“That’s not swimming, it’s frolicking.” ~ Nick
Now tell me that’s not funny. I mean, c’mon, it’s funny!
Coffee. I want coffee. Why is that all I can think about (well, relatively speaking, of course)? Why is coffee more addictive than soda, despite the similar (I think) caffeine content? Why, when I never drank coffee before last year (because I had the best damn coffee in London and I’m still trying to duplicate that amazing experience), do I suddenly have the urge to leave work in search of the nearest coffee house?
Honestly, I think it’s mostly the ritual. It’s comforting and exciting all at once. Going for coffee. It just has a ring to it. Not going for a Pepsi. Or going for tea. Or even going for a drink (though that has a different ring to it altogether). Going for coffee can be a solitary experience or a social event. It can be quick and feverish, like a forbidden affair; it can be leisurely and languid, like lovemaking on a summer afternoon.
Coffee drinking is about cupping the warm, steaming mug in my hands, worrying in back and forth gently as I blow the steam and inhale the aroma. It’s about the first taste and swallow, the soothing, rich, fulfilling smoothness of it. If the coffee is the perfect temperature-- not so hot it burns my tongue, not so cool that it tastes like paste-- all the better. Coffee with the hint of chocolate or vanilla or hazlenut (but mostly chocolate). Coffee that is sweet and creamy and swirly on my tongue.
I want coffee. I need coffee. I need comfort.
I despise splitting the bill when I go out to eat. I hate dividing things up and figuring out who pays what based on who had the club sandwich and who had the cheeseburger. Worse even than splitting the bill is separate checks. Why not just sit at separate tables while you’re at it? Or even separate restaurants? Tell you what, don’t call me, I’ll call you.
When I eat out, I don’t want to worry about how the bill is going to get paid. Such practicalities take away from the pleasure of the meal. I eat out as a way of socializing-- hell, eating is socializing for me. When I’m home alone, I don’t eat meals, I graze (case in point, my dinner tonight: Cheez Doodles and Pepperidge Farm cookies). There is joy in sharing a meal that should not be compromised by nitpicky details such as how the bill is going to be divided.
If I’m eating out with someone I like (and I try to avoid eating out with jerks, though there are rare occasions when I get stuck sitting across from someone I can’t stand), I will happily pay the tab and expect them to return the favor next time. I’d much rather pick up the bill than sit there trying to figure out who owes what. As I rarely have cash on me, I’m going to either have to ask the server for a seperate check or put the entire thing on my credit card and take cash from my friend, which seems wrong. Honestly, I’ve probably paid for more than fifty-percent of the meals I’ve eaten in restaurants and that is okay with me. If I like you, I’m more than willing to pay for your meal in exchange for the pleasure of your company.
I once had lunch with an acquaintance (who was on her way to at least being a casual friend) who pulled out a CALCULATOR in order to figure out her half of the bill. Now, keep in mind that we ordered the exact same entree, but she had water and a side salad and I had an iced tea. We split dessert. She still felt the need to use a calculator to tally the exact amount of her tab. This was not a pricey restaurant, it was Ruby Tuesday’s. We’re talking a difference of maybe two bucks in what we each owed, if that. I was horribly embarrassed. I spent time with her after this mortifying event, but I never went to a restaurant with her again.
The other thing about taking turns paying the bill is that it becomes a promise for a future meal spent together. I get it this time, you get it next time. If I like you enough to share a meal with you (excluding the aforementioned occasional jerk), I will want to see you again. If I ever offer to split the bill with you… well, don’t expect me to be calling any time soon. If you suggest splitting the bill, I may be slightly offended whether that’s your intention or not. Splitting the bill feels like you don’t like me and want to be done with me. That’s hardly a way to end a pleasant meal.
Oh, and the woman with the calculator? Despite her obsessive/compulsive need to make sure we each paid our fair share, she stuck me with the tax and only tipped ten-percent.
I was once a twenty-one year old boss. I had employees. I made schedules. I had a budget. I spent the company’s money. I dealt with angry, cursing morons-- all with a smile. I hired people. I fired people. I was young, I was naive and I was in charge. I took care of the people who worked for me because that’s what I thought a good boss should do. I figured I had nothing to lose by doing things my way and there was rarely anyone looking over my shoulder to tell me otherwise. My work ethic was less “if you have time to lean, you have time to clean” and more “get the work done, then goof off.”
My work ethic hasn’t changed much in fifteen years. I am not lazy so much as I am rebellious. I don’t like rules. I don’t deal well with authority, especially if the authority in question is an idiot. I don’t like policy and procedure manuals, I prefer to handle things on a case by case basis. I don’t like black and white, I prefer shades of gray and blue and purple. I don’t like being told what to do, nor do I like giving orders. I prefer a looser style of management. Smart employees know what to do and will get the job done. Dumb employees should be taken out back and smacked around. Simple.
I believe vacation days are for vacation and sick days are for whatever you want them to be. I think the best thing you can give an employee-- besides a hefty raise-- is respect and the acknowledgment of work well done, even if it’s the work they’re supposed to do. I believe in positive reinforcement and chocolate rewards; when a raise isn’t in the budget, I believe in commiseration and drinks on the house. I believe in fraternizing and getting to know the people who work for you. I believe everyone is entitled to have a bad day and everyone deserves a second, and even a third, chance. I believe most people want to do a good job most of the time. That should be enough for any boss.
I believe in looking out for your employees and giving them credit where credit is due-- and even when it isn’t. It’s no real hardship to let someone stand in the spotlight for a few minutes and it makes a world of difference in how they feel about themselves… and their job. I believe in staff meetings that include doughnuts and coffee. I believe in pizza parties on me because we’ve had a good, productive week. I believe in looking the other way when lunch stretches to an hour and a half once in awhile. I believe as long as ONE person is on time, everyone else can be a few minutes late occasionally. I don’t believe in evaluations, I believe in heart-to-hearts when the need arises. I believe work can-- and should-- be fun.
All of this just goes to show why I will never be a boss again. Not that I want to be-- the hours suck and, oddly enough, no one seems to think I should be in charge. Imagine that.
Things would be better if I ruled the world. Trust me.
The following is an exact (okay, almost exact) transcript of a conversation I had today with a five year old girl.
Me: (Reading a book, oblivious)
Little Girl: Uh oh, we got Christians.
Me: What did you say?
LG: You know. Christians. (Followed by the most adorable nose-wrinkling you’ve ever seen)
Me: I know what Christians are, but what do you mean?
LG: (Gesturing toward the back of the library at three little girls, ranging in age from four to ten) Back there. Christians. They don’t want to read about mummies. They don’t believe in ‘em.
Me: Well, they don’t have to read about mummies if they don’t want to.
LG: (Holding up a stack of nonfiction books about mummies that she somehow managed to find on her own) But they’re real! They should know about mummies.
Me: Maybe they like reading about other things.
LG: (Shaking her head and staggering away under the weight of her mummy books) Gotta watch out for those Christians. They don’t believe in anything.
I couldn’t write something this funny if I tried.
Life. Love. Writing. Friendship.
Sex. Books. Movies. Travel. Politics. Feminism. Academia. Insomnia. Rants. Raves. Chocolate. Lots of chocolate. Some names have been changed, some stories have been embellished. Thanks for stopping by and beware of the dog. Read more...
