We released a new product at work a few weeks ago. It's the one that will either save our sinking company or will become the answer to a hell of a stumper question during Failed Dot Com trivia night along with Webvan and Google Wave. A few days prior to launch, my boss, Liz, came by.
Liz: I'm taking a poll. To celebrate the new web site, and because morale has been a bit low, would you prefer that we all go out to dinner at a restaurant here in San Francisco or should we get transportation up the CEO's house for a nice dinner there?
Me: I pick option C, none of the above. We're all big boys here and don't need a pat on the back, so let's save our dwindling cash and skip the celebration.
Liz: You are such a bitch.
Yes, my boss called me a bitch. No, I wasn't offended in the slightest, but, a few days later when I was sitting in comedy class and the instructor asked us to think of an argument we'd recently had, obviously this one came to mind. Each of us then had to get up on stage in front of our classmates and act out our argument, switching back and forth between being ourselves and our antagonist. So, I got up and did the above bit of dialogue.
That took about 15 seconds. It was supposed to be a 2 minute exercise.
I ad-libbed at this point, mining the 20-year relationship I've had with Liz for any material I could think of. My impression of Liz's persona quickly deteriorated into a unrecognizable caricature, replete with improbably hysterical voice and flailing arms.
Afterwards, one of the gals in class asked me if that stuff about my boss was true and I assured her it was.
So, flash forward two weeks and I'm at work in the kitchen area, making myself a cup of tea and chatting with Liz, when I look over at the receptionist's desk and see that we have a substitute receptionist. It's the gal from comedy class. Doh!
She sauntered over.
"So, THIS is where you work, huh?"
Note to self: It's a small freakin' world. Watch what you say.