Say it with me now, “No, really…….it’s just my face.”
I was forced, yet again, to use those words in my defense yesterday. I got into a bit of a ‘tiff’ with a superior at work. Somehow it came up that his superior (that would be my superior squared), joked with him about getting a mirror to put beside my desk.
Puzzled by this, I asked why. I mean, they can’t know that I’m that vain, can they? I try to keep that to myself and my friends and the internet at large. His answer was that the superior superior thinks that I need to watch myself while on the phone or dealing with clients, so that I can remember to smile.
E-NOUGH already!!!! It’s not as though I go around frowning, or spitting at people, or look like an inbred troll. For fuck’s sake, what IS it with people? For the life of me, I do not understand why people think they have any right or any place to tell me how to contort my facial features. I assure you, there are people far more unpleasant to look at than myself. So why am I the one getting all the comments on it?
I asked the superior if he was serious. He was, it had in fact been said by superior squared. I hit my desk. Hard. Twice in a row (looking back, there might have been a slightly more professional and corporately acceptable way to handle my feelings of rage, but at the time, I wasn’t able to see them). I started ranting like a crazy person about how this always happens, and every day of my life, people are all over me about this and even homeless people tell me to cheer up. Homeless people! They don’t have a fucking home! And they think I’M the miserable one?!?!
Mr. Superior looked slightly scared by my completely disproportional and over the top ‘response’ and then tried telling me that superior superior had only send it ‘in jest’. I accused him of lying to me, as I have never once seen the superior superior ‘jest’ about anything. No, no, that individual is not a jester. Then I started asking why it mattered so damned much, and why people expected me to grin seductively at my damned computer monitor all day anyways.
Mr. Superior took a pause. He then started laughing at me. At which point my exact response was, “Whatever. I’m working now. Go away”. He continued laughing. I glared. He then informed me that he has a very hormonal wife at home (she just had a baby) and that he walks the tightrope there and doesn’t need to be walking it at work.
That went over well.
I went on a ‘OH no! Don’t do that! Don’t you turn me into your nagging wife! Didn’t I tell you I had work to do? I was just sitting here minding my own business. I don’t know why everyone always says this to me!!’
From the far corner of the office, at this point we hear Emerald go, ‘(Superior’s Name), you have NO idea what sort of complex she has about this.’
Me: “Of COURSE I have a complex! People have been saying this to me my whole life! You’re right I have a complex!”
Mr. Superior laughed again. I turned back to my computer and ignored him til he left. As he was going, he asked if I was alright. I informed him that no, I was not alright, that I was pissed, and that there will be no mirror installed at my desk while I inhabit it.
Which may not be for much longer, if I keep freaking the hell out at work.
I think that’ll be my next tattoo. Right on my forehead. It will say, “If you tell me to smile, to cheer up, or comment that it can’t be that bad, or tell me not to look so happy about life, I will kick you. THEN who’s gonna be smiling?”
If you’ll excuse me, I have to go practice my Miss America fake smile in the mirror now. Or I may just go practice my kicking skills. Probably the latter.
You know who else didn’t smile and you never hear people telling HER to cheer up? In fact, they applaud and are intrigued by her face that reveals little of her inner thoughts…….
Yeah. Everyone leaves her alone.
Just call me Mona.