H8 is a Strong Word...
I am so awkward at my job it’s giving me flash backs from freshman year in high school (the mother of all of life’s awkward moments).
My boss had a meeting with me and my supervisor Greg earlier to tell us to get the ball rolling with a software project I’ve been writing on for the last week now (which duuuur, has been rolling all along now), but we were cool with being more proactive. So after the meeting, Greg said he wanted to take so pictures for the DVD cover and other promotional materials. The first was a picture of several coworkers gathered in the conference room, pretending to be following a PowerPoint presentation, and the next was of me taking a test with the software program open.
Greg sat behind me and I took the test with my face about 6 inches from the screen and my body turned at a weird angle. He went to edit them and came back ten minutes later and asked, “Hey, can I ask you a question about the pictures I just took, like, privately?” It was weird. I figured I was in trouble for something. He took me back to his computer to show me the pics and said, “A lot of the pics look okay, but the angles are a bit weird, so here’s the picture I wanted to send packagers.” He started laughing and showed me a picture that did have a good shot of the screen and my face, but he shot it up from over my shoulder and YOU CAN SEE CLEAR DOWN MY SHIRT.
He asked, “Is that too much cleavage to make you uncomfortable? Because I want to use the image and they will cut that part out.”
(Insert awkward laugh here, note this guy is about fifty years old and he's serious about using the picture.)
“GAAAAAAAHHHH No, it’s okay.”
My face didn’t go red at all during this ordeal, surprisingly. It sort of just confused the hell out of me. I wasn’t wearing a low-cut shirt, but he was practically taking the picture over my head down to the screen. But there it was; the curve of cleavage, plain as day. Now the packaging guys and maybe the company manager are going to see it, too. Awesome.
If that wasn't enough to make me curl up with a tub of chocolate ice-cream and cry, I just got an email back from a fire fighter I was asked to contact for favor. Apparently in the email I called him Mark, not Mike. Fuck. I'm on a roll.
I h8 my job.
My boss had a meeting with me and my supervisor Greg earlier to tell us to get the ball rolling with a software project I’ve been writing on for the last week now (which duuuur, has been rolling all along now), but we were cool with being more proactive. So after the meeting, Greg said he wanted to take so pictures for the DVD cover and other promotional materials. The first was a picture of several coworkers gathered in the conference room, pretending to be following a PowerPoint presentation, and the next was of me taking a test with the software program open.
Greg sat behind me and I took the test with my face about 6 inches from the screen and my body turned at a weird angle. He went to edit them and came back ten minutes later and asked, “Hey, can I ask you a question about the pictures I just took, like, privately?” It was weird. I figured I was in trouble for something. He took me back to his computer to show me the pics and said, “A lot of the pics look okay, but the angles are a bit weird, so here’s the picture I wanted to send packagers.” He started laughing and showed me a picture that did have a good shot of the screen and my face, but he shot it up from over my shoulder and YOU CAN SEE CLEAR DOWN MY SHIRT.
He asked, “Is that too much cleavage to make you uncomfortable? Because I want to use the image and they will cut that part out.”
(Insert awkward laugh here, note this guy is about fifty years old and he's serious about using the picture.)
“GAAAAAAAHHHH No, it’s okay.”
My face didn’t go red at all during this ordeal, surprisingly. It sort of just confused the hell out of me. I wasn’t wearing a low-cut shirt, but he was practically taking the picture over my head down to the screen. But there it was; the curve of cleavage, plain as day. Now the packaging guys and maybe the company manager are going to see it, too. Awesome.
If that wasn't enough to make me curl up with a tub of chocolate ice-cream and cry, I just got an email back from a fire fighter I was asked to contact for favor. Apparently in the email I called him Mark, not Mike. Fuck. I'm on a roll.
I h8 my job.