Thursday, May 31, 2007

Back in the sockets

What better way to make people rue one’s departure than through fried pastry? Well, that was the question I asked in an email announcing the Krispy Kremes I brought in to work this morning as a kick-off to my big Week of Treats to celebrate my last one here. My leaving is a hot buzz right now with my boss coming up to me saying things like “Redmond – what’s in Redmond? That’s where I went as a kid to go strawberry picking – it was just one big field. There's nothing but a bunch of white people. And great Thai restaurants - oh wait, they only have white people restaurants like Claim Jumpers - quantity over quantity. Yep, enjoy the diversity there in white people land.” And then worse, “Oh, Rebecca, we’ve got to figure out a way for you to come on the retreat with us. I wanted to party with you. What title can we give you?” And he sat in Wynn's side chair staring in my direction as he pondered how to make it so I could still go to the trip to the San Juans just three weeks away, but two weeks after my goodbye. I suggested Freelance Editor, which he considered, but I just laughed – like I would go on a retreat with my former company. The dinner, cocktail hour and free time at the local dive bar would be fun, but a day of panel discussions and speeches before? Thanks, but my calendar just closed up. When he walked away, Wynn gasped, “I couldn’t believe the way he was looking at you! If he looked at me like that I would never wear skirts to work. He’s so lucky you don’t care, or he would have a real problem on his hands.” I shrugged. Most of the time I don’t even notice – people have to tell me. I’ve become inured to bosses being more than a little inappropriate with me, but this one does take the cake. Perhaps I just don’t mind all that much because he is so handsome and wealthy and well dressed. I find it nothing more than flattering, though at times a little shocking and embarrassing.

He likes to give those low fives when he passes you where you just stick your hand out and your hands slap together – kind of a keep up the good work sort of a gesture. So one day he put his hand out, and I put my hand out in response, but rather than slapping my hand, he slid his arm around my waist, pulled me close and spun me around in a little dance before continuing on his way. That was a lot of contact to say the least, and I walked away after my courtesy laugh wondering what the heck just happened.

Another day, Wynn and I were talking to him about the holiday party I was planning and the site we were about to visit. I yammered on and on before noticing that he wasn’t really paying attention – he was staring again. I thought it was at the floor, which demonstrates how oblivious I can be. “Rebecca, have you even done modeling?” he blurted suddenly. I stuttered an incomprehensible no, and he said, “It’s just the way you’re standing right now is right out of a magazine or the catwalk, and you walk so well in heels.” What could I say? I wanted to melt into the floor. He laughed, “You’re turning beet red!” Of course I was! I hate it when people say that kind of stuff in front of other, because then all attention is on me and I have to figure out a response to the modeling thing and I hate it. Sometimes I wish that I hadn’t been such a self-conscious ninny ten years ago, when I could have modeled, but most times I don’t care, and I certainly don’t want to talk modeling when I am talking business. Wynn and I went to the car to leave for Canlis, and she was shaking her head, “The poor man could not stop looking at our legs.” I looked at her knee-high leather boots and midi, and down at my pencil skirt and heels and shook my head, “It must have been too much for the man. He couldn’t handle it.” His poor, poor wife.


In other news, Audrey announced last week that she and the Swine and the teacher and her boy are all moving into a house together with a big back yard and oh won’t that be swell because she can maybe get a hamster, which ew! why would anyone willingly keep a rodent? One big happy family – I give it a few months – this is his third try since we broke up. I think the Swine’s slovenly behavior turns off the woman – big time, but no surprise there. I’m happy for them all – really, I am. But what really pisses me off, is that Audrey will be sharing a room with the Boy. I’m sorry, but I just don’t approve of non-related children their age sharing a room, and I don’t understand why they don’t see it. Additionally, the Boy is a naughty, little sod, who keeps Audrey up far past her bedtime, so when they’ve had *cringe* sleepovers, Audrey returns from the Swine exhausted with dark circles under her eyes. I’m so fed up with this situation. So. Fed. Up. And some things I don’t even want to mention, because who knows if the Others are still reading. I just really don’t need the Information Highway leading toward the Swine’s ears, which could spoil everything. So mum’s the word, I guess.


I had a Girl’s Night Out last night with several of my coworkers. It was a real scorcher yesterday that must have broken a record, so sitting outside was a must. We headed to the Garden Terrace downtown where they have free (random) tacos and delicious margaritas. Scattered across the fifth floor terrace where tables with an interesting mix of geriats and jetsetters. I smiled as I heard whispers about my cream patent leather Paolo’s with the peep toe and forty’s heel, as I walked from our table to the dining room to grab a taco – I think it was those shoes with the slim skirt I had on that drove my boss a’starin’. That’s why shoes are so fun – a great way to send people a’ twitter.

After Happy Hour and a half, we went to see The Ex with Zach Braff, Amanda Peet, and Jason Bateman. Of the four of us that remained to see the movie, we were split in our reviews. Wynn and I were rolling, thought it was hilarious, though in hindsight, it could have been the two margaritas, while Jackie and Frenchie sat quietly. At the end, Frenchie said she’d had a hard time suspending her disbelief, but it’s a good, fun movie - I wasn't looking for realism. I wouldn’t normally see a film like that in the theater. I tend to reserve that kind of expenditure on a huge action flick, but for girl’s night – you have to go to a chick type flick, no? At the beginning of the film, Peet is having Braff’s baby, whose name ends up being Oliver. As you can imagine there was quite the twinge, especially because they were always holding him- and the baby was adorable, so it was hard to not imagine him as my Oliver, but it was only a slight twinge, and I fared well, for which I am proud. Rent it, or go see it in the theater if you want a non-sequel, which seem pretty non-existent this season, that will have you laughing – if you have a quirky, Scrubs-like sense of humor, that is.

Does anyone else have inappropriate boss stories? I really don’t want to be the only sap that puts up with that. And if you were me, would you react as I do or get mad and take action?