Everyday Stranger

The Leader of the Pack

It appears I have developed a reputation and a nickname amongst my Dream Job comrades.

No, not that kind of reputation.

Last week I had an enormous meeting with Dream Job in Essex, which is all the way to the east of London. It took a long train ride to get there, and also meant that I would have to be spending the night in a hotel out there since it was a two day event, which meant it was my first night away from Mr. Y and our new home.

Once upon a time I used to love travel with work-I used to get restless if I didn't go anywhere for more than a month, and I used to look forward to a change of pace, although let's be honest-it's really just an airport-hotel-office-airport routine anywhere you go. Luckily for me, my old job at Company X meant masses of travel, so I really never lacked for my change of pace.

But now, I really don't look forward to travel. I really do prefer to not travel so much for work, I don't want that airport-hotel-office-airport routine. Dream Job is so spread out that most people often do spend the night away when there are meetings in distant locations, but I just really want to go home after them. I don't want to spend the night in a hotel, losing my soul in the giant bed, hangover in the morning and my travel-sized toiletries running low. I want my furry Mr. Y in my bed, my own shampoo, and the ability to amble into my kitchen in the middle of the night for some Sprite, should I want it.

But stay away I did.

The turnout was massive-nearly 50 people turning out for this Dream Job meeting, and over half the attendees were gerbil parts suppliers (remember: I really work in telecom, not in illegally dealing animal parts.) It became clear from the way people were situating themselves that they would sit only in their groups-one table had all the Gerbil X staff. One table had all the Dream Job staff. One table had all the Paws R Us staff, and so on. I get pretty tired of this, so I bounced myself off to a table stuffed with Company X and Gerbil X staff, seating myself right in the middle of about 8 men that I actually know really well.

"Hi boys!" I said cheerily. "Mind if I join you?"
They grinned back. "Heck no, if you don't mind us bitching about Dream Job, since you're the customer."
I shrugged. "Nah, if you don't mind me bitching about your late timescales."

The meeting started, and went about as well as these types of meetings do. I got on well with my table, swapping jokes and stories with them in the breaks, talking to everyone, getting on. The project we are working on is pretty critical to all of the companies involved, so it's important to be able to work with those involved.

The meeting commenced again and one man, Matt, began to talk. Now, Matt is a very cocky guy, clearly very full of himself, and he makes my skin crawl. He's the kind of guy whom you know wears a Speedo at the beach, carries a condom in his wallet "just in case" and never leaves the house without a tube of hair gel in the glove compartment. Anyway, Matt stood up and addressed the crowd.

"We at Cheese-O-Rama will deliver our whiskers for the gerbil project in July." he puffed his chest out (this later led to his nickname-Rooster. For the way he puffs his chest out and the fact that he's an enormous cock).

We got to lunch, come back, and there is another discussion about Cheese-O-Rama. Matt stands up. "The whiskers will be ready in August."

What?

Pardon?

I raise my hand. "Pardon me, Matt, but that doesn't align with what you just said. One hour ago you said you'd deliver in July."
"Well, now it's August." he said, not even looking at me.
"Right. Well, I consider myself a reasonably clever person, but I fail to see how the soup at luunch could've caused a one month delay. Can you clarify?"
"I could, but you'd have to see my time plans." he replied, callously.
I feel Banshee about to come out. "Well Matt, let's see those time plans."
Stan, another member at the meeting, raises his hands to me. "Now, Helen. I'm sure Matt has his reasons for the delays."
"Sure, Stan." I reply. "I'm sure we all have reasons for delays. I want Matt to substantiate his."
"Fine. I will." snapped Matt.

I cannot stand when people bullshit me. If you don't know the answer, just say so, don't pull an answer out of your ass to placate me. This, actually, is something I learned from Mr. Y-I used to just make up an answer to not appear incompetent, but I learned from him that the best thing to do if you don't know is just to admit it, and say you will find out as soon as possible. Now, I respect people that work that way, and I try to make sure I work that way as well.

At the next break, three men came over, their eyes shining. "That was fantastic, Helen! You really nailed him down on the dates! We need more people like you, that was fantastic!"

What? Ok. Whatever.

The day drags on, and at the end of it my manager thanks us all, tells us that dinner is served at 7 pm, and then dismisses us. I walk up to him as he is shrugging on his coat.

"It's not that cold in the dining room, mate." I say smiling.
"No, I have to go home." he replied grimly. "You're in charge tonight."

What? Ok. Whatever.

I whip everyone up into the bar, where we meet for beer and laughs. Then I drag them all to the dining room, which is our very own. My table is the farthest one and the first to fill up, and I am relieved to see it is all people that I like. I offer a welcome and a toast, and then the dinner kicks off, everyone is in high spirits, and I notice our table is the only one to really let their hair down and not talk about work.

At all.

Oh no-we talk about all kinds of things, the type of talk that gets us labelled "The Perfect Lads' Table." We talk about cars. We talk about surround sound. We talk about plasma TVs (half the table have them). It wouldn't be an English dinner if they didn't go off on a tangent and quote Monty Python, which of course they did.

And, of course, we talk about women.

As in who's the top on their top 5 list.

Nicole Kidman is the clear winner (albeit she is deemed "high maintenance"), with Angelina Jolie a second. I even agree that Jolie is hot, and confirm that she would be my choice as well. One man, Ike, gives the most thought-out answer: "I'd choose Renee Zellweger, since she looks hot thin or heavier."

One by one, the other tables empty and head up to the bar, until at the end it's just our table left, and not a single person has left. We keep drinking wine, laughing, talking, and generally annoying the waiters until they kick us out.

And the next day, it emerges that I have a reputation as being a good laugh, but as being a leader who won't take any shit.

I really don't think that sounds like me at all, but I suppose there are worse reputations to have. I think I couldn't sound less like a leader, I am way too concerned with how people think and feel. I simply just want to get things done, I think that they don't really get confrontational here.

Yesterday I had to go to Milton Keynes for another meeting, in which it was a few of the people from the Essex event, and they all spent the night the night before. They went bowling, had a bit of beer, and now were ready to go.

I walked up to Roy, a good friend, who was sporting a bowling trophy.

"Hey man. That'll help you on the pull. Chicks dig bowling trophies."

That got a laugh. Then he smiled. "You really should've been there last night. It's always a laugh when you're around. You were missed by all of us."

Aw. That was sweet. Not true, but sweet.

The meeting commenced. It's a good group of guys, and I really appreciate them. They feel at ease around me, at least-they speak their minds, swear a lot, and make wisecracks. It's a comfortable environment. I am, with great hope and a little happiness, beginning to feel like I might be ok, and might've survived the former job loss ok.

And about the nicknames? I almost always give people I have a lot to do with nicknames. Mr. Y (in real life) has a nickname. Family members have nicknames. Some of my close blog buddies have nicknames. And my colleagues are now slowly getting nicknames. So far I have the Seagull (that's not a nice one, I admit, but then again I can't stand the guy.) Grover (after the Muppet.) Bubbles for a nice Irishman. Superstar for a hilarious Welsh project manager. Rugby Boy, for a former pro-Rugby player-turned-gerbil builder. I will have more, but these names are all due to the fact that I genuinely like these guys, and enjoy working with them.

And I found out yesterday that they have a nickname for me.

They call me Gorgeous.

-H.

PS-Luuka is flying over to Eric as we speak.

PPS-my business line is being installed in the house today, making the trip to Broadband less than two weeks away!

PPPS-My lovely Mr. Y made up Independence Day invitations for us. We're having a barbecue for us and all our neighbors on Sunday, and I really love the fact that he did the invites, and even wanted to keep tweaking them. I can't explain it, but it really means a lot to me.

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Posted by Everydaystranger at July 2, 2004 09:41 AM | TrackBack