Like most people under the whiteyoke (1) now and then I experience the giddy delight that is the workplace re-shuffle. Where entire teams are broken up and people re-assigned under new directors or managers.
A couple of weeks ago we were told there would be a re-shuffle starting in the New Year. Then ... then it was brought forward to basically now ... with a series of rolling additional changes that meant people were still being moved around like the pea in a shell game and their current placement is still tentative.
So the new members of the team I now belong came together for a meet-and-greet around the big table. Now while I knew almost everyone from simply interacting with them, as both fellow building residents and organisationally by dint of their position, I didn't know the core specifics of their role and their mission statement. Basically we had to talk about ourselves and what we did.
I discovered I have a bit of a reputation as a loose canon. Not in the on-the-edge lone wolf has-to-be-suspended-to-solve-the-case detective sense ... but in the TMI sense.
The delightful B---, who surprised everyone by wearing a summery dress that made her look like Joan Holloway (2), warned the new team members that I came fully loaded with a tendency to talk about my bottom.
It's true. I do over-share about my body and about how I feel about my body. Let's face it, it's all good material, and I basically think (3) that I live in a sitcom. Hence the cracking of the wise on a constant, almost irritatingly so, basis.
But B---'s experience of my saucy bottom talk is not of a positive one. It's more about my tummy wobbles and how that gravely impacts on my ability to squeeze out any steamers, let alone ones from Cleveland.
However ... since taking on The Purgatory Cart (4) and making it my cycle-bitch, I have re-shaped my lower area a tad. Just a tad, mind. But enough that I, with all my body failure issues combined, have noticed a little improvement.
Without thinking I responded to the dark 'there be trouble' foreboding talk of bottom discussions to come that had been gravelly foretold by the statue-esq B---.
'And why wouldn't I? It's pert and muscular. It looks like the Statue of David's from behind!' (5)
I can't remember if anyone laughed ... but I'm pretty sure B--- rolled her eyes. Later I got her back when she was talking about her role and I told her after she narked off about me making stupid stats jokes—she has a minor role in statistical analysis for the org—I added 'I didn't MEAN to make you upset' ... with over-emphasis on MEAN.
Later they were talking about a database that had the initialism of PMS. With most of the new team ladies this left them laughing. They joked that it should be renamed 'the curse.'
Anyway ... I didn't say this ... and old Mikey probably would have ... but to my mind came unbidden '... You think that's bad. I worked in an area where the database was called crotch-damp'.
Holy shit, I appeared to have grown as a person ... in that I didn't say that (6). But it was gold.
Go Mikey, being all adult and shit and holding it in.
(1) Mikey's new and improved term for the white collar world.
(2) B--- is also very smart and capable (in addition to being somewhat attractive). Indeed she's in her mid-twenties and is already an executive (living at home still, no less). And here's Mikey pushing 40 and is not an executive. Not that I want to be. Being an executive, as far as I can tell, means meetings, meetings, and more meetings. Fuck that shit.
(3) Well according to theWife
(4) Provided as a long-term loan by mah delightful writing bud, Casso. Congrats again on the 55. Me super proud!
(5) The behind probably was redundant but it was said in the moment.
(6) And I have to admit ... when my mental voice spits out stuff like this ... it's usually in Jon Stewart's 'Badabing' accent he uses when he does lines like that.At any rate I do feel I have to stress that I have never worked in an area of my org whose database was called crotch-damp. Though given what the IT lads got up to some years back when they were found to have secretly hived off server space to share porn through, I wouldn't be surprised if something like that existed. One IT security dude told me that they would do keyword sweeps through file names on people's personal drive allotment to make sure no hanky business was up to. They found one person's account filled with gigs of carefully named porn which stated exactly what was in each file, e.g. man_with_donkey. Frankly, he was asking to be caught. Let's just hope too the IT lads didn't tip off the donkeys and thus he avoided running into a drove (6a) of them waiting for him in the car park after work.
(6a) Yes ... I looked up the collective noun for donkeys...