The Big Move

It was a strange pivot, about eight feet on a diagonal. Okay, so not such a big move, but it was an all-change seating plan at work. We were asked not to move all at once… 

and we moved all at once.

There was something school playground about it all, choreographed chaos, we were just missing a couple of clowns, and when I sat down in my new space, it felt like the first day of school. Pity I had to stare at life-sucking Salesforce, saliva dribbling out of my mouth.

Still, nothing beats Excel for warping brain cells. I was comforted the other week when the Sales Manager wanted help with the dreaded program and was met with a heads buried into screens wall of silence. 

The move produced a curious result. The three non-practising Jews were grouped together; writer, sales, and the client account manager (a bit of a wordy job title, if you ask me). In this scenario, I’m not the writer. It wasn’t intentional because we didn’t even know we were Jewish, but I’m thinking of hanging a Star of David over the section and calling it Ghetto Lite. We can talk about pickles and things.

Actually, we’ve already talked about pickles, sour or vinegar. Think I’m vinegar, my grandfather used to make pickled cucumbers, so I’ve got this non-practising Jewish shtetl ghetto thing down pat.

Can’t recall the last time I was in a workplace with three Jews (albeit non-practising). I kinda liked being the only one. There was this time in the mid-90s, barely weeks into a new job when the co-owner walked into the production office all happy because of a big sale/contract and said he was feeling all Yiddy. 

Yah.

Don’t worry, he was soon mortified. 

It didn’t take much. My boss, in disbelief, said his name and looked at me. There was a realization and a big apology. I felt weird, because I didn’t think people spoke in those terms, and that was the progressive 90s.  

I wonder what I’d do if it happened today. We’re all so sensitive now. I’d have to take three months paid stress leave with weekly massages, sparkles, a year’s supply of coconut water, counselling, and sue for $20K. 

Could do with $20K now as it happens —oh — please let this happen now,  please, I can go without the sparkles. And can I sue for $45K?

Come to think of it, at the end of a meeting last week, this happened:

“David, you look dumbfounded.”

Me, even more dumbfounded, “That’s my normal look.”

Imagine the tabloid headlines: Worker sues Employer for $45,000 because of his Normal Look.

Company counter sues, says offered employee discounted botox treatment through benefits plan.

You know it’s going to happen. 

To be fair, I’m guilty of doing unintentionally dumb things. A couple of months ago someone had a bad fall – and I don’t know why – but the “get well soon” card only circulated a few weeks ago and yours truly goes off script. I knew the person didn’t want to have an operation (hip) and was going for a slow recovery, so I wrote something to the effect of “smart decision not going for the op!”

The next day it was announced they were having a double hip replacement. 

Swear, I’m the male Bridget Jones.

The card was retrieved, a bit of awkward white out, and a colleague chastised me, never give your opinion on a card. And she’s been quite keen and amused to remind me several times since.