Ah, the office bitch…

I had a meeting yesterday with the CEO and the office bitch. Yes, I can be a bitch but not the office bitch. I am the person who turns up to work in order to get paid. During my time at work I manage to make maximum use of the printer, the internet and the office stationary for personal means. I feel terrible about it, of course. And, possibly, I make a few dozen personal phone calls and maybe I have a draft of my next book on screen along with my spreadsheets but I feel you have to be flexible at work in order to perform at optimum capacity. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Anyway, the office bitch had a problem with me. She wanted something done and I told her no. Yes, we all hate being told no. But sometimes you have, to stop doing personal stuff at work, to say no and mean it no matter how much someone stamps their spiked heels. Okay, so enter the CEO who wants everyone to be happy and friendly. He knows nothing at all about what is going on in the office, let alone knowing anything about women. Women in the office are vicious. Twenty years of experience tells me this. I would rather face a battalion of flesh eating aliens from planet Zork than having to deal with the sniping and treachery of contained female power in a small office. But that is for another blog.

Anyway the office bitch whined to the CEO and he said to me what can he do to make everyone happy? My first suggestion of early knock off times and more pay was met with that fake CEO laugh they do when they are not sure if an underling is serious or not. After much rational discussion the answer to the CEO was to have a staff barbecue. Problem solved – not. The bitch and I both looked at each other and did the eye roll thing. After the CEO wandered off happy in the knowledge he had a barbecue to organize to justify his huge pay packet, the office bitch knew she had not won anything over me and I still had time left in the day to finish the third chapter of my next book. The moral of the story? Work is not real life– so why sweat over the small things?

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