“Younger people at the moment are very mouthy and aggressive,” he complains…”
Guess who said that?
Go on…guess!
No, really, you’ll NEVER get it.
It’s too…too…..deliciously ironic!
Ok, I’ll tell.
I just can’t hold it in anymore!
Ready?
Johnny Rotten!
No, really. Here’s the article!
Hey, you kids! Get off my lawn!!!
So, there I was today, in bumper to bumper traffic, trying to get to work.
The Bay Bridge is closed this weekend for construction, so the traffic patterns in the Bay Area have gone all wonky.
My usual peaceful, easy commute was jammed up. Fine. A fact of life in a highly populated area.
As you may or may not know, in California, it’s legal for motorcycle riders to “split the lanes”, meaning, they can ride in that space between two cars, side by side in their respective lanes.
It took me quite some time to get used to this, but now, especially in a traffic slowdown, I’m quite alert. As a car driver it’s always best to stay the course when a motorcycle comes whipping down between lanes.
This morning, as I sat, fully stopped, I watched the usual parade of motorcycles split the lanes. A Harley rumbled by. A really sweet BMW bike glided through. A couple of those very speedy Japanese bikes that force the rider to stick his rear up (doesn’t seem right to go a 100mph with your ass higher than you head, but what do I know?).
And then, in my rearview, I saw this patchwork bike come wobbling along, looking like something out of the Road Warrior films.
Apparently mismatched parts had been collected from the junk pile. The thin tires looked better suited to off road than asphalt. The fender didn’t match the bumper. It made a sound like a monkey wrench caught in the spin cycle.
But the rider sat tall in the saddle. He was decked in leathers and fully in command of his vehicle, proudly guiding his bike through Bay Area traffic.
And as he passed by, I noted the New Mexico license plate bolted firmly to the back.
As he rode away, out of sight, I held hand to my heart and quietly hummed “O Fair New Mexico”.
“O Fair New Mexico, we love, we love you so….”
Thank you, New Mexico, for keeping it rasquache, even here in the Bay Area.
Oh so ready for the Labor Day Weekend. Happy and safe one, ya’ll!
Oh yeah, baybee! Finally! They caught that damn Chupacabra!
And a taxidermist is going to stuff it and put it on display!
Well. Goat owners all along the border can sleep well tonight.
Now if we could get to work stuffing and mounting La Llorona, *I* could sleep better too!
I ran into this while wandering the nightgown and pajama section at the department store.
The silver shiny stuff is…I can hardly say it…sequins.
Silver, shimmery, rough sided sequins.
For going out? Yes.
For sleeping? Uh. No.
Plus, it seems sort of trollopy to buy some cotton jersey nightgown encrusted with sequins.
Oh, did I mention this abomination was found at Sears?
Egad.
I’ve been a manager at my job for quite some time now. I think seven years at last count. So I’ve been through a lot. And yet, sometimes, I’m still a bit thrown by the curveballs lobbed by the folks who have the grand misfortune to report to me.
On Friday, one of my employees, a very hardworking and rather quiet girl came tearing into my office. I swear, if she was a car, she would have left black marks on my industrial carpet.
The employee looked at me with wide eyes.
“Is it ok if I go home?” she said, and paused…then tacked on…”I don’t want to barf here at work.”
I happen to know she’s three months pregnant and having a rough time of it, so I said, quickly, “Go. Now.”
She turned and peeled out of the building.
This got me thinking about back when I was first made a manager, and the anemic training course they sent me to.
They discussed “things you shouldn’t say” and “things you should say” and “what to do if you have to fire someone.” But never, never did they discuss “when it’s ok to let someone go home early because they are gonna blow chunks.”
I guess that’s where you have to rely on that ol’ manager gut instinct, hey?
Other oddball things I have experienced and was never properly prepared for:
Male employee spent all of our one-on-one session telling me, in detail, that he and his wife were trying to get pregnant and, to their dismay, had ended up having to resort to IVF. TMI. But wait, there’s more. We haven’t begun to TMI yet.
About a week later, he comes running into my office…”My wife just called, she’s at the doctor, she’s fertile right now, so I have to go give a…um….sample. I’ll be back in about an hour.”
Ugh.
“Just go!” I said, and to his retreating back, tacked on, “If this happens again, please just tell me you have to go to the dentist!”
Or the really, really good employee, like top notch worker, who felt the need to tell me that the only way she could deal with the stress of her job was that she and her husband would smoke a bowl as they commuted home from work every day.
“I’m thinking about smoking one at lunch too, this job is crazy.”
Well. Ok. *Technically* she’s doing this on her own time and off company property. And my employer at the time was pretty lenient about such things.
But still. Things I don’t need to know. Especially as the manager!
Also important to mention that managing isn’t just about direct reports, it’s about managing your own manager too.
So, in that same vein, at that same employer, I had a boss who delighted in telling me how much cocaine she did at her wedding. “It was the only way to get through it, I never really loved my husband. Still don’t.”
Oooohkaaaay. She only lasted a year at the job. Freak.
And the best was, not long after starting this newest gig, one of the ladies on my team had been out sick for a few days. I assumed the flu, a migraine, tummy upset. Whatever. I didn’t need to know. Upon her return, I simply inquired, “hey, are you feeling better?”
What followed was a long, detailed and gory description. Let’s just say…you can have a colon polyp burst and leave it there, mmkay?
You can’t unhear something, no matter how hard you try.
But, when all is said and done, I haven’t had to have the granddaddy of all uncomfortable manager situations. My dear brother-in-law has been subjected to this more than once. Poor guy.
We call it…the Stinky Conversation.
The one where you have to ask your employee to please shower…and use soap…because their coworkers are complaining.
Double ugh!
I’m telling ya, those fancy politically correct manager’s training classes do nuthin’ to prepare you for the real world!
