The Tail of the Short Shorts (Or Driving Up Miss Daisy's Buttcrack)
Alternate Title: Making A Mountain Out of Molehills
One of the most satisfying, and when I say satisfying I mean excruciatingly painful, parts of my job, is that I get the sheer pleasure of supervising people. Now some people work very hard early in their professional lives in order to finally get into a position of power and authority. Some people derive great joy from bossing people around. And some people are so adept at noticing the problems of others and truly relish pointing those problems out, usually in the most constructive, and when I say constructive I mean utterly destructive, ways.
I guess I don't really qualify as some people. Don't get me wrong, I am proud that I have finally worked my way into a position of leadership and I do love my work. It was a long time coming and I truly paid my dues and bided by time awaiting the day when my employer would eventually recognize the work I do by giving me the title and the moolah I deserved, because I was doing the job all along anyway. Also, I don't like bossing people around (unless you're my kid, my husband, or my dog). And I'm really not that good at pointing out the faults of others (again unless you're my kid, my husband, or my dog). And I most certainly don't like to criticize others-even when I know it's in the best interest of the person and/or the job.
One great perk with being a supervisor is that you get to deal with all the issues that arise. And it's amazing to me how many issues can arise on any given day. Issues that really don't need to be made into "capital I" issues, but hell, when there are issues to be made we might as well do it in grand dramatic fashion. It doesn't help when there are people who aren't responsible for supervising, but who really want to supervise, and altough technically don't supervise are privy to sensitive information and subtley gloat about all the information that is shared and who use that to create issues where issues weren't before. It also doesn't help when there are people who supervise, but don't do that great of a job at it, and when the shit hits the proverbial fan they make damn sure the shit sprays onto someone else and they're left looking clean and smelling like roses.
Oh yeah, there's supposed to be a tail (AKA tale) somewhere in the post. Thus, the storyteller spins his tale...
Once upon a time in Non-profit Agency Land there was a small village where people dwelled. These villagers, like all citizens of Non-profit Agency Land, were bound by some common laws of decency. Typically the village dwellers followed such rules, however occassionally the law was broken and consequences had to be dealt.
On one hot summer day a villager, Lady M, chose to wear inappropriate attire in the form of short shorts and proceeded to strut through the village. This inappropriate clothing was strictly forbidden after the Dress Code Policy of 2001 was instituted. Shorts and mini-skirts should be mid-thigh or even with your fingertips. (I know, it sounds a little Catholic school don't it?) But, you never know how many drooling and/or judgemental citizens, or worse visitors, may witness the bare thighs bandied about when such short shorts are donned.
One rather large and assuming villager, who shall be known as Miss Mungus, shared quarters with Lady M and immediately made her aware of the inappropriateness of attire (The reference to one who does not supervise, but wishes that she does, as well as the reference of pointing out others faults is quite appropriate for this busybody, by the way.)
Miss Mungus could not let the issue drop without crafting it into Issue #1,158 on her agenda of being a pain in the arse, so she let it be known to Queen J who was immersed in crisis of her own and could not immediately address the issue. Princess C who is directly responsble for Lady M, eventually noticed the violation-and if you recall the reference above that described shit and fan and the splattering of shit, you will know that I was referring to this princess. Princess C shares the information with Queen D who then immediatly addresses the violation.
The happily ever part should follow this, because molehills are just that-small and manageable.
But wait, there must be more because evidently the issue was not dealt with enough staggering speed. Queen J brunted most of the blame in this, but really only after Miss Mungus pushed the issue because she is friendly with the Supreme Leader of this village. And now the issue has become a mountain with a mass email sent to all villagers decreeing that the Dress Code Policy should be strictly adhered to. Likewise the leaders of this village were treated to a separate email informing them that swift action was necessary in this instance and how appalling the clothing was, despite the fact that the issue had already been adequately dealt with and rectified with a change of clothinig. And somehow Miss Mungus received a copy of this email-blind copied to her without the knowledge of the real leaders of the village. But Miss Mungus is not discrete and likes to gloat so she lets it be known that she has received the chastising email. Editorial comment: And is most likely feeling rather smug at this point.
So the mountain sits before the village where once there was just a molehill. This tale concludes with a rather creepy ending. Mr. G, and older village who wears shorts with black socks and Birkenstocks which should clearly be a violation of some dress code, wanted to know why the Dress Code Policy email was even sent in the first place. He was told it was because someone was dressed inappropriately. He wanted to know who and when he found out he was sorely disappointed. He had wanted the violator to be someone else who he would have much rather liked to catch a peek of their female body parts. He never revealed who he would have liked the violator to be, but the ladies of the village are now a little creeped out about this and have been seen pulling their shirts in so as not to expose too much cleavage.
The End-or is it?
One of the most satisfying, and when I say satisfying I mean excruciatingly painful, parts of my job, is that I get the sheer pleasure of supervising people. Now some people work very hard early in their professional lives in order to finally get into a position of power and authority. Some people derive great joy from bossing people around. And some people are so adept at noticing the problems of others and truly relish pointing those problems out, usually in the most constructive, and when I say constructive I mean utterly destructive, ways.
I guess I don't really qualify as some people. Don't get me wrong, I am proud that I have finally worked my way into a position of leadership and I do love my work. It was a long time coming and I truly paid my dues and bided by time awaiting the day when my employer would eventually recognize the work I do by giving me the title and the moolah I deserved, because I was doing the job all along anyway. Also, I don't like bossing people around (unless you're my kid, my husband, or my dog). And I'm really not that good at pointing out the faults of others (again unless you're my kid, my husband, or my dog). And I most certainly don't like to criticize others-even when I know it's in the best interest of the person and/or the job.
One great perk with being a supervisor is that you get to deal with all the issues that arise. And it's amazing to me how many issues can arise on any given day. Issues that really don't need to be made into "capital I" issues, but hell, when there are issues to be made we might as well do it in grand dramatic fashion. It doesn't help when there are people who aren't responsible for supervising, but who really want to supervise, and altough technically don't supervise are privy to sensitive information and subtley gloat about all the information that is shared and who use that to create issues where issues weren't before. It also doesn't help when there are people who supervise, but don't do that great of a job at it, and when the shit hits the proverbial fan they make damn sure the shit sprays onto someone else and they're left looking clean and smelling like roses.
Oh yeah, there's supposed to be a tail (AKA tale) somewhere in the post. Thus, the storyteller spins his tale...
Once upon a time in Non-profit Agency Land there was a small village where people dwelled. These villagers, like all citizens of Non-profit Agency Land, were bound by some common laws of decency. Typically the village dwellers followed such rules, however occassionally the law was broken and consequences had to be dealt.
On one hot summer day a villager, Lady M, chose to wear inappropriate attire in the form of short shorts and proceeded to strut through the village. This inappropriate clothing was strictly forbidden after the Dress Code Policy of 2001 was instituted. Shorts and mini-skirts should be mid-thigh or even with your fingertips. (I know, it sounds a little Catholic school don't it?) But, you never know how many drooling and/or judgemental citizens, or worse visitors, may witness the bare thighs bandied about when such short shorts are donned.
One rather large and assuming villager, who shall be known as Miss Mungus, shared quarters with Lady M and immediately made her aware of the inappropriateness of attire (The reference to one who does not supervise, but wishes that she does, as well as the reference of pointing out others faults is quite appropriate for this busybody, by the way.)
Miss Mungus could not let the issue drop without crafting it into Issue #1,158 on her agenda of being a pain in the arse, so she let it be known to Queen J who was immersed in crisis of her own and could not immediately address the issue. Princess C who is directly responsble for Lady M, eventually noticed the violation-and if you recall the reference above that described shit and fan and the splattering of shit, you will know that I was referring to this princess. Princess C shares the information with Queen D who then immediatly addresses the violation.
The happily ever part should follow this, because molehills are just that-small and manageable.
But wait, there must be more because evidently the issue was not dealt with enough staggering speed. Queen J brunted most of the blame in this, but really only after Miss Mungus pushed the issue because she is friendly with the Supreme Leader of this village. And now the issue has become a mountain with a mass email sent to all villagers decreeing that the Dress Code Policy should be strictly adhered to. Likewise the leaders of this village were treated to a separate email informing them that swift action was necessary in this instance and how appalling the clothing was, despite the fact that the issue had already been adequately dealt with and rectified with a change of clothinig. And somehow Miss Mungus received a copy of this email-blind copied to her without the knowledge of the real leaders of the village. But Miss Mungus is not discrete and likes to gloat so she lets it be known that she has received the chastising email. Editorial comment: And is most likely feeling rather smug at this point.
So the mountain sits before the village where once there was just a molehill. This tale concludes with a rather creepy ending. Mr. G, and older village who wears shorts with black socks and Birkenstocks which should clearly be a violation of some dress code, wanted to know why the Dress Code Policy email was even sent in the first place. He was told it was because someone was dressed inappropriately. He wanted to know who and when he found out he was sorely disappointed. He had wanted the violator to be someone else who he would have much rather liked to catch a peek of their female body parts. He never revealed who he would have liked the violator to be, but the ladies of the village are now a little creeped out about this and have been seen pulling their shirts in so as not to expose too much cleavage.
The End-or is it?
posted by amyd | 4:57 AM
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