Another one of those days…

You know the ones I’m talking about, you have a craving for beef tongue and your local grocer just sold the last one. You buy yourself a nice, brand spanking new ball gag and the strap snaps the first time you use it. You go to the doctor to have your tonsils taken out and wake to a sex change.

And what about work? Maybe you’ve been in a situation like this: you prepare an assignment or task tailored specifically and accurately to what your boss asked. You are proud of your accomplishment. Even tickled at the thought of how well your boss will receive its splendor.

You fondly picture a scene where you’re decorated and praised by everyone from Dave the stoned guy with the long hair in the mailroom to the owner of your company. You get a chunky raise, company stock and a week off for your genius. A new phrase surfaces in the office; whenever anyone does anything stellar they call it, “pulling a [your name].” But no one has ever nor will ever “pull a [your name]” with the same impact as the original. Your internal soundtrack begins playing Eye of the Tiger as you strut into your boss’s office.

But instead of praise, respect and a maxim in your honor, your fantasy crashes to the ground with the impact of King Kong falling onto 5th avenue.

And just like ole Kong you too were shot down because apparently when your boss says up, she means down… left means right… no means yes… ahem… you get the idea

So boss tells you it’s all wrong and gives you that look… you know, the one where they try to mask their displeasure in hiring you but still kind of smile and hope you’ll work out because engaging another search for someone to fill your position means reviewing more grotesquely padded resumes of people who aren’t even qualified to accurately take a drive through order. And the only way your boss will learn this is going through the painful process of interviewing these morons.

So you smile and try really hard not to let out your true feelings. I mean, at this point what you’d like to say is, “hmmm… not really sure where the disconnect occurred. You were pretty clear when you said you wanted me to make a cake. I guess it’s my fault right? When you said “cake”, I should have known you meant “nuclear warhead.” I really should have my ears checked. Does our mediocre health plan include an eye, ears, nose and throat specialist? I am fully aware that I will have to go out of the network and pay hundreds for the doctor to come in, say “nuclear warhead,” ask me to repeat it, put a drop in each ear and send me back to work.”