Dearest P,
As you know, I'm a supremely confident person who never worries about all the ways in which everyone most assuredly hates me. Please allow me to share a recent example of this.
The successful execution of my job means that I need and have access to a lot of information, including my boss's email inbox. Everyone knows this, and we have systems in place to make sure that messages intended for his eyes only are routed to folders that I'm unable to see.
Occasionally, however, people don't follow the proper flagging procedures, so things show up that aren't intended for my review. I recognize these items immediately and have never looked at them, which has always made me feel really grown up and responsible.
Yesterday, one of these types of messages arrived. Its subject line had one simple word: my name.
I did not look at it. It has been approximately 18 hours since it arrived.
Don't worry, though, because I ABSOLUTELY am NOT freaking out. I'm not replaying every interaction I've had with this person over the past few weeks. I'm not worrying about what I may have said or done. I'm not nervous every time I get called into anyone's office or whenever my phone rings. I'm not failing to remember all the ways in which I'm clearly competent at my job and appreciated by my colleagues and supervisors. I'm certainly realizing that the message could be about anything, and could even say nice things about me, and is not necessarily some kind of scathing condemnation of my very being. And, most importantly, I'm not straining with every fiber of my being against the temptation to look at the message while simultaneously kicking myself for begin absurdly ethical and trustworthy.
Just thought you might like to have a reminder of how very together I am.
Maturely yours,
P-
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2 comments:
So, I thought about how to respond to this for three days. Uh, how are you still alive, what with all the stomach acid having eaten through your stomach and working on your other organs? I really was waiting for the punchline and son of a bitch, there wasn't. Of course, in the spirit of making it about me, I've been desperately trying to figure out what I'd do. I can safely say that I would do something. And here's what I'd probably do: I would have someone I trust infinitely (and who is skilled at reframing possibily painful information) read the e-mail and tell me about it. That is, of course, if reading the e-mail wouldn't leave a trail. But then I wonder: maybe the e-mail was MEANT for you, somehow. Maybe that's why your name was on it-- really is anyone dumb enough not to know you have access to this stuff? Damn, woman, I'm festering with anxiety on your behalf. Pleas let me know ASAP if you hear anything. Except... my worst fear is that you'll never know and it will always sit there like a big maggot in your head. OR, you could tell your boss yous aw your name pass by and just be honest about your anxiety. Would that be too weird? Urgh...
I love you so much, yet I'm sort of glad that I'm not there to convince you to do "the wrong thing" and yet I feel certain that with all my love, affection, and mediocre baking skills, I could convince you that no matter what's in the e-mail, you are the bomb-diggity and the bees knees X one million.
kisses,
your sweet pea
excuse the many typos. i did not proofread. don't tell Dr. Doug Downs or i may be out of a job. (seriously, all the PhD's have "Dr so-and-so" written on their doors)
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