In retrospect, perhaps I should not have called my boss a motherfucker.

So there we were, a roomful of field scientists forced to spend two gorgeous autumn days inside, in a funny-smelling conference room, discussing our strategic plan. You know, mission statements, vision statements, critical success factors.

Ugh.

Enter my boss. She’s extremely cool and laid-back. In fact, we had sat across one of the conference tables from one another and played paper football on the first hellish day of this experience.

On the second day, we all staggered into the soul-crushingly striped room after having gone out on a cross-town pub crawl the night before. I’ve not done that many tequila shots since I was 21…and that was a while back. We sat at the tables all morning, guts heaving, heads in hands, feigning interest, health, and intelligence.

“Perhaps if I clutch my head in my trembling hands and stare at the carpet thoughtfully, people won’t notice the cold sheen of perspiration on my forehead and won’t suspect that I’m staring at one spot not out of pensive regard for the wisdom of their words, but to keep myself from puking or passing out. What a glorious morning.”

By this time, the complimentary Krispy Kremes had become hopelessly cold and congealed, but there came a time when it didn’t matter. I simply had to put something in my stomach, or I would proactively leverage my paradigm all over the fucking floor.

I retrieved a doughnut, returned to the table, and began tentatively munching. My boss was horrified. “That thing’s cold.”

:munch munch: “Yep.”

“God, that looks awful. I’ll bet you can feel the congealed lard on the roof of your mou…”

“Motherfucker, you don’t have to eat it if you don’t like it.”

Now, the line was delivered with what I’d hoped was gruff, good-natured…something. But it must have come out in a feral snarl, because I could see that a Line had been Crossed.

Man I hope she doesn’t hold it against me.

Are y’all field biologists, because if not maybe she won’t know what a motherfucker is.

Whoa…

I did that once, sorta. I told my boss “fuck you” - with a smile, and a joking tone of voice, when he kiddingly said, “You don’t do much around here, anyway.”

The very last time I got fired, I called my boss a fucking retard.

He rehired me 7 months later for a buck an hour more.

Seven seconds in the microwave will restore a Krispy Kreme to its steaming glory.

I mean, for future reference at your next job.

In retrospect, perhaps I should not have…

fed the tiger raw meat.

eaten the bright red pepper.

taken a loan from Vinnie the Blade.

suggested my boss and her mom do the nasty.

Or – you can re-fry them. The glaze caramelizes and crisps and it is…sigh…lovely.

Of course, this would necessitate having a deep fryer at work, but some sacrifices must be made if we are to rescue Krispy Kremes from an early demise.

:smiley:

While I have been drunk and hung over more than my share of times… Ogre, that’s pretty over the top! Even for a boss you’ve partied with. (And I’ve partied with my bosses before…) If you’re not already fired, take heart… it might not happen. It seems to me that such a comment would get you immediately fired. If not, I think you’re safe.

I dunno. I think “motherfucker” here is more of an expletive, along the lines of “Great Scott!” rather than a name, as in “Hey, you motherfucker, you don’t have to eat it . . .”

Of course, since your boss is already pissed off, the question is moot . . .

A childhood friend once told her dad he was a motherfucker - as she then realized he was possibly about to deck her, she said, “But hey, I’m the third child, so it’s true then, isn’t it?”

I don’t know if that will help you, though. Was she hung over, too?

…tick…tick…tick…

I think your boss isn’t gonna fire you…would have done something sooner i think…

then again…

what Chefguy said:D I’m kidding…

Unfortunately, we were all field biologists, so we’re quite familiar with the deleterious effects of inadequate genetic sorting on overall population health. I think the tequila’s worse, though.

Unfortunately, in the cold light of reality, I now see that the expression, even though it was used good-naturedly and with no malice, was ill-thought. My only hope is that she attributed it to my overall indisposed state and/or she has a better sense of humor than she has any reason to.

At any rate, she hasn’t mentioned it again. I just hope it doesn’t show up on my review. That would be hard to explain.

I’ll have to remember the 7 second rule, Cranky. Thanks. It wouldn’t have done me any good in this case, as there was no microwave to be had, but perhaps after I’m fired and have to find cold doughnuts in the dumpster for my dinner, I’ll remember to poke into my local 7-11 and use their microwave.

I just want to comment on this line: * “or I would proactively leverage my paradigm all over the fucking floor.”*
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

In retrospect, as long as I was in here I could have suggested that you write her a BRIEF note of apology . . .

(If this wasn’t very long ago, say in the past few days)

Reminds me of the time a co-worker of mine called the boss “Chingada madre,” assuming she wouldn’t know what it meant (I think it’s similar to motherf*cker.) The boss turned to another employee who knew Spanish and started to ask him what it meant and meanwhile the offending employee was pleading “I was only kidding! I was only kidding!”

I guess the boss believed she was only kidding. She didn’t lose her job.

I call my boss all sorts of names in conversations, like assmunch, shit-spewer, fuckstick, sperm nugget, and goat sniffer. But he gives as good as he gets, and it helps that we’re both former military and good friends.