Workplace Personalities - Parents Lil Princess

 

Parents Lil Princess is called that for a reason.  

She isn't Mama's Lil Princess, because that would make her more about being a cutie pootie who expects doors opened, finger draping diamond rings, Jimmy Choos and generaally to be kept in the manner to which she would like to become accustomed without her having to do regular blow jobs.

She isn't Daddy's Lil Princess either, because that has an Oedipal connotation, and would make her more about finding a man to protect, worship and look after her who reminders her - consciously or unconsciously - of her father.

No, this is Parents Lil Princess, because they are both equally complicit in the fantasy that moulds her.  

To get a clear picture of this woman, imagine her at 5, or 6, or 7 years old.  She's at the annual ballet show that the teaching school puts on for the paying parents, allowing them to swoon over their little darlings and commit to another year of dance class fees.  Parents Lil Princess is dancing, in a line, with her classmates.  Of all of them, she is clearly not naturally talented.  This will not be another Darcey Bussell.  She's gangly, stumbles, perhaps even bumps the poor little girl on her left.

The Parents see none of this.  Video camera in hand, they are the only ones in the audience standing, and they're crooning loudly.  Mummy is probably crying, and Daddy is utterly smitten.

They firmly believe - with a faith stronger than a member of a suicide cult - that their daughter is a prodigy.  And it's not just about ballet.  Piano lessons, drama lessons, field hockey - name your poison -Parents Lil Princess is always the most adept child on the stage/field.  

Worst of all, they pass this belief onto the little girl in question.  Her indoctrination into the cult of her unquestionable ability is deeply ingrained over years and years.

Once Parents Lil Princess enters the workplace, her self-belief is entrenched.  Now remember, this is in no way proportional to her ability.  This combination renders her possibly even more difficult to deal with than The Paper Flower, because at least the flower knows she's incompetent while trying to hide it.  Parents Lil Princess, on the other hand, is blind to her limitations.

And so, the day comes when you ask her to do something for you.  Maybe it's Parents Lil Princess that needs to execute the task, maybe it's her team.  Either way, you are not going to get what you asked for.  Worse still, if you try to communicate that your needs have not been met, you are faced with utter incredulity.  I mean, come on, Parents Lil Princess is never wrong.  Her work is purrrrrrfect.  So how on earth did you not get exactly what you needed from her?  Does.  Not.  Compute.

If you feel annoyed by this, consider how bad it is for her team.  Her disproportionate sense of expertise and entitlement means that she can treat people however she wants to.  After all, her parents - supposed to be the authority figures in her life - gave her whatever she wanted and constantly made her feel uberspecial, so she sees everyone else as being not only less able than she is, but also in her service.  

If her team question her, she explodes.  If her team asks for guidance, she is incapable of giving it.  They are stuck between a rock and a hard place.  Worst of all, when they are working their asses off, Parents Lil Princess is spending the entire team budget on training or conferences in exotic places because she's the best, she's the most important and she's the designated Star.  Parents Lil Princess tends to have a high staff turnover on her team.  She doesn't see that as an indication of her being the problem, of course.  Every one else has the issues.  

The last thing to know about Parents Lil Princess that she has a very strong knife and she doesn't hesitate to stab it in anyone's back.  This is simply because nobody else can be right so, if they get in her way, they must be got rid of.  She feels perfectly justified in killing someone off.  They aren't, after all, as good as she is so there's no loss, right?  

To summarize...

Key signs:

• Confidence multiplied exponentially, to the point of narcissism
• Incomprehension when performance is questioned 
• Disproportionate sense of entitlement
• Screwing other people over with no sense of guilt, or even a sense that there should be a sense of guilt

Catch phrase: Of course I can do that!  I'll have it you to right away!

Your strategy: 

You have these choices.  If you can't go with No. 1, the others work best when combined:

1. Avoid
2. If you have to engage, try to make her feel like the expert - suck it up and be humble 
3. Make your instructions on the task as simple as possible - think Idiot's Guide
4. Cover your ass - all specifications and agreements regarding work must be in writing, preferably in email which she has to reply to, thereby confirming her commitment
5. Make friends with her boss so, if you ever have to escalate, you'll be believed, because her boss has had months, possibly years, of her telling him/her how wonderful she is

Their comeuppance:

Sadly, it'll only happen if her whole team finds a way to leave at once.  Only then will Parents Lil Princess' boss realize she's been bullshitting him all this time.

To read more in the Workplace Personalities series, click here.

You might like:

• The Mother Hen
• The Uppity Vendor

Workplace Personalities - The Paper Flower

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Like Lil Miss Congeniality, the Paper Flower is always a woman in the workplace.  Why a woman?  Well, for the same reasons Lil Miss Congeniality is always a woman.  The Paper Flower is the product of years (a minimum of 18 years) of indoctrination.  

 

Unlike boys, who are taught to be strong, to confidently clarify requirements for the task at hand, and to have a sense of entitlement, she has been taught that she has to make herself attractive to get attention and to get what she wants.   

 

The attractive part, though, isn't just about physical appearance.  Once she enters the workplace and is confronted with the reality of being expected to actually get things done, she transfers the skill to a sense of needing to always seem capable.

 

And so you'll ask the Paper Flower to do something, and she will never, ever refuse.  She will never ask clarifying questions and, most of all, she will never, ever admit that she needs help, let alone that the task is beyond her capabilities.  

 

And so, overwhelmed by something she does not know how to do, and has no experience of, she does four things:

 

1. She delays
2. She ignores assistance
3. She turns to Google
4. She hides her work in progress

The fourth coping mechanism means, of course, that there is no way you can help her.  She won't ask for help and she won't let you see her work because you may then realize, on your own, that she needs help.

The third ensures that she won't take any coaching from you even if you give it before your realize how crap she is, because that would also be an admission of her lack of capability.  Your emails which contain guidance on the task are steadfastly ignored.  

The second coping mechanism results in her spewing TLAs* and buzzwords which, in the context of the sentence that contains them, are just slightly left of center of how they ought to be used.

This is the only way you can confirm that you are dealing with a Paper Flower.  All the other habits described above can make you suspicious, but once she's in a meeting and says something that really shows ignorance of the root concept at hand, you've got her bang to rights.**

And that's when you see it.

The pretty flower isn't real.  What seemed like a strong stem is a thin dowel rod, the petals are expertly folded origami and, if you wanted to, all you need to do is stretch out your hand and you could crush this little flower in seconds.

But, of course, you're in a professional workplace, so you can't destroy her.

And so you suffer her on your project, knowing that her first coping mechanism is going to compromise your deadline, her second and third coping mechanisms are going to compromise your quality, and her fourth coping mechanism is going to ensure that you cannot mitigate any of it.

You also can't dob her in*** to her boss, because her tactics are so shrouded that you have very little evidence to support a request to have her removed.

Key signs:

• Volunteers for any task
• Once the task has begun, radio silence
• Any advice you give is ignored
• TLAs and buzzwords used excessively and incorrectly

 

Catch phrase: Sure, I can do that!

 

 

Your Strategy:

 

What to do?  Frankly, I wish I knew.  If you have any advice, let me know

 

  

Their comeuppance:

 

The only way I think The Paper Flower will start to wilt of her own accord is when deadlines are passed and she has to present her work to her peers or management.  Trouble is, if her work is part of your project, you're going down too.

 

 

 

*Three Letter Acronyms

 

**  To have enough proof to show that someone has done something wrong e.g. "I was driving way above the speed limit and the police radar caught me bang to rights"

 

*** Inform on her

 

 

 

For more in the Workplace Personalities series, click here.

 

You might like:

• The Ninja
• The Teflon Kid 

Workplace Personalities - Lil' Miss Congeniality

Beware of Lil' Miss Congeniality, for she is not what she seems.

It's easy to be fooled by her, I know.  After all, she's so sweet and bubbly and smiley and perky and she laughs, laughs, laughs all the time because - presumably - she is so very, very, very happy.

Miss Congeniality comes from the midwest of the United States.

Now, maybe you think I'm being unfair.  After all, surely all the Workplace Personalities that I have described in this blog could come from, and be found in, any country in the world.

Well, here's the thing.  I just don't believe that any other country on our little planet has as big a swath of land populated by as many down home, God-fearin' folks waving as many red, white and blue flags in their yards as the United States of Ah-mehr-ee-kah.

And these lands, these people and their God breed some very particular kinds of people. 

And then those people come to the Big City.

And then they get a job in a Big Company.

And they have to figure out how to survive in a world of sushi and opera and Democrats and meetings and networking and office politicking.

They're in a strange land.  

Gay people are out in the open, teams gather over cocktails at Happy Hour, colleagues quote Rachel Maddow and Keith Olbermann openly over the water cooler and nobody - nobody! - ever starts a gathering of any kind with a prayer.

And so Lil' Miss Congeniality, she finds a way - for we are a strong people, Lord, and we always find a way - to function, to cope, even to thrive.  And, most of all, a way to hack people down with a sweetie pie smile and walk, head held high with absolute decorum, over their bodies to the top of the ladder.

Now why, I hear you ask, is this workplace personality necessarily a "Miss"?  Why a woman?  

The answer is simple: Lil' Miss Congeniality is a product of her upbringing.

Yes, we've come a long way, Baby, but women still have a long, long way to go.  With each generation we have tried to shed our shackles but here we are in the Noughties, and we find ourselves, as Senator Kirstin Gillibrand said recently:

"... literally fighting the same battles of our mothers and our grandmothers."

Knowing your Value special edition of Morning Joe on MSNBC

And so, even though she was born in the 60s, or 70s, or even 80s, Lil' Miss Congeniality has, immediately after exiting the womb, been warned off taking risks, brought up to be task driven rather than strategic and taught that she should be a nice, polite, sweet little girl.  Because that's how you get rewarded, and that's how you get attention.  

Of course, you can also attract attention through your sexuality, but that would make you a slut, and we all know how that ends, don't we?

And so we end up with a monster cunningly disguised as a charming lady.

Key signs:

• Tinkling laughter
• Long hair - either prom or pageant queen style
• Home baked goods brought into the office
• Wearing pastels
• Constantly interrupting you
• Long stories holding you captive at your desk in a fake show of bonding
• Disguised put downs 

This last key sign is the is kicker.  It can be very hard to spot.  But it's the one thing that you need to watch out for, because it's the peek behind the mask to the evil beneath.  

Remember, Lil' Miss Congeniality will stab you in the back with a winning, whiter than white smile.  She was taught to rub Vaseline on her teeth to force her to hold that picture perfect grin, so looking friendly while she slits your carotid artery is child's play to her.

So watch carefully for:

• Sentences that, on first hearing them, sound like a compliment but aren't, always followed by the tinkly laugh:

"My goodness you type our meeting minutes so fast!  Are you sure you're not the queen of the admins?  Tee hee hee hee hee hee!"

• Undermining you in front of others, followed by a tinkly laugh e.g. after you've sent feedback on a colleague's document that he sent to the team for review, announcing across the cube farm:

"I just saw the feedback email from [insert your name here] and I was just thinking that you've probably had just about enough feedback on that report now, haven't you Steve?  Tee hee hee hee hee hee!"

Here's the very worst thing about Lil' Miss Congeniality.  She is the most vile perpetrator of anti-female sexism, because she freely undermines other women in the workplace.  

Catch phrase: Tee hee hee hee hee hee!

Your Strategy: 

Don't work with her if at all possible.  Do you think you're capable of becoming a snake charmer without being bitten?  Exactly!  Get away from her.

Their comeuppance:

It's unlikely to happen.  People are generally fooled by her down home saccharine and consider her to be a darling little country girl.    

To read more in the Workplace Personalities series, click here.

You might like: 

• The Stalker
• The Arsonist

I'm jus' sayin' - Toilet rolls

You know when toilet rolls are squished and then the middle is oval and then when you pull the paper the roll turns and goes KADONK-KADONK?

I hate that.

Jus' sayin'

For more vignettes of bullshit in this series, click here.

Hell is Other People - Passive Aggressive Bitch

 

I am currently working with a new colleague who - and this is a euphemism - is a fucking stupid bollocking bitch.

She is so passive aggressive she needs to be medicated for it.

I was asked to lead a project because I have the skills and the experience to do it.

But she wanted to run it and they didn't ask her to because - shocker! - she does not have the skills and the experience.  

That's not to say she's dumb.  Trust me, she isn't.  She has skills that I don't have.  But she's very young.  She's two years out of college.  Just two years!  She just isn't at the stage where she can lead this thing.  Not yet.

But she doesn't seem to get it.

She thinks that she's the shit, that she can take this thing and run with it, and that I am in her way.

Ah, the arrogance of youth.

I knew she'd be a problem immediately.  I could feel it in the first meeting we had as a team.  So I decided to reach out to her, to get to know her a little, to bond.  

So I invited her to go out for coffee.  

I have never in my life - I am not exaggerating - had to spend so long eating so much shit and smiling so hard as I did it.

The San, a nomadic tribe from the Kalahari desert in South Africa, hunt with poison darts.  The sneak up to the buck, hiding in the long grass, till they get close enough.  Then, slowly and silenty, raise a little tube to their lips and blow.  The arrow hits the buck in the rump, and it thinks it's been stung.  Never mind.  Shrug it off.  But then they start to feel a little woozy and, before they know it, they're dead on the ground.

I felt like I was that prey.  Every now and then, in the middle of conversation about our previous jobs or whatever, she'd shoot a little poisonous dart at me.  

At first, I wondered if I was crazy.  She seemed to be prepared for us to get to know each other.  Her smile was a little cold but, still, did I just hear that right?

But they kept coming.

When we were discussing our education...

"You must get so irritated with people who haven't worked in different countries like you have..."

When I was describing a local political issue that I felt strongly about:

"You are like that in meetings! [Fake laugh].  You have such passion that we can't convince you!"

When she was telling me about her gap year helping a charity in South America and I expressed admiration, because she'd done something I'd always wanted to, but I hadn't had the guts to fly so far from home when I was fresh out of high school:

"Oh, come on!" she said.  "You have guts.  You're lying."

By the end of the half hour coffee, I needed a stiff drink.  It was 5pm and I immediately called my friend Barbara and met her for Happy Hour.

Even as I told Barbara what had happened, I was still debating with myself... was I being paranoid?

But the examples above are less than half of the poisonous things Lil Miss Passive Aggressive said to me.  I don't remember all of them, but I did keep count.  There were at least 7 of them.

Within a half hour period.

So, what to do?

Well, she clearly felt pushed aside by me, so I suggested that she would be the best person to manage a specific element of the project, giving her clear responsibility for this area, and making clear to her that this was because she had the expertise and knowledge of that element, and I did not.  And it wasn't a small thing.  This was a major chunk of the work we had to do.

Perhaps, I thought, making it clear what we each had to do would fix the problem.

Nope.

A few days later, we were in a meeting.  We were all discussing her part of the project.  I asked her if she'd like to go up to the whiteboard to lay out what we were all thinking. 

"No, no," Lil Miss Passive Aggressive said.  "You should.  You're leading the meeting!"

By this stage, I was starting to get pissed off.

But, again, I ate shit and smiled.  And smiled, and smiled, and smiled, all through the two hour meeting.  I made eye contact with her, I asked her opinion, I made sure that I dared not interrupt her when she spoke.

Perhaps... just maybe, I thought, it would be OK now.

Nope.

I created a document, I sent it to her for review.  The document was stored on a shared drive.  I basically told her to go into it and change it if she wanted to.

She emailed me a separate version of the document.  

Her email was cringeworthy.  It included:

"I hope you don't mind this feedback... :-)" 

"I know that I haven't created a [type of document] before, but I think that..."

"IMHO..."

Then, even though I'd sent her the document I'd created immediately, she created two documents and sent them directly to the project Sponsor, without having the courtsey to let me review them first.  

Remember, I'm the one leading this project.  Anything that goes to the Sponsor reflects on me.  And the stuff Lil Miss Passive Aggressive sent to her - a  very senior person in our department - wasn't ready to be sent to anyone.  

And it still goes on.  And on and on and on.  

If you have any ideas to help me deal with her, let me know.

In the meantime, all I can think is...

Hell is other people.

To read more in the Hell is Other People series, click here.

You might like:

• The idiot woman in the elevator
• The time I had "a Fall" 

Post-its of wrath - It's way beyond nagging

 

These postits are not 100% real.  I love my husband, seriously.

I feel the need - a deep, deep need - to help you understand my point of view on two key things.

1. Household repairs
2. Cleanliness

These two things are always a bone of contention in the modern marriage where income level precludes engaging staff, and are closely related.  So I am going to address them in combination.

Men have the gift of singular focus, women have the gift of holistic view.  Both are vital.  Both have their place.

This is why a man can live in the legendary state that is known as "Bachelor pad" - same sheets on the bed for over a month, fridge full of beer, only food in the house a suger-laden cereal aimed at children ages 3-7.  It doesn't matter to you because you are focused on going to work, or playing that video game, or shooting the shit with buddies over a beer.  As long as you can achieve what you need to, the state of your surroundings is, at best, a peripheral consideration.  There's probably a mother or cleaner who comes in now and again to take care of any food containers, socks or underwear that are approaching a health hazard, so what's the problem, right?

Now, let me explain a woman's point of view.

Our home is our nest.  

It is our refuge, our relaxation, our happy place.  

To be a happy place, it has to be a pretty place.  To be a pretty place, it has to be a clean place and a functioning place.

Take a leaf out of the Bowerbird's book:  They build a beautiful home to attract a mate, decorating it with colorful leaves and flowers, even creating a stunning garden around it!  And, by bird standards, it's a bloody big house, too.

Therefore, there are two things that we cannot bear: anything that lingers and lingers as an element that doesn't work, and anything that causes a sense of disgust.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I delay cleaning tasks just like you do.  I hate doing the laudry, I don't always empty or load the dishwasher immediately, I don't always sweep up the alarmingly multifluous dog hair that covers our house in a thin layer, and causes tumbleweeds.

But I have a threshold, and it's 2-3 days, or 2-3 daily mitigation events.

So, if I come out of the bathroom, having just spread a precious dime-sized amount of $50 anti-aging moisturizer on my hands, and I come into the kitchen, first thing in the morning (before my stomach has settled due to having a deal with the mucus of 8 hous of hayfever post-nasal drip) to find a revolting black, dried out avocado skin from yesterday's sandwich on the counter, and I have to pick it up up put it in the dustbin, but the dustbin is full to overflowing for the third day in a row, and I have to get some Bounty kitchen roll to shove the stuff in there down to get the revolting avocado peel to fit into it and, in doing so, some other trash touches my hand, and so I have to go and wash my hands and thereby wash off my expensive moisturizer, that's two things.  

Sound the alarm!

Disgust inspiration!

Tolerance level breached.  

I can't eat breakfast now, because I feel slightly sick.

I am ready to skin you alive with a blunt butter knife.

It's no use nagging you about it at that point.  It's first thing in the morning for you too, you haven't had your coffee, and I haven't shaken my morning fatigue enough to start an unpleasant discussion.

And so this post-it of wrath, allowing me to vent.

That is all.

To read other uberbitchy post-its of wrath, click here.

Memory Lane - At Dad's Office

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

   

 

 

 

When I was a kid, we only had one car so, if my mother needed to go shopping or whatever, dad would drive to work, and then she'd take the wheel.

 

Indulge me in a little tangent a moment because, as I wrote that first sentence, a related memory surfaced.

 

My mother was pint-sized.  

 

Our car was massive.  

 

I know it was an Austin something-or-other and, having done some Googling, I suspect it was a Cambridge Countryman:

 

 

 

Basically, my mother wasn't tall enough, even with a cushion, to see over the steering wheel.  She drove, literally, imitating an old lady waving her hands from side to side above her head at an exercise class, to enable constant course correction.  It was like a drunk captain driving a boat.  Even as a toddler, it used to scare the living shit out of me when dad got out and mom got into the driving seat.

 

Right, digression over.

 

So we'd do the shopping, run errands, bla bla bla, and head back to the office to pick up my dad.

 

I thought his office was such a big deal.  The professionally dressed people bustling about, the imposing  foyer, the over-friendly secretary, my father's huge desk...

 

And in the top left hand drawer, he always - always - had Imperial Mints, and I was given one, and never more than one, as a treat.  I distinctly remember the green and white box and the taste of the saucer shaped sweet as I gobbled it up, the mintiness hitting the back of my tongue.  

 

 

 

So, one day, we're waiting for my dad to finish work.  His office building was built around a central courtyard, which had a rectangular fish pond in the middle.  As per the style at the time, it was surrounded by grey slasto.  There was a little wall thingy around it, probably about a 30-40cm high, with a top about the same width.  And, of course, bored as hell waiting - the 5 minutes worth of distraction provided by the mint over and having been told that I was not allowed to put my fingers in the water to poke the fish - I began walking round and round the pond on the little wall.

 

 "Stop that!" my mother cautioned.  "You'll fall in!"

 

I don't have to tell you - do I? - that I didn't listen.

 

Quite the opposite.  I increased speed.

 

And I fell in.

 

Yes, I know you saw that one coming.

 

My mother tut-tutted, and went into dad's office to borrow his jersey, take off whatever I was wearing and cover my dripping 4 year old body in a piece of clothing that was 20 times too big for me.

 

Word spread, as it does in any office, and it didn't take long for ladies from the typing pool (yes, this was a long time ago...) came over to "console" me, patting my sodden hair while choking back giggles.

 

I was completely and utterly humiliated.

 

And my mother, in that way that only mothers can do, wasted no time in telling me that she tried to warn me, and that next time, hopefully I'd listen!

 

Yeah, fat chance.

 

Ah, the things we remember...

  

 

 

To read more in the Memory Lane series, click here.

 

You might like to read more about my mother.

 

 

 

Work-Life Imbalance - Login

 

I did it again.  I just tried to log in to my blog using my work login.

FFS...

Work-Life Imbalance...

If you want to find out other stupid things that I do that prove I have no ability to compartmentalize my life, click here.

Hell is Other People - The Boss from Hell

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My very good friend Barbara has a new boss.  And he's a Fuckwit.  

 

Think I'm being too harsh?  Read on...

 

1)  The Game

 

Fuckwit Boss decided that the IT Project Managers should be engaged in the company by having a game to play.  Keep in mind how far gaming has come.  Keep in mind the sophistication of the games we are all currently playing, even on our phones.

 

So this is what Fuckwit Boss does.  He gets excited, he jumps up in the meeting, he starts drawing on the whiteboard.

 

"Picture this!" he says, scribbling furiously.

  

"What we have is a Project Manager, and they have all these project tasks coming down at them from the sky, and they have to run and catch them so they score points to have a successful project!"

"AND!" he continues, his brainstorming genius cup overflowing... "They all have more than one project to run, so the tasks can be different shapes!  And different colors!" 

 

To her credit, Barbara said nothing.

 

Here's what I would have said:

 

"Would there be a soundtrack to this?  Perhaps a kinda bip-bip-bip noise?"

 

OR

 

"If the project manager doesn't catch a task, does it turn into a yellow circle with a little snapping mouth that chases him?"

 

OR

 

"Can the project manager jump to different levels?  Maybe, as well as tasks coming down, we have a scary monkey throwing obstacles down, and he has to jump over them, and maybe they aren't square like the tasks, but more barrel shaped?"

   

2)  Too Close for Comfort

 

Barabara and her team - including her boss - were at a conference.  These things are a lot of work and - if you've ever been to one - you'll know that, at some point, you have to let off steam.  

 

And so the whole team were at a dinner, followed by a party with dancing.

 

Barbara can get down with the best of them, and she and her colleagues are shaking their boot-tahys.

 

And then, out of the blue, Fuckwit Boss comes up to her, on the dancefloor, and hugs her... hugs her close.

 

Barbara is stunned.  Over his shoulder, she looks at her colleagues with, she told me, a mix of panic and revulsion.  None of them save her.

 

He stepped back - and this is kicker - says to her:

 

 "I hope that didn't make you uncomfortable.  I hope that was OK."

 

Barbara is a very intelligent woman.  I don't need to give you my opinion on this, because she put it perfectly.

 

"If a person who has touched a colleague has to ask that question," she said, "that's a clue that what you did IS NOT OK."

 

 

3)  No Respite

  

Barbara had minor surgery.  It wasn't anything life threatening, but it was surgery.  She woke up in the morning, and she really wasn't feeling well.

 

She works at one of those companies where they have all the latest technology, so you can log into your computer from home and get access to all your stuff.  If you work at pretty much any medium to large sized company, you can do that.

 

Also, there's this thing called the TE-LE-PHONE.  Even better than that, there's this amazing thing called THE CON-FER-ENCE PHONE.  So, guess what?  You can even take part in meetings from home.

 

So, at 6am, immediately after getting up, Barbara sent an email to her boss and her team to say wouldn't be in the office that day, but that she would be online and available on her cell phone.  

 

Let's face it, she should've taken a sick day.  A day when she could lie on the couch, watch crappy daytime TV, take painkillers and get paid by her firm to do it.  

 

But my dear friend suffers from a serious condition, one that endangers many of us in corporate America...

 

She has a strong work ethic.

 

She was managing a project that was vital to the company, and was at a critical stage.  She settled for a compromise - working from home.

 

Her boss is an ex-military man, so that will explain his reaction to her email.

 

"If you are not in the office by 10 am" he mailed back " I will consider you Absent Without Leave!"

 

I hereby choose not to comment on this.  You don't want to read a bunch of swearwords, and I think the response speaks for itself.

 

Hell is other people.

 

 

 

If you want to read about more people that I think epitomize a lifetime in hell, click here.

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• When you're in the cinema, shut the fuck up

  

  

Couch Potato - The Reality of Reality TV

  

Fluffy Bear and I were doing some housework in the lounge, and the TV was on the Food Network Channel.  

So there's this woman.  Her tits are so big and so high I wondered if she'd float away if they ever warmed up, but that's not the point...

So it's near the end of the show.  She is doing some cake for a New York Fashion Week shindig.  They invite her to the runway show, and there she is, assistant at her side, ooh-ing and ah-ing about the show.

Then the dramatic music starts.  They have to rush to the party venue to assemble the cake.  

DUN-DUN-DAAAAAAH!

She has various cakes, in the shape of shoes and handbags, and they are supposed to each sit on a little platform attached to a ferris wheel.  As the wheel slowly rotates, the little shelf that each cake is on should rotate in the opposite direction to remain horizontal.

Well - surprise! surprise! surprise! - it wasn't working.  The cakes were too heavy.

Cue the tubas, trombones and big bass drums... The music more scary than the Jaws theme.

DUR-DUH! DUR-DUH! DUR-DUH! DUR-DAH!

What is a girl to do?

Well, she starts by cutting a cake in half to make it lighter.  

There's a cut to an interview with one of her team, saying something about how, when things are tough, her Booby Boss "shows her creativity" and yells orders at everyone to solve the problem.  This woman clearly thinks her boss is the shit.

But... is she?

Let's break it down:

1. If you have a cake to assemble at a party, why are you going to the fashion show when you haven't done that already?  Why are you going at all?  You're STAFF, for fuck's sake.  Did all the waiters at the party get to go?
2. You're making cakes for a large party, you've decided to put them on a FERRIS WHEEL and you are on national television.  Don't you think it might be rehearse the whole thing beforehand?  Huh?  Huh?  Ya think?
3. Your team members think that you're incredible because, in a crisis (which you are responsible for creating in the first place), you bark out orders to deal with it.  Wow, you sure know how to hire the right people, Babe, because, if it were me, I'd tell you to stop fucking yelling at me and learn to do your job properly.

Don't get me wrong.  I watch Reality TV.  There are some shows I am addicted to including Ru Paul's Drag Race and Drag U, Real Housewives of Atlanta and Beverley Hills and Food Network Star.

But I really think this show - whatever it is, I didn't see the name - is a huge, steaming pile of bullshit.

Boobie Boss' little cake crisis is not as scary as a shark about to rip my legs off, a burn victim attacking me in my dreams or a man in a hockey mask about to stab me repeatedly.  The TV show is effectively creating something out of nothing by adding an inappropriate soundtrack and interviewing the Boobie Boss and her staff in such a way that they describe assembling a fucking cake as a matter of life and death.

Give me a fight between the Real Housewives any day.  

To read more of my musings that show I watch far too much television, click here.

You might like: 

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9 to 5 - CorpSpeak Construction analogies

"I’m thinking of how I can ensure I’m cementing my understanding here." 

 I am proud of myself that I didn't snort my derision into the phone. 

To see more in the 9 to 5 series, click here.

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