July 11, 2011
I'm Having a Cow
Dear Toddler Executive,
Yeah, well, since you already left a voicemail for me on the topic of today's lunch, did you really need to stop me in the hallway and repeat it verbatim? Really? I hope you got what you needed emotionally from that experience, which was probably to remind me how truly, truly special and worthy of my laser-focused attention you are.
Never mind that I spend weeks planning every last detail of this two-day meeting of executives. Never mind that I spent an entire day on the menu, making sure to include vegetarian options. Never mind that I spent my Sunday morning buying break food and hauling it to work. Never mind that my husband spent an hour last night slicing up fruit. Never mind that I've been up and down the elevator eleven floors two hundred times this morning.
What SHOULD have been going through my mind, while trying to make things perfect for forty executives, is Gee, I wonder if one of these executives might have a very special dietary need that I should drop everything in order to figure out? Seriously. Last thing from my mind.
So Mr. Special can't have dairy. And he is, apparently, incapable of opening the sandwich, taking off the cheese, and eating the now-cheeseless sandwich. And, if I'm to understand correctly, it is MY fault that he doesn't have a dairy-free meal.
MY. FAULT.
People, my bra is soaked with sweat. I have been running for seven hours straight, catering to the needs of forty people. It's not brain surgery, but it is a little tricky, and pretty darn tiring.
So at what point is it HIS responsibility to respond to the DOZENS of emails that he's gotten prior to this meeting -- many of which included the word LUNCH -- to let me know that Hey, Wenchie, I can't have dairy. Would you mind having the caterer provide a dairy-free option for me?
To which I would have replied, Certainly, Mr. Special! I'd be glad to! Thank you for letting me know! And I would have meant it! Because, if you are a freak, and you need something weird that your other 39 cohorts do NOT need, then it is YOUR job -- YOURS YOURS YOURS -- to let me know.
I cannot anticipate everything, people. And it's not my job to check the room for freaks.
Asshole.
Comments
I'd say first, your guy was looking for any excuse to soak in your aura.
Second, I'd say EVERYBODY knows that you can fix anything. What are you going to do when you out- shine the rest of the office? But I dare say you already know this...
Peace! H.
Posted by: Herc at July 12, 2011 04:24 AM