Meetings and Royal Ass Kickings

Today was a Meeting.

I love meetings. Some people like their jobs and the work they do for a living. I enjoy Meetings, because they take you away from work; I dislike work. It's like field trips in elementary school. You knew that you wouldn't be expected to do anything on the day of a field trip. And then that was it--no homework, no other responsibilities. Go home and play with your friends, watch cartoons, eat dinner. Yeehaw!

I got to work at 8. Messed around, emailed friends, etc. And then the meeting started at 9. There were muffins, fruit, croissants, juice, coffee--a regular continental breakfast (all paid by you, the taxpayer; thanks!).

I even had LESS responsibilities than all of my counterparts. My manager cornered me before the meeting and said, "The area manager is going to be there. I don't want a single word to come out of your mouth." I asked if observations about what the area manager's name rhymed with would be in line. Her response, "Zip it. Don't say anything. If they open the floor to questions, or ask for feedback on something, or talk to you--don't even open your mouth." Sweet!

The meeting was supposed to go until noon, and then reconvene at 12:55. But instead, it only went until 10:45, to reconvene at 12:30. That's almost 2 hours of fuckaround time! And then we came back (after a delightful lunch with friends near the shops on Lake here in Pasadena) and continued with the Meeting. I even wrote a poem for a coworker of mine.

It was great. I got almost NOTHING accomplished, and yet that's okay--because it's a Meeting.

I love these things. I wish there were more.

Meanwhile, my manager saw this poem I wrote. She compared my writing to the writings of Ted Kacazynski. I told her that the Unabomber was caught because of recurring grammatical errors; my writing is free of grammatical errors.

And the woman I wrote my poem for faxed it to her husband. He's going to kick my fuckin' ass.

She'd gotten mad because she had lost some weight and was getting in shape, but she felt I'd made a disparaging comment; I announced, "Body of a 20 year old!" She was about to thank me, but I said, "Oh, there I go talking about myself again," and she said her husband would kick my ass.