My friend Bella emailed me a joke the other day: a fat, black man found a lamp. He rubbed it and out popped a genie who granted the man three wishes. "I want to be white, skinny, and surrounded by pussy!" said the man and so the genie granted his wishes and turned him into a tampon. The lesson found in that particular joke is, be careful for what you wish for...it may come true. But how often do wishes come true and what factors help make it come true?
It all started three weeks ago, when my boss Alice invited me and my co-worker, Wendi with an I, to a fundraiser event, held by one of our most prestige floral clients. Wendi had offered me a ride to the event, but when the time came to pick me up, Wendi was no where to be found. She claimed she had gone to Vail on a family emergency and left her phone behind in Tucson. And then, in an odd and unexplainable state of events, had to go pick up her phone, in Vail, the following day.
Either way, Wendi's no call, no show left me with no ride to the fundraiser, and so, I stayed home on a lonely Saturday night. It was upsetting that Wendi was so inconsiderate, and as I put away my pale, rose-colored Sean John shirt, I wished ill will towards my co worker.
My wish partially came true the following weekend, when Wendi went out to a local bar with Alice and a group of Alice's friends. Everyone liked Wendi, but there was something about her that made her...unique. Nobody, could pin-point what it was, until, Alice's brother-in-law, Jack, jokingly said that Wendi had moved from Ghettoville Hills and settled into a dingy neighborhood, right smack in the middle of White Trash Trailer Park. I'll admit the off-color comment was a little rude, but it did expalin Wendi's odd behavior.
It explained why she bought 99¢, discount bin, Calgon perfume. It explained why she saved the free makeup samples found in the inserts of beauty magazines. It explained why Wendi thought a pair of olive green denim jeans, purchased at a discount dollar store, was nothing short of a shopping miracle. And it explained why Wendi didnt show up to work last Tuesday. Apparently, a night of cheap beer and pot have a tendency to make one sleep until mid-afternoon.
Alice warned Wendi that if she ever missed work again, without calling in, she would presume it as a sign of voluntary termination, which wasnt at all surprising. But what was surprising was how after the incident happened, Alice gave in her two-cents to the whole White-Trash-Wendi "fun". As a boss, wasnt it Alice's job to maintain a professional manner about the whole ordeal? Wasnt it her job to define the line between personal and professional business?
As the week went by, Alice was quick to point out Wendi's quirky traits as nothing more than white-trash behavior, and like two bitchy school girls, gossiping behind the schoolyard slide, Alice and I made fun of Wendi behind her back. We chuckled at the numerous key chains and pins she hung from the inside of the roof of her car. We giggled at her hemp sandals and metallic blue, toenail polish. And we guffawed at the alarming resemblense she shared with the Bride in Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride. Wendi had unofficially become the laughing stock of our little shop of brutal horrors.
But then yesterday, all fun and games came to a complete halt. Wendi had once again failed to show up for work and failed to let anyone know her whereabouts. It was Boss Apprieciation Day, and because Alice was overwhelmed with the amount of orders, I filled in for Wendi, while Alice waited, by the phone, for Wendi's call. Wendi didnt call Alice until later that evening, after we had closed the shop and after she verbally abused her grandmother for letting her oversleep. Through big, ugly, bloody murder cries, Wendi tried to explaine that she had overslept due to a series of unfortunate partying and pleaded with Alice for her job back. But Alice stood firm with her decision, leaving Wendi to mourn alone in her room, and leaving me with the harsh realization that my wish had come true. Except, this was a wish, I wish I could take back.
Orignially, this post was going to be a post asking for suggestions on how one should deal when working with someone whose odd behavior made her a laughing stock. But now, after recent events, and a bizarre Texas Chainsaw Massacre-esque crying voice mail left by Wendi, I wonder if I should still maintain a polite and cordial relationship with Wendi? But then again, is it ever safe to maintain a relationship with someone after you discover that they had previously been diagnosed with a bi-polar disease that left them with major depression and suicidal thoughts and it was because of said relationship that kept them from going over the deep edge?
It all started three weeks ago, when my boss Alice invited me and my co-worker, Wendi with an I, to a fundraiser event, held by one of our most prestige floral clients. Wendi had offered me a ride to the event, but when the time came to pick me up, Wendi was no where to be found. She claimed she had gone to Vail on a family emergency and left her phone behind in Tucson. And then, in an odd and unexplainable state of events, had to go pick up her phone, in Vail, the following day.
Either way, Wendi's no call, no show left me with no ride to the fundraiser, and so, I stayed home on a lonely Saturday night. It was upsetting that Wendi was so inconsiderate, and as I put away my pale, rose-colored Sean John shirt, I wished ill will towards my co worker.
My wish partially came true the following weekend, when Wendi went out to a local bar with Alice and a group of Alice's friends. Everyone liked Wendi, but there was something about her that made her...unique. Nobody, could pin-point what it was, until, Alice's brother-in-law, Jack, jokingly said that Wendi had moved from Ghettoville Hills and settled into a dingy neighborhood, right smack in the middle of White Trash Trailer Park. I'll admit the off-color comment was a little rude, but it did expalin Wendi's odd behavior.
It explained why she bought 99¢, discount bin, Calgon perfume. It explained why she saved the free makeup samples found in the inserts of beauty magazines. It explained why Wendi thought a pair of olive green denim jeans, purchased at a discount dollar store, was nothing short of a shopping miracle. And it explained why Wendi didnt show up to work last Tuesday. Apparently, a night of cheap beer and pot have a tendency to make one sleep until mid-afternoon.
Alice warned Wendi that if she ever missed work again, without calling in, she would presume it as a sign of voluntary termination, which wasnt at all surprising. But what was surprising was how after the incident happened, Alice gave in her two-cents to the whole White-Trash-Wendi "fun". As a boss, wasnt it Alice's job to maintain a professional manner about the whole ordeal? Wasnt it her job to define the line between personal and professional business?
As the week went by, Alice was quick to point out Wendi's quirky traits as nothing more than white-trash behavior, and like two bitchy school girls, gossiping behind the schoolyard slide, Alice and I made fun of Wendi behind her back. We chuckled at the numerous key chains and pins she hung from the inside of the roof of her car. We giggled at her hemp sandals and metallic blue, toenail polish. And we guffawed at the alarming resemblense she shared with the Bride in Tim Burton's The Corpse Bride. Wendi had unofficially become the laughing stock of our little shop of brutal horrors.
But then yesterday, all fun and games came to a complete halt. Wendi had once again failed to show up for work and failed to let anyone know her whereabouts. It was Boss Apprieciation Day, and because Alice was overwhelmed with the amount of orders, I filled in for Wendi, while Alice waited, by the phone, for Wendi's call. Wendi didnt call Alice until later that evening, after we had closed the shop and after she verbally abused her grandmother for letting her oversleep. Through big, ugly, bloody murder cries, Wendi tried to explaine that she had overslept due to a series of unfortunate partying and pleaded with Alice for her job back. But Alice stood firm with her decision, leaving Wendi to mourn alone in her room, and leaving me with the harsh realization that my wish had come true. Except, this was a wish, I wish I could take back.
Orignially, this post was going to be a post asking for suggestions on how one should deal when working with someone whose odd behavior made her a laughing stock. But now, after recent events, and a bizarre Texas Chainsaw Massacre-esque crying voice mail left by Wendi, I wonder if I should still maintain a polite and cordial relationship with Wendi? But then again, is it ever safe to maintain a relationship with someone after you discover that they had previously been diagnosed with a bi-polar disease that left them with major depression and suicidal thoughts and it was because of said relationship that kept them from going over the deep edge?
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