So I’m sitting in the large conference room at work (the same one which still has the human waste cleanup norms I posted years ago) during lunchtime. I chose to take my lunch here because of the reactionary climate control that seems to take place in the office every time the outdoor temperature drops below sixty-five degrees. It’s a sauna in cubeville, and while the individuals who spent the summer shivering in puffy coats and hooded cloaks are finally able to relax, those of us with recessive walrus genes are now irritated and sweaty. The large conference room is currently the last bastion of sub-eighty degree temperatures, as long as no one else is in it. And no one is. The table in the center of the conference room sits about ten, fourteen if you have no respect for personal space. I tend to sit at the head (or foot, depending on which way you roll) of the table in this room, even when I’m not alone, so that’s where I am. I should say that that isn’t because I’m usually in charge, or the boss or anything, because I’m not, gracias a Dios. But I *am* physically larger than everyone here, and it’s probably important for people to remember that *really*, if it came down to it, post-apocalypse, we all know who the warlord would be.
Anyway, I eat the bag of chunk-light tuna that is my lunch (or my *first* lunch, because clearly a bag of tuna isn’t enough for a creature of my stature) and sit down to write a blog post. I was shamed at a recent signing for Rapunzel’s Revenge by some of my wife’s fans, who took me to task for not posting more. So I figured I should do *something,* since eating my three ounces of tuna wasn’t going to take the whole lunch hour. I had intended to poach a story that my four year old son wrote me for my birthday, and I probably still will, at least before he turns five, but I wanted to share a bit of dialogue that just happened.
I’m sitting, as I’ve said, at the head of the table, which has me facing the door to the conference room, when Gary (not his real name, of course, because who would really be named Gary?) speedwalks into the room and, upon seeing me, abruptly stops. I don’t know Gary very well - he’s in a part of my department that I don’t usually work with much, and because I’ve stopped going to the morning “stand-up” meetings, I only ever see him in the hallways (which I frequent) and company parties (which I don’t).
I don’t look up from the computer immediately, expecting him to just leave, but he doesn’t. He stands in the door and doesn’t say anything. Really, it was probably only about five seconds that he stood there silently, but it felt like a long time. Eventually I look up.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh,” he says.
There is a pause where I expect him to tell me what he wants. He has an unposted meeting in this room in five minutes, he wants to do some deep knee bends in privacy, something. Nothing.
“You want some tuna?” I ask, hoping he says no, because there isn’t any left.
He stares.
“Is there a meeting in here?” he finally asks.
“Not until two, as far as I know,” I say.
“Oh,” he says again, still standing there.
Nothing for a minute. I look back at my computer and poke some keys, like I’m actually doing something, but he doesn’t leave.
“I am accepting petitioners until then, however,” I finally say.
“What?” he asks.
“If you have any grievances you’d like redressed, I’m willing to hear them,” I say.
“Um...no,” he says, looking around the room. I think he’s trying to avoid my eyes.
Then he walks out.
It’s a tricky business, nurturing that aura of unapproachability. If you’re cruel or are generally difficult to get along with, you foster hatred, which can actually be a lot more of a hassle than people liking you and wanting to be around you all the time. But having little conversations like the one I just had with our Gary here go a long way toward getting people to leave you alone.
Also, only posting blogs every two months or so tends to keep people away.
Anyway, I eat the bag of chunk-light tuna that is my lunch (or my *first* lunch, because clearly a bag of tuna isn’t enough for a creature of my stature) and sit down to write a blog post. I was shamed at a recent signing for Rapunzel’s Revenge by some of my wife’s fans, who took me to task for not posting more. So I figured I should do *something,* since eating my three ounces of tuna wasn’t going to take the whole lunch hour. I had intended to poach a story that my four year old son wrote me for my birthday, and I probably still will, at least before he turns five, but I wanted to share a bit of dialogue that just happened.
I’m sitting, as I’ve said, at the head of the table, which has me facing the door to the conference room, when Gary (not his real name, of course, because who would really be named Gary?) speedwalks into the room and, upon seeing me, abruptly stops. I don’t know Gary very well - he’s in a part of my department that I don’t usually work with much, and because I’ve stopped going to the morning “stand-up” meetings, I only ever see him in the hallways (which I frequent) and company parties (which I don’t).
I don’t look up from the computer immediately, expecting him to just leave, but he doesn’t. He stands in the door and doesn’t say anything. Really, it was probably only about five seconds that he stood there silently, but it felt like a long time. Eventually I look up.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh,” he says.
There is a pause where I expect him to tell me what he wants. He has an unposted meeting in this room in five minutes, he wants to do some deep knee bends in privacy, something. Nothing.
“You want some tuna?” I ask, hoping he says no, because there isn’t any left.
He stares.
“Is there a meeting in here?” he finally asks.
“Not until two, as far as I know,” I say.
“Oh,” he says again, still standing there.
Nothing for a minute. I look back at my computer and poke some keys, like I’m actually doing something, but he doesn’t leave.
“I am accepting petitioners until then, however,” I finally say.
“What?” he asks.
“If you have any grievances you’d like redressed, I’m willing to hear them,” I say.
“Um...no,” he says, looking around the room. I think he’s trying to avoid my eyes.
Then he walks out.
It’s a tricky business, nurturing that aura of unapproachability. If you’re cruel or are generally difficult to get along with, you foster hatred, which can actually be a lot more of a hassle than people liking you and wanting to be around you all the time. But having little conversations like the one I just had with our Gary here go a long way toward getting people to leave you alone.
Also, only posting blogs every two months or so tends to keep people away.
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