Offended

It’s Christmas morning. A time for quiet reflection. A time for pondering the meaning of life and the enormity of space, time and the universe.

It’s also a time to wonder why I didn’t prepare a blog post in advance. Ouch. That’s unpleasant. Let’s avoid those thoughts.

I find myself thinking about offense.

What is it to be offended? I have given this some thought and I’ve decided it is my innate reaction to the actions of other people that are actions I would never do myself.

I’ve written in the past about why I’m unable to use the refrigerator at work. The boss has made it clear he has absolutely no respect for the personal boundaries of people other than himself. Once, when I was younger and chock full of hubris, I tried bringing a bottle of grape juice to work, so I could have a little refreshment while I toiled. The boss helped himself, stood in the open door, and drank deeply right from the bottle.

When I asked why he did that, he wisely replied, “I didn’t know whose it was, so I drank it.” It is hard to argue with logic like that.

The boss sees himself as daddy to everyone. And I do mean everyone. His kids, his wife, employees, people who walk in off the street, customers on the phone, the children of his family friends, business contacts and people he knows from his church. In his world there is nothing wrong with eating someone else’s food because he is their daddy and he already owns it.

Last Friday was my last day of work before the holiday. Even though I programmed an alarm in my iPad to remind me to check the fridge, I still forgot my leftover soup. So a day later I made a special trip by the office to pick it up. My wife and aunt were waiting in the car.

Inside I found my container, totally devoid of soup, rinsed and left on my desk. I grabbed my container, walked outside, stood in front of the car and proudly thrust the two pieces of the container out in front of me so my family could see.

My wife described it like this: “Wow. Your face was bright red. And mottled.” No shit.

I wonder how my boss would feel if I applied that same logic to his inventory. “Hey, you didn’t bother to keep accurate track of the count so I figured you didn’t want it, so I helped myself to your $1,500 item. Suck it, bitch.”

Luckily I’m evolved enough not to respond to my boss in kind. Two wrongs don’t make a right. They make a boss.

I just remain ever offended.

This post was lovingly caressed out of an iPad. Please enjoy the extra autocorrect typos.

4 responses

  1. I never tire of hearing about your boss. If it’s any consolation, he makes other bosses seem less offensive.

    Once upon a time, someone at my job kept eating my lunch. Faced with another missing entree, I took action. I made myself a nice sandwich on thick-cut home made bread. It was chunky peanut butter, raspberry jam and a thin layer of ipecac syrup. I had narrowed my list of suspects down to a handful of people, and when one of them suddenly started tossing her cookies, which looked a whole lot like a nice artisan PBJ, my suspicions were confirmed.

    Sweet victory.

    Like

    1. That’s one delicious story! I always wondered what ipecac syrup was for. Educational!

      And thanks. But be careful what you wish for. I could easily turn to the dark side and talk about nothing else.

      Like

  2. Um…at least he washed the container?

    Merry chirstmas to you and yours, Shouts!

    Like

    1. He rinsed it in the fucking work sink. The same place we all wash the fucking feces from our fucking hands. Obviously it had to be fucking sterilized.

      Oh, and Merry Christmas to you, too!

      Like

Bringeth forth thy pith and vinegar

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