Meet Me

Woo boy, nothing revvs like the engine like a day full of meetings at work. If you ever want to hold a meeting and watch it go drastically awry, ask me to lead it. Just trust me on this one. Explain to your boss that there's this guy in Austin whose website you read, and you really think he has what it takes to chair your meeting. Then, you fly me in (note: I don't do coach, it's business class or bust), you bring me into the meeting room and close the door. Ten minutes later, I guarantee you, someone will run out in tears. This person will be screaming something at everyone in the meeting room. It'll either be, "I hate you! I hate you all! My astrologer was right about my work situation," or "All of yo' asses are dead! Do you hear me?! I'm killing yo' asses dead!"

That is why, if I'm ever told at work that I have to hold a meeting about something, I only invite myself and the guy who refills the water jug. He only comes in once a week; I can handle a grudge coming from him. My regular coworkers? No way. I spend 40+ a week with them; their opportunities to poison me are virtually limitless. While the meeting may be relevant to their line of work, my track record shows no good can come of their attendance. So, if a coworker ever asks me about a meeting I'm having, I just tell them to ask the water jug guy for the agenda.

Wouldn't you know it, today I elected to veer from my previously successful path of collaboration with the water guy. As one might expect, our meetings had some rocky parts. Afterwards, I was in the breakroom buying some cheese and crackers, and one of the meeting attendees was in there, rinsing the salt from his eyes (a design discussion got out of hand, let's leave it at that). I began to go over and say something when I noticed a note on the water jug. It read, "Why didn't you call me? I'm killing yo' ass dead. Signed, the Water Jug Guy." Mea cupla.