Weekday with Bernie

I almost feel bad writing this because I like the person who said it. But it's probably a good lesson for everyone in what not to say to other women. And I'll preface this by saying that she knows nothing about my personal life.

Bernadette, we'll call her Bernadette.

So there I am working diligently in my cube and not at all surfing the Internet or anything like that. Bernadette walks up to my cube and starts talking to me about work stuff over the partition. She has to show me a document so she walks inside my cube. While I'm considering the question she's asked me, Bernadette gets up close and personal with the photos I have displayed near my monitor.

She points at one. "That's new," she says.

"No, that one's always been there," I say, "I just moved them around a little bit."

She shifts her attention to two more photos. "Who are they?" she asks while pointing at the faces of my niece and nephew.

"That's my nephew, my husband's brother's son. And that's my niece, my husband's brother's daughter."

"Wouldn't it be nice if you could put pictures of your own babies in there?"

Shocked, I say, "um... yeah, that would be nice."

"But you're not even trying," she says.

I could just end the story right there. Because that conversation is enough to thoroughly piss off an infertile woman. Not me, but another infertile woman. Just sayin'.

"You don't know that," I laugh. And I did chuckle because I'm so taken aback that someone is saying this to me. Although, I get this on a weekly basis at work. Someone will bring their baby in and, like clockwork, someone else will chime up and say, "now it's Sara's turn" or "when are you going to have a baby, Sara?"

Bernadette walks away, but comes back to my cube later to ask me if I'm going to the health fair that my company is sponsoring that day. I tell her that I'd like to, but I'm just too busy. She walks off and goes down the hall to the health fair. When she's done visiting all the vendors Bernadette breezes past my cube.

"They're doing massages at the health fair, Sara. You should take a break and get one to relax. It will help you get pregnant."

Whiskey tango foxtrot, people.

I have to laugh at it, though, and remind myself that people are just being nice in their own weird way. And they don't know I'm going through this private struggle. But this was a good day, too. Had she caught me in a different mood, I might not have been able to be all rational and shit.

PS: Bernadette is the same person who said I didn't look like the cooking type.

Work Peeves

I heard on the radio the other day that LinkedIn conducted a large-scale survey to poll professionals on their biggest work related pet peeves. According to LinkedIn, the number one office pet peeve is when coworkers do not take responsibility for their actions. OK, sure, I guess that's a bit annoying, but I can think of one that supersedes this whole lack-of-ownership issue. How about farting in common areas? How about I walked into an empty break room today that was permeated with a poopy fart smell? How about the person who walked in after me, while I was washing my coffee cup, must have assumed that I was the one who had farted that fart? Yeah, how about that?

But I guess if someone had just taken ownership of their fart I wouldn't have felt obliged to say, "It wasn't me!" when that other person walked in the break room behind me. So yeah, I guess I agree that not taking ownership of one's actions is my number one work related pet peeve, too. Screw you, you mystery farter. Screw you.

Source

More Horseshit

I have lots of inside jokes with myself because I am nothing if not weird. I was lucky enough this week to be able to add a work related incident to my list.

In my professional life, I provide third party compliance services to a number of different agencies. People that are non-compliant generally don't like me. Recently, I've been working closely with one entity in particular. They're habitually non-compliant.

I emailed my contact at the business in question to check up on some issues I hadn't heard back from her on.

Later in the day, I get an email from our IT department notifying me that they've intercepted an email, sent from my contact, and blocked it due to inappropriate language. The email requested that I contact the IT department if I recognized the sender's email address and believed it to be a legitimate business related email. Of course I contacted IT right away.

IT forwarded me the email with a note requesting that I notify the sender not to use inappropriate language again lest it be blocked. I look at the email string and in red letters I see my contact had written "more horseshit!" in response to my email. I'm guessing she accidentally hit "reply all" since her coworker was copied in the email as well. She must have forgotten my name was there too. Either that or she's just super ballsy.

Photo Credit

Now when I wake up in the morning, I wonder, "what kind of horseshit am I going to have to deal with today?"

The Cooking Type

As I was eating a frozen meal of macaroni and cheese during my lunch break one day, a co-worker walked up to me and asked if I cook at home.  "Yes," I replied, "I try to as much as I can." This is the honest truth, too.  There have been times when I didn't make it to the grocery store during the week so our dinners consisted of horrible (horribly unhealthy, yet incredibly tasty) fast food or take out.  For the most part, I try to cook as often as I can.

I used to hate cooking, but I don't anymore. It's probably because I'm scared to fail at things, so I just didn't want to try. I also didn't want my husband to have to eat some gross concoction and secretly compare me to his mom who is incredibly skillful in the kitchen.  Now I'm learning.  I can follow a recipe like no other. I can even make some things without instructions! I am truly a work in progress. But, seriously, I can and do cook.

This brings me back to my co-worker's question: do I cook at home? After my thoughtful response, I asked her why she wanted to know.  She said it was because I didn't look like the cooking type. Gasp! How dare you... I mean, wait... What does that even mean? The cooking type? Should I have been offended?!

I mean, I was offended. Do I look completely incapable of measuring out ingredients and throwing shit into a pan? Do I really give off the helpless vibe? I feel like I am pretty awesome at work, so why would she think that I'm not awesome at home too?

And do you know what's really funny? Someone else asked me THE SAME QUESTION before. At work. Seriously. "You cook, Sara?"

Image courtesy of Mags

(1952 Good Housekeeping)

Good Times At Work

Dear Angry Contractor:

Thank you for adding some humor to my day. Most work days go by without the opportunity for uproarious laughter. Yet today, you have graced me with the distinct pleasure of receiving your irate phone call. Had you not called, my day would have been uneventful and rather monotonous, but you decided to yell at me and treat me like an idiot and for that I am thankful.

In the future, if you are going to be mean to me I would appreciate a little name calling. 'Ma’am' isn’t quite up to par with what the other contractors call me. Although a terse 'ma’am' makes me snicker, it’s true, a 'stupid bitch' or a 'fucking retard' would brighten my day more effectively. You did succeed in the realm of fit-throwing, however. Your delivery was so spot-on that one would guess you are not new to temper tantrums.

Thanks once again for making me smile today. There was no way for you to know that I was laughing on the inside.

Yours Truly,
Your Friendly Labor Compliance Officer

PS: The I-am-going-to-tell-on-you technique is not new, but very well received. I wholeheartedly enjoy your attempts at trying to get me in trouble for doing my job.