ďI hate January. Thereís nothing good about it. The weather sucks, thereís too much to do in too little time, and every time the phone rings itís somebody wanting something from me. What do you want?Ē
Thatís what I said to Tim this afternoon, and it made him laugh. I was serious, but I didnít mind being laughed at. Itís better than having him tell me what he really thinks of me, which I donít want to hear. Iíd rather live under the carefully cultivated illusion that my contribution is highly valued. They tell me that often enough that I probably should believe it.
He didnít want anything from me, he said. He just wanted to ask a question. (ďJust a question.Ē As if that isnít wanting something.) And he proceeded to grill me about spreadsheets I havenít had a chance to finish yet, with comments so far out of left field that I just stood there with the phone in my hand and my jaw clanging on the floor. I so want to tell him to ask someone who knows what theyíre talking about, but that might blow my cover.
Itís not that I mind answering legitimate questions. But both Tim and the Boss have a skewed idea of whatís important, and some of their questions arenít just out of left field, but out of the parking lot across the street from the ballpark. They can be amusing when I have time to think about it. Otherwise? Just annoying.