Throwing Poo

The older I get, the less I actually know.  Make no mistake, I've got opinions about everything.  If you want to bake a roadkill soufflé, perform a partial-birth abortion on a cockroach, or fashion a prison shank out of human hair and Tostitos, then I've got an opinion for you.  But I don't know shit.

I'd like to think that this is a sign that I'm getting smarter; that true intelligence comes from knowing how little you know.  Then again, maybe it's just that my glue-sniffing years have finally caught up with me. 

Anyway, because of my increased wisdom and/or brain cell death, I've begun second-guessing myself on a fairly regular basis.  Things I thought to be absolute truths - farting is always funny; smearing peanut butter on a chocolate bar doesn't actually make it taste like a Reese's Cup; don't dry a freshly-bathed housecat in a microwave - I now find myself questioning (and, in one very unfortunate incident, testing).  I'm just not sure of anything anymore. 

If you have ever read this blog, you know that I consider my boss and many of the people I work with to be total fucking retards.   However, as I boarded a flight on Wednesday to spend six days at a work conference, I began to wonder if I had miscalculated.  Maybe these people aren't really imbeciles.  Maybe it's me.  Maybe I'm just a steaming pile of hostile, intolerant shit.   It would certainly explain the smell that's been following me lately.

At 7:13 AM this morning, I got my answer.  Somebody is definitely wearing a helmet and riding the short bus to work.  I offer the following as proof (this is the absolute truth):

Last evening my boss asked me to help organize a conference room into a working office/war room for our use.  Even though I had already put in 14 hours, I agreed.  I'm a good soldier.

After running to my room to quickly change clothes, I entered the conference room ready to work.  Five people from my department (including my boss) had already arrived and were busy eating cookies and clucking like hens.  I asked what I could help with, but got no answer.  I waited.  I asked again. I waited.  This went on for an hour.  It was then 7:30PM LA time (10:30 PM Cleveland time) and I was getting hungry...not to mention pissed off.  I approached my colleague who is "in charge" of the conference, shook her hand, looked her in the eye and said, "I'm going to get something to eat.  You have my cell phone number.  Call me when you need help."  She smiled and said OK.  I left and my phone never rang.

This morning, I arrived for breakfast and my boss was already angry.  This immediately amused me, but I was also curious.  I asked why.  Turns out she's upset with me for "leaving them high and dry last night."

Obviously there is a misunderstanding and she has jumped to a false conclusion.  Knowing this, I settle in.  My completely logical and watertight explanation for leaving will certainly set her straight and, more importantly, warrant an apology.  Not a bad way to start the day.

My retelling of the actual events is concise, vivid, accurate, and comes complete with gestures and an illustrative handshake.  I wait for my apology.

"You know better," she said, "You needed to stay there.  (colleague) won't call you because she doesn't want to be a bother."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I reasoned.

"No I'm not."

"I made an arrangement - which she agreed to - and waited for her to call.  She didn't.  How can I possibly to be blame for that?"

"Everyone knows how impatient you are."
 
"What the hell does that have to do with anything? Holy shit.  I'm not going to make it through the week with you people!"

I'd like to continue retelling the dialogue, but I can't remember it.  At this moment, massive amounts of exasperation and rage collided in my brain, the impact of which erased the moment from my memory entirely.  I vaguely remember saying "fuck" a lot and threatening to quit at least once.  I still have my job (for now), so I'm pretty sure I didn't say "cunt" or threaten to skull fuck anyone.

In the end, I promised to stand in one spot until I was told by her (or received written instructions by my colleague that were signed by her) to stand in another spot.  That's how I spent my day.

I don't work in the department of an organization.  I'm a sibling in a dysfunctional fucking family.