I like you, Betty.

My boss decided to have a little chat with a few of us the other day, under the guise of “just checking in.” In so many words, he tells me that he thinks my negative attitude is a cancer on the office. Which is complete bullshit, because believe it or not, I’m perfectly lovely around the office. I’m not in any way politically correct, but neither is anyone else in my office. I’m tame compared to some of my coworkers.

So I did a little digging and realized that the problem is that he’s upset that I don’t greet him enthusiastically enough on the days when he comes into my shared cubicle in the morning.  I apparently barely eke out a hello, or just a grunt in his general direction.

Of course I do, you jackass. Because you show up in my cube at 8:03, and I know that you’re just there to check on me to make sure I got in there at the stroke of 8:00. You’re cheerful and chatty, and perky and it’s annoying. You have a penchant for not shutting the hell up about things and the last fucking thing I want to hear before I have my coffee is a twenty minute story of how your child did in his soccer game yesterday.  I don’t give a shit.

He’s a really nice guy, and I know he’s just looking out for us, but I really don’t appreciate the insinuation that everything is always my fault. There are other people in the office, you know, and just because they’re more apt to kiss your ass doesn’t mean they’re any less guilty.

Then today, I had appointments at both the DMV and the gyno. What a fucking week, right?