Judgy McGrudgy
It's long been instilled in me that one should be as pleasant and respectful to the guy in the mail room as to the CEO, not only in the spirit of the Golden Rule, but because you never know where the guy in the mail room will end up one day.
Back in 2000, I wasn't quite working in the mail room, but I was in a much more junior position than I am today, although I had some significant responsibilities, some occasionally smart ideas, and a hell of a work ethic. And this one woman I had to work with on a project that summer -- not someone from my organization, but a senior-level person who was one of our partners on this project -- pretty much only deigned to acknowledge me when she wanted me to go and fetch her something. She was supercilious and snotty and entitled and just awful, unless you were someone important, in which case she would totally kiss your ass.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a looooooooooong memory for this sort of nonsense. I do not forget, and I do not easily let go of a grudge.
Anyway, fast-forward nearly eight years, I'm still at the same organization, but have climbed up several rungs, and now this person needs something from me. Not a coffee or a water or another staff member; something substantive. And you know what? She's still talking to me like I'm her bitch. With no context for any legitimate urgency, her email asks for me to make time for her today. Which, of course, I will not do, because I'm just that petty. Just that petty -- I will actually reply to her today, and I will actually help her.
But I won't be able to avoid doing so with a somewhat exasperated tone, and I won't do more than the absolute minimum required of me to be helpful, because I am exactly like my mother: sweet and accommodating and pleasant until you're not. And once you're not, we're done, and there's no going back.
Which is rigid and unfair and not very Christian, but if I were perfect, I'd be even more boring than I am already.
Back in 2000, I wasn't quite working in the mail room, but I was in a much more junior position than I am today, although I had some significant responsibilities, some occasionally smart ideas, and a hell of a work ethic. And this one woman I had to work with on a project that summer -- not someone from my organization, but a senior-level person who was one of our partners on this project -- pretty much only deigned to acknowledge me when she wanted me to go and fetch her something. She was supercilious and snotty and entitled and just awful, unless you were someone important, in which case she would totally kiss your ass.
Anyone who knows me knows that I have a looooooooooong memory for this sort of nonsense. I do not forget, and I do not easily let go of a grudge.
Anyway, fast-forward nearly eight years, I'm still at the same organization, but have climbed up several rungs, and now this person needs something from me. Not a coffee or a water or another staff member; something substantive. And you know what? She's still talking to me like I'm her bitch. With no context for any legitimate urgency, her email asks for me to make time for her today. Which, of course, I will not do, because I'm just that petty. Just that petty -- I will actually reply to her today, and I will actually help her.
But I won't be able to avoid doing so with a somewhat exasperated tone, and I won't do more than the absolute minimum required of me to be helpful, because I am exactly like my mother: sweet and accommodating and pleasant until you're not. And once you're not, we're done, and there's no going back.
Which is rigid and unfair and not very Christian, but if I were perfect, I'd be even more boring than I am already.
1 Comments:
it is sometimes a curse to be like one's mother.
i also think that people are not nice to others even when they are strangers. think of the complete lack of customer service at ANYWHERE you go, especially in retail. but, if they come to you for something, they expect you to bend over backward for them. grr.
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m, at 12:17 PM
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