Don’t Do That

“I know we’ve had this discussion multiple times,” I apologized to the three men in the room. “And I appreciate you setting up this meeting so we can wrap this up. So. We’re deciding between tan and beige, yes? Adam really likes beige, though I realize you all feel strongly about tan.”

Adam arrived a bit late and we sat at the table, discussing shades of brown. I knew Beaker was growing frustrated, though Flask and BunsenBurner kept their cools.

“Purple,” Beaker finally said. “I want purple!”

I blinked at him, mouth falling open a tiny bit in shock. Adam looked at me since it’s my job to understand these scientific resources and I shook my head and shrugged.

“Wait,” I offered gently, trying to recover. “We were talking about beige and tan. So even if we lean toward tan - which is what you wanted when we started here, you’re saying you like purple?”

“Yes. Purple,” Beaker insisted and I opened my mouth again, realized I had no idea what to say, and closed it before nervously nibbling my lip. Someone needed our room so we dispersed with an agreement to regroup tomorrow, Adam expressing shock at this development.

“Fuck me,” he sighed on our walk back to our building on campus.

“I know!” I agreed, having recovered sufficiently to throw a fit. “Purple! Where the hell did purple come from?! I’ve talked about this many, many times and I’ve heard nary a word about purple. I didn’t know,” I told him. “I feel stupid, but I was honestly shocked.”

“I could tell,” he said, mouth quirking into a grin. “Your mouth fell open – it would have been funny had I not been pissed.” I shook my head in response and he nudged me with his shoulder. “You,” he instructed, “talk to Beaker. It’s your job to predict outcomes and your people should not surprise you like that.”

“I know,” I nodded and met his gaze. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugged and waved his hand at me. “Talk to Beaker.”

“Beaker,” I said to his voice mail as I walked to my car later this evening. “This is Katie. So. Purple,” I paused to gather my thoughts. “Please give me a call – I need to understand what happened because that was... Well, we need to talk.” Realizing I’d let irritation slip into my voice near the end of my message, I clicked the phone closed and glared at it.

*****

I needed a favor from Microscope. I’d talked to his boss, Telescope, and his immediate superior, um, MagnifyingGlass. Telescope had indicated this was a reasonable request so I was asking more because I’m polite than because I needed permission.

MagnifyingGlass indicated that Microscope was far too busy to handle the favor. It simply couldn’t be helped. So I shrugged – I understand being overwhelmed – and said it seemed as though the project could be accomplished if Mirror would support locally, we avoided any unnecessary cost, burned a CD and informed the customer two was between one and three.

My frown turned into a glare which morphed into clenched teeth and fists as I read Microscope’s reply.

The cost IS NOT unnecessary. While there isn’t a process defined, you can’t break the rules that we’re going to establish someday. We’re not set up to burn CDs to distribute information. We can ONLY help if there is someone local to assist. There is NO WAY two isn't between one and three.

My reply?

Unless you mean to be ridiculously condescending or have the language skills of a particularly moronic cockroach, writing words in capital letters is unnecessary, inappropriate and outrageously annoying. I am able to read and am much more likely to appreciate your message if you don’t yell at me while you’re delivering it, you fucking jackass.

Having said that, perhaps the lack of capitalized text in my email left you confused, dumbass. Let me try to help, though I’m not sure you’re worth the effort.

I assumed, silly me, that you weren’t yet able to distribute complicated manuals via mental telepathy and instead had to store the information on some device – like a CD! Which you should like since both its letters are capitalized! – to transport it. Please accept my apologies for not understanding you exclusively recited information from memory. Do you scream during the most important parts as well?

I also clearly noted the order was one, two, three. You’re clearly incapable of understanding even the simplest of concepts, you microscopic excuse for a teeny-tiny man.

I did not have a good afternoon.