments do? Do they have parties? What do you guys do? Is there a University policy? Would it be inappropriate? Should we get a cake? What do you think? Oh, what should we doooooooo?" Normally this much whiny, manipulative grovelling would lapse me into shrugs and stony monosyllables until PACO went away again, but I am a grown up, and I'm not going to be talked out of a good idea just on the basis of a really irritating presentation.
So I'm ordering and picking up the cake, because that seemed easier than explaining to the police why it was in fact a moral imperative that I beat PACO to death with a weighted-bronze bookend. I couldn't have given a good reason for stuffing the bright yellow, sponge-plastic squeezy-brain into her mouth afterwards, anyway. EDIT: After all, the correct procedure is obviously to apply the gag first and then bash her skull in. Geez.
And never mind the fact that PACO could have walked down to QFC and ordered the cake just as easily as me. The curse of competence, I tell you. Or possibly, this is the Divine teaching me cheerful acceptance of the PACOs of the world.
Swinnyway, I ambled down the hill to U-Village, and thence to the QFC bakery counter, whereat of three or four possible servitors, I was eagerly greeted by the Creature with the coy smile in the corners of his eyes who could easily have been my son if I had gone down that particular path. And I swear he was doing the flirty eye thing with me the entire time he took my order. No. Really. Barely old enough to shave, this kid. I dunno, maybe it's a sales technique. Kinda wasted on someone who marches up and says they want to order a cake, tho.
Sales technique also does not account for one of the faculty, right out of the clear blue, feeling compelled to mention that he's free for lunch on Monday in an e-mail otherwise concerned with the Hiring Plan Committee.
Is it something in the water?
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