Sunday, June 11, 2006
Ancient History
I was working at a small software company, when the manager of our tiny department quit. I was the most 'senior' person left in the department, and I was at an age where I thought management was all about power and glory, so I was quite interested in who was going to get to be the next boss. I showed up for work on Monday, and the president of the company came into my office.
"I just wanted to let you know that we promoted David to manager. We tried to call you on Saturday.", he said.
"I was around--did you leave a message?", I said, obviously not getting his point.
"No, but I just wanted to tell you now. We didn't offer the position to David until Sunday.", he said, and then he abruptly left.
I'm convinced that if I'd have just answered the phone on Saturday, I'd have been the manager. (See how young and naïve I was?) Then I immediately went out and bought the new boss a book, to help him out in his new position.
It still makes me laugh, especially when I remember the look on his face.
I was working at a small software company, when the manager of our tiny department quit. I was the most 'senior' person left in the department, and I was at an age where I thought management was all about power and glory, so I was quite interested in who was going to get to be the next boss. I showed up for work on Monday, and the president of the company came into my office.
"I just wanted to let you know that we promoted David to manager. We tried to call you on Saturday.", he said.
"I was around--did you leave a message?", I said, obviously not getting his point.
"No, but I just wanted to tell you now. We didn't offer the position to David until Sunday.", he said, and then he abruptly left.
I'm convinced that if I'd have just answered the phone on Saturday, I'd have been the manager. (See how young and naïve I was?) Then I immediately went out and bought the new boss a book, to help him out in his new position.
It still makes me laugh, especially when I remember the look on his face.
Tuesday, June 06, 2006
I scream, you scream
I took Conor and Lucy on an epic journey to Ikea the other day. We made an evening of it--leaving early enough to beat bridge traffic, and staying late enough to miss it on the way home. We meandered through the maze that is their showroom, then had dinner. (Dazzle me with your big box consumerism! You cannot be exploiting third-world labor to bring us cheap home furnishings, could you? You're Swedish!) We went ostensibly for patio furniture, but since that's located near the checkout, Conor was going crazy with anticipation. I have never heard a kid so eager to see outdoor furniture. We find a table and chairs we like, and I switch the stroller-style cart for the flatbed version and load up the boxes. Conor is now beside himself with excitement--the way cool flatbed carts, PLUS we're getting ice cream!
At this point, I have to hold Lucy since I can't just set her atop our purchases. It's also a lot later than I'd realized and she is very tired. Just as we get through the checkout, she poops. I do not think I can get to the restroom to change her, so I focus on just getting to the car. I manage to get Conor his ice cream and we start moving toward the parking lot. I'm holding Lucy with one arm and pushing a four-wheel-drive shopping cart with the other, trying not to run over any unlucky pedestrians.
Can you guess what happens next? No, I don't run anyone over, but Conor drops his ice cream. And he's inconsolable. At this point, I'm about to lose it too--I'm pushing this enormous cart with one hand, holding a stinky sleeping child with the other, and trying to comfort a crying child, all in the amazingly heavy flow of people trying to get in and out of the store. I want to cry, too. But we manage to pull ourselves together, and get to the car.
We make it to the car and unload Lucy's diaper and the cart. We head back into the store to get more ice cream (one for me this time, too!) We walk back to the car, ice cream cones intact, and I ask Conor to hold mine while I put Lucy in her seat. As I'm leaning in the back seat, I wonder if he's walked up behind me, but realize that if I say anything he will walk up behind me to hear what I'm saying. So I get her buckled in, and slowly back out of the car--right into my ice cream cone. Yes, I now have a cold, wet, sticky butt.
Aaaaarrrggghhh!
Yes, I let loose my frustrations a bit. I get out a wipe and clean off my rear and then get Conor in the car. He has ice cream on his face, so I clean him up too. After I calm down, I apologize to him for being so frustrated, but tell him I really didn’t want a cold, wet, sticky butt. He says, "You wiped my face with the wipe that you wiped your butt with, and I didn't want your butt on my face."
Hard to argue with logic like that.
I took Conor and Lucy on an epic journey to Ikea the other day. We made an evening of it--leaving early enough to beat bridge traffic, and staying late enough to miss it on the way home. We meandered through the maze that is their showroom, then had dinner. (Dazzle me with your big box consumerism! You cannot be exploiting third-world labor to bring us cheap home furnishings, could you? You're Swedish!) We went ostensibly for patio furniture, but since that's located near the checkout, Conor was going crazy with anticipation. I have never heard a kid so eager to see outdoor furniture. We find a table and chairs we like, and I switch the stroller-style cart for the flatbed version and load up the boxes. Conor is now beside himself with excitement--the way cool flatbed carts, PLUS we're getting ice cream!
At this point, I have to hold Lucy since I can't just set her atop our purchases. It's also a lot later than I'd realized and she is very tired. Just as we get through the checkout, she poops. I do not think I can get to the restroom to change her, so I focus on just getting to the car. I manage to get Conor his ice cream and we start moving toward the parking lot. I'm holding Lucy with one arm and pushing a four-wheel-drive shopping cart with the other, trying not to run over any unlucky pedestrians.
Can you guess what happens next? No, I don't run anyone over, but Conor drops his ice cream. And he's inconsolable. At this point, I'm about to lose it too--I'm pushing this enormous cart with one hand, holding a stinky sleeping child with the other, and trying to comfort a crying child, all in the amazingly heavy flow of people trying to get in and out of the store. I want to cry, too. But we manage to pull ourselves together, and get to the car.
We make it to the car and unload Lucy's diaper and the cart. We head back into the store to get more ice cream (one for me this time, too!) We walk back to the car, ice cream cones intact, and I ask Conor to hold mine while I put Lucy in her seat. As I'm leaning in the back seat, I wonder if he's walked up behind me, but realize that if I say anything he will walk up behind me to hear what I'm saying. So I get her buckled in, and slowly back out of the car--right into my ice cream cone. Yes, I now have a cold, wet, sticky butt.
Aaaaarrrggghhh!
Yes, I let loose my frustrations a bit. I get out a wipe and clean off my rear and then get Conor in the car. He has ice cream on his face, so I clean him up too. After I calm down, I apologize to him for being so frustrated, but tell him I really didn’t want a cold, wet, sticky butt. He says, "You wiped my face with the wipe that you wiped your butt with, and I didn't want your butt on my face."
Hard to argue with logic like that.
