Like a boss

ant

Much like an ant, I followed the trail of crumbs across the countertop, over the shiny and strange cooking utensils that my coworker brought in to work on his culinary skills at lunchtime, and onto the black stove top.  The stove top was splattered and splashed with an unidentified material that had dried there in cruddy pools, like sea creatures left in the sand after the tide has gone out.

My work was not done as the trail continued beyond the stove, perhaps to an unattended piece of pizza or another plate of spaghetti alla carbonara, my own pot of gold at the end of the crumb rainbow.

I carefully tracked the remaining crumbs and splashes across the kitchen and directly into my co-worker’s empty desk.

He ran out earlier and said, “I’ve got to go and do something somewhere, I’ll be right back.”

His main objective is to remain vague and he’s very good at it, along with disappearing for long periods of time and making easy tasks incredibly complicated and ultimately left undone.

An hour after his departure, there was still no warm body at this desk, just an abandoned bowl with a noodle stuck to the rim, a forgotten or missed relic, and an overflowing trash can with sandwich wrappers, balled up aluminum foil, and Styrofoam coffee cups.

The fruit flies kept me company for a few minutes after I disposed of his rather unsavory trash and went back to my office space, happy for the solitude in which to catch up on case notes and phone calls.

Slowly the door swung open, it was the long awaited return of the missing mess-maker.

Praise the Lord and Hallelujah; now we can both get back to either working hard or hardly working. The details don’t matter much when your grant is about to end or you have lucrative side business hustling used couches.

So here is my sage advice for the day:

In whatever you do, do it like a boss and if your boss asks what you are doing just say, “I’m going somewhere to do something.”

Heart of gold and other business matters

candy-bowl

“We close up shop when the candy is gone and not a minute sooner.  These kids need candy,” my husband informed me with all seriousness on Halloween.   It was a very dramatic moment in our lives and the first time that I learned of his passion for trick-or-treating.

Naturally, I had been pressing for an early end to the trick-or-treating free-for-all that was taking place on our street.  A simple flick of the switch to the front porch light is all is would have required and his patrons would have taken their business elsewhere.   However, under his watch this proved to be impossible as he eyed me suspiciously every time I walked in the vicinity of the light switch.

So I gave into the spirit of the night and helped the Halloween enthusiast who is my spouse to hand out tiny boxes of Skittles and Nerds.  I have to admit his excitement was contagious as Ebola.  It was something I dreaded catching and when I finally did, I hoped it would all be over soon.

When we had a lull in activity, he anxiously paced and continuously checked the window.  He peered out through the blinds onto the darkened street with great concern.

“Porch light is on but no trick-or-treaters,” he said to himself, looking left and right for shadowy figures moving on the street.

Several costumed delinquents were suddenly spotted and he practically squealed with delight.  After he gave them handfuls of the fun-sized candies, and we closed the door, he sat down with a satisfied sigh claiming another set of happy customers.

By the end of the evening, we had a total of 10 visitors and a very proud man.  He declared it a good night of business and began on his improvement plans for the next year.  Full sized candy bars instead of fun-sized candy packs and matching costumes for the two of us, inflatable lawn ornaments and pumpkins for the front porch were all among his plans.  He explained this was a long term business plan and the trick-or-treaters would tell their friends for the next year.  I could see the stars in his eyes as he dreamed of his empire, to be built on candy and costumes.

It would have been pointless to remind him that trick-or-treating wasn’t a business because to the son of a shopkeeper everything was business.