Everyone has their own idea of fun. Some people get a kick out of going to professional sporting events. Others have a thing for throwing house parties. Myself, I enjoy a good spa day with the girls. In-between complimenting one another on our individual choices of nail polish, we like to engage in gossiping. At least one story will be worth a laugh, and this week mine was the one to throw them into a fit of giggles.
The tale I told was about an asshole from work. Where I work and the name of the asshole in question aren’t important because unfulfilling jobs and assholes are a dime a dozen. You most likely have one where you work, too. Maybe his name is Jim. Or maybe it’s a she and her name is Margaret. Either way, they are a real asshole.
Anyway, this past Monday my boss (who is in no way shape or form an asshole, just incredibly misguided on what makes a cohesive workplace) announced that we would be closing early on Friday so we could have an office fun day. Fun Day, of course, is code for “We’re going to make you do something you normally wouldn’t enjoy, with people you don’t enjoy, for no other reason than to pretend we do enjoy each other’s company.” His theme: Office Olympics. He divided our staff of twenty into four teams, and over the course of three hours we had to compete in a series of goofy events. How fast you finished each event would determine your score, and then at the end the team with the highest score would win a prize. The point of it, as the latest business book he was reading said, was to build team spirit and to help us see each other as just regular, everyday, fun loving people. All it did, however, was show me a certain asshole’s ass…literally.
The first event was the relay tricycle races. Yup, grown people – some well over six feet tall, were expected to race around the staff parking lot on something even a Shriner would consider ridiculously small, while handing a baton over from one racer to the next. Naturally, I got stuck on asshole’s team and naturally he spent the whole time shouting, “Faster Linda! Faster! My dead grandma pedals quicker than you!” at me as I raced towards him. The only thing that kept me pedaling was imagining he was Channing Tatum trapped in a burning building and I only had seconds to pull him out of there before everything collapsed around us. As I handed the baton over to him, he mumbled a less than supportive “About bloody time” and headed off.
It was at that moment that I saw it: asshole’s ass, spilling out from his ill fitting shorts. Let me tell you, he could have taken all of the banned substances in the world and he still wouldn’t have been able to pedal away fast enough for me to unsee what I saw. This was not a Channing Tatum beautiful ass that I saw. It was the ass of a guy who never gets his orders in on time. The ass of a guy who, even though he claims to be directly descended from super fast traveling dead people, looks to be more of a descendant of Sasquatch’s. The ass of a guy who picks up his tricycle and throws it in a huff when he loses.
While everyone stood there stunned by his behaviour, I faked a hamstring pull which allowed me to sit out the rest of the afternoon.
I love my boss for wanting to make work more fun, but at the end of the day the only way to do that is to get rid of the assholes of the world. You and I both know that’s not happening anytime soon.