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What’s your fantasy?

March 30, 2010

On Ally Mcbeal, the dancing baby represent's Ally's ticking biological clock. I like to think that if Ally were an admin, it would be a visually representation of her boss. And it would have a dirty diaper.

Okay first of all, get your head of the gutter.

Secondly, really tell me–what do you daydream about at work?

Sometimes I like to imagine the room full of water. I slip under my desk and do the breastroke out the office double doors, a la Ally Mcbeal. 

Othertimes I have more snappish thoughts. These are usually related to an object I am given to do a stupid task with, such as the “gift” my boss purchased” for the office: a sandwich grill, so that I can individually heat the catered lunches I order for client meetings. Yay me. What is it, my birthday or something?

My id had a field day with that grill–especially because my boss left it in the kitchen, which I spend a lot of time in. A the time it was presented to me, I smiled, but pictured whaling him in the face with it, cartoon style. And lately, when he calls my desk with a demand (without saying hello and mispronouncing my name), I picture myself politely putting him on hold, retreiving the grill, and beating my phone into pieces with it. Ahh, that’s better.

Seriously though, and on the topic of stupid tasks from my last post, why is it that our bosses always treat their every whim as though it’s in our deep, fascinated interests to fulfill it?

I recently had an issue with my boss because he had emailed me over the weekend requesting that I add a Monday morning phone call to his calendar. Of course, Monday morning came and I hadn’t added it to the calendar, and he missed the call.

I don’t remember much of the special “solutions” meeting we had, because while he presented carefully outlined problem solvers (namely, that I could come in at 7am on Mondays instead of 9am for the express purpose of checking me email, or I could be given a Blackberry so as to be reachable at all times), all I could think was the simple truth of my so called “mistake”: I don’t work weekends, so I didn’t check my work email on a Sunday. I was fantasizing about pulling a pacifier out of my pocket and popping it in his mouth, but that’s off topic.

So now I have to come in at 7am every Monday morning. I sit in the office in the dark and stare at my inbox, half asleep, in case there’s an urgent email. It’s been 4 weeks, and there never is. My boss has been patting himself on the back, believing that he has spared me the “stress” of not knowing if I have an urgent email in my inbox. Right. Because I’m really worried about that while I’m SLEEPING.

I don’t mind though. Sometimes I play hardcore rap music and dance around with my morning banana, pretending I’m early because I love my job and it’s fun. That’s the nice thing about fantasies. Sometimes they really do help.

Until next time,

Amelia

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