A Brief Essay on How To Get Fired
My coworkers have an aggravating habit of asking me if I'd like to do things, that in reality, I have no choice but to do. For example, "Meg, would you like to join us for this conference call?" "Would you mind sitting down with me tomorrow and brainstorming some questions for the panel I'm chairing tomorrow?" "Do you have a spare second to edit this?" I assume this is under the guise of trying to be polite and considerate, but the reality is that I don't have a choice, and I'd rather my autonomy not be insulted by presenting the task to me as if it was an option. In my head, my response to all these questions is "Hell no, I'm busy emailing the wino listserve/blogging/ordering bachelorette party invitations/applying for jobs/watching the panda/staring off into space." I fear the day I forget to screen this internal dialouge.
Five more weeks, five more weeks.
Five more weeks, five more weeks.