Roderick had been looking forward to this year’s holiday event.
He was just six months into his tenure with the company, but was already feeling the sense of belonging that he had been notably lacking at any of his previous employers. Granted, his career path had been fairly atypical of this environment: having spent a number of years doing manual labour, he had eventually made inroads into the coveted world where policy expressly forbids you from doing any literal heavy lifting*, should such an opportunity even present itself. (That’s what the maintenance guys are for.) Now on his second office job, he was digging the culture, the people and the seldom-occupied shitter up on 9.
Stranger: *Innocuous glance in my direction*
Stranger: *Unmitigated bewilderment*
Stranger: *Enormous grin*
Stranger: “HEY!…” *index finger oscillating between our respective directions* “SAME SHIRT!!!”
More than likely, the fact that I’m sensing an elephant in the room at this nascent stage of WCP is evidence of my possible tendency to overthink things*, as opposed to a reflection of anything that anyone reading this might be feeling. I mean, at a point where quite literally the only other person I’m certain is reading this is my mom (hi, Mom), chances are slim that anyone out there is freaking out over whether I’m going to address anything at all. But I rented this (free) auditorium so I could hold the microphone and babble to a bunch of empty seats, so here goes.
A: “I was just bugging Cindy about what she had in her coffee cup.”
B: “Oh my god, that is sooooooo funny!”
A: “Yeah, it was a classic.”
Some time ago, I was assigned the task of responding, in my boss’s stead, to an email that had sat withering in his inbox for weeks. More precisely, the message was a recent one whose sender was following up on something sent weeks earlier, asking for my boss’s attention to the matter at hand. So it was that I was called in to save the day…something, something, fate of the free world. Obviously.
Far be it from me to style myself as some sort of caped crusader, singlehandedly avenging the cruel fate that befalls so many of us who grow up dreaming of careers as rock stars, professional athletes or actual superheroes. Make no mistake, though: this is not one person’s plight. So while I don’t purport to be able to speak on behalf of all those whose childhood dreams come crashing down in a spectacular blaze of TPS reports, cake days and meetings about meetings, I’d bet that my experiences are relatable to many.