September 07, 2004
Oompa Loompas Cannot Type 120 Words a Minute
Okay, I have to vent.
I'm a secretary. I like my job. My bosses appreciate and respect me. My job, as I see it, is to make their lives easier so that they can concentrate on the company big picture. I get paid well for my position, I work a 37.5-hour week, and when I leave the office, I take no stress with me. I'm staying here for as long as they'll let me.
On Thursday, a man from another department, about my age, came over to my cubicle. Now, he has never even said Hello to me in the hallway, let alone addressed me on purpose, so I was intrigued.
"Are you in tomorrow?" he asked.
"No, I'm not," I answered, since Friday was my Summer Day. (Four-day weekend! Woo-hoo!) "Are you trying to ask me out?"
He stared at me blankly, the ironic humor obviously lost on him.
"Is there anything I can help you with today?" I offered kindly, always happy to help my co-workers.
"No, I need to send a fax to your boss tomorrow."
Said boss (I have 5 people that I support) left for our office in Missouri on Thursday.
Now, at this point, it may have dawned on you, o clever readers, what he was getting at. I, however, have this silly idea that all men are created equal, having read it somewhere or other.
He pondered a moment and asked me if the other secretary near me was going to be in. I told him I didn't know, and as I was wondering if he can really be thinking what I think he's thinking, he confirmed it with:
"I really need someone to send this fax for me."
Oh, NOW I get it. Duh! [forehead slap] He's not support staff, so he is FAR too important to send a fax, which is, apparently, women's work. We lowly minions are put here on this earth to serve and grovel to him. He thinks I'm a fucking Oompa Loompa.
Now, I know me. I know what kind of person I am. Which is why I summoned strength from gods I don't even believe in to stop myself from saying, "Why don't you just send it yourself?"
Because, I know that, had I let that little gem outta my mouth, it wouldn't have ended until he had three Ninja throwing stars embedded in his forehead.
I also refrained from pointing out that he is obviously spending more time trying to find someone to fax the thing for him than he would just faxing it his damn self.
And then asked me for the fax number. As if he doesn't have the same exact address and number database on his computer that I have. The information is, literally, three mouse-clicks away, but he chose to walk all the way over and ask me to e-mail it to him. Seriously, I'm gonna fucking kick his ass.