Short story: Major speaker coming in at work Thursday (lecture was last night). Speaker’s plane gets cancelled Tuesday. Bobkitty, ever the resourceful one (and the only one keeping track of the flights), calls travel agent, barks ‘Fix it, NOW’, gets ticket and puts it on her OWN credit card to the tune of $700. Speaker pleased. Co-workers pleased.
Friday… speaker scheduled for dinner at posh restaurant. Bobkitty has been invited in the past, has finagled an invite for a new staff person to this dinner, and is assuming that the standing invitation she has is enough. Then, Friday morning, this conversation happens.
Person-in-charge: We have dinner at 5, lecture at 7, get security to open at 6. Are you coming?
Bobkitty: To dinner?
PIC: No… dinner’s pretty exclusive. I meant the lecture.
BK: Oh… yeah, I was planning on it.
Oooookay.
ahem
Hey. Bitch goddess. Let me get something straight. I, the person who booked the original tickets, who submitted all the paperwork, who did the invitations and the flyers, who then re-booked tickets using her own PERSONAL credit card, who postponed all her other work to help you, the person without whom THE SPEAKER WOULD STILL BE IN BUTTFUCK, NEW MEXICO… THAT person, is not invited to dinner? Yet… let’s see… the new staff person who has little to do with our program and her husband, and all the spouses of the faculty members, THEY’RE invited? But it’s exclusive. Uh huh. Or is it that you wanted to be sure that the program had enough money to cover YOUR meal, you god damn hippo? I hope that you enjoyed dinner. Hell, I hope you ordered dessert, because considering that the $10 you spent on that cheesecake would’ve bought my whole dinner, I have a pretty good idea that people aren’t going to be too happy when we get in on Monday and everyone finds out why I wasn’t there.
And NO, you STUPID fuckwad, I’m NOT going to the lecture. Why the fuck would I sit around for two hours after work, waiting for you to finish stuffing your face, only to then sit through a three hour lecture I wasn’t interested in? The only reason I would have gone was because I would have gotten fed. Instead I had a bang-up time at home, lounging in bed in my pajamas with a nice cup of tea and watching TV while you ran around like a martyred chicken sans head. I can’t wait to see just how you justify this to the bosses. I just want to see you stutter and get all flustered. And the words “I’m sorry” has better fall out of your mouth at some point. Along with a $700 check.
-BK