August 31, 2009
Sacred Spoon Is Holy Grail
My boss -- PhD Boss -- has been gone for about a week and a half. In that time, I've been going through his mail and email and phone messages. One would think that I'd get to slack off a bit in his extended absence, but no. I get to do my job and his. It blows.
This morning, I saw a note on his chair. It was written on notebook paper in big, round letters, folded in half with "Dr. Boss" on the outside. Naturally, I didn't think twice about reading this bit of obviously personal correspondence. I mean, I read the man's email and open his mail. A note on his chair is hardly off-limits. What if it's a vital emergency I need to take care of?!
Inside: "Where is my White House spoon? Elizabeth"
Yay! A mystery! Just the thing to make this dreary, intolerably-boring day go a little faster!
First of all, no one who knows him calls him Dr. Boss, for God's sake. It's not like he's the Pope or Sir Sean Connery. Everyone calls him by his first name. Except me -- I mostly call him Dude or Homie. Fo shizzle.
So this person is either, a) totally kissing his ass because they don't know him well enough to know that it's not worth kissing; OR b) being silly and flirty in a way that will TOTALLY work on him because, seriously, if you called me Dr. Wenchie with any degree of earnestness, I couldn't get on my back fast enough. And I know he's no less of a whore than I am.
Secondly -- "White House spoon"??? What the hell???
Okay, he has been to the White House for a couple meetings in the past month or so. Once, with President Obama.
Yes, in the game of Six Degrees of Separation, Wenchie just one person away from Barack Obama. The thought doesn't exactly bewitch me, considering I didn't vote for him; however, it pleases me that Heather is giddy with the knowledge that she just two people away from our President.
Anyhoo, my first thought is that PhD Boss was being a big show-off and told the little hottie in I.T. that he'd bring her something from the White House. But what the fuck -- a spoon??? I.T. hottie was in the Army, for God's sake! And she's not 97 years old, so I can't imagine she'd be craving a White House spoon to complete her collection of Spoons of the 50 states in her breakfast nook.
Besides, she calls herself Liz, not Elizabeth. Also? She's dating some hottie I.T. guy, who, although he may not have a PhD, is waaaaaaay hotter than PhD Boss. And I'm not sure a spoon is going to make up for that, regardless of where it's from.
I'm completely obsessed now, wondering who Elizabeth might be, so I IMed Heather for help. Help solving the puzzle, or help getting over my obsession. At this point, either would be quite useful.
But of course, Heather was of little help: "even tho I love our pres, I would rather DIE than flirt for a spoon from a visitor. what the hell?" And then she went back to her liquid lunch.
Remembering my workplace's awesome intranet, I did a search for all the Elizabeths in the building. No contenders. I mean, lots of very nice ladies, but none that Mr. Ridiculously High Expectations would deign to flirt with.
I can't believe he didn't bring me something from the White House. I mean, I booked his flight for the exact times and airline that he wanted. I found him a nice hotel. All at the last minute and within our departmental budget! I am a goddess!
But apparently, as I am neither hott nor 97 years old, I do not warrant a White House souvenier. I guess being the funniest person in the building, the best administrative assistant he's ever had, AND willing to put up with him every day, doesn't entitle me to shit.
I'm suddenly bitter about a utensil from a White House I'm not even a big fan of. What an idiot I am.
When he gets back, I'm demanding to know where my White House spatula is.