So, as it turns out, there are certain things that you really don’t want to say within earshot of your boss.
And, as luck and probable mental defect would have it, I think I’ve said most of those things to one or another boss I’ve had over the years. I’m just not very bright that way. Or my peripheral vision sucks, maybe. Something.
Anyway, you name it, and if it’s embarrassing, dangerous and employment-threatening, then I’ve probably said it with the big cheese somewhere in the vicinity. Yes, all the hits are here, folks. There’s the belligerent, bravado-backed lie:
‘Yeah, I told him where to stick it. I told him to take his crap, roll it up like a big fat Kingston doobie, and ass-smoke that shit until… um, until… uh, uh-hmm. He’s right behind me, isn’t he? Dammit.‘
Then, there’s the ill-advised hooky admission:
‘So, can you cover for me tomorrow? I got a tee time at nine-thirty, and I feel a cough coming on — *cough kaff* — if you know what I mean. And — hey. What are you looking at over my shoulder, anyway? Oh, poop.‘
Mostly, though, I get busted for just saying ridiculous crap when I probably shouldn’t. You know, just like around here. Things like… oh, I don’t know, how about:
‘Now, normally, I wouldn’t have kept yankin’ on the thing. But I figured, hey — sometimes you have to push the envelope, right? So I got a good grip, and — what? Who’s behind me? Aw, bitches.‘
‘So by that point, all the tequila was gone. And we had one firecracker left. And the cat was asleep. So, of course, one thing led to another, and… um, the boss is where exactly? Ah. And she’s been there for how long? I see. Ugh.‘
‘Look! Look! It’s like a gymboree in my pants! …what? What? Where’s everybody going? Hey!‘
So yeah, I’ve had an awful lot of stern talking-tos from the boss. And often, the boss’ boss. And the office psychologist. And the boss’s wife. Not sure the boss’ boss’ wife has ever sat me down and shaken her head sadly at me, but it’s possible that it’s happened. It all starts to run together after a while.
Anyway… yeah. I don’t know where the hell I was going with this. Something about work. And a gymboree in my pants. There’s nothing good about any of that, is there? All right, I’m quitting while I’m behind.
I guess there’s a bright side to all of this, though. With all the trouble I’m able to get into in person at the office, they probably wouldn’t be overly shocked if they ever saw this site. After all, it’s just more of the same ridiculous nonsense that I spout eight hours a day, forty hours a week, right there in front of them. Even when I don’t know they’re watching me. Meh.
Of course, I’d never be able to use that ‘too sick to work but well enough to golf’ trick. Maybe it’s best if they don’t find out about this whole ‘blog’ thing. I’ve got a new six-iron I’ve been meaning to try out.Permalink | No Comments