"I'm going to my stupid meeting," I yell at my husband and he's buried in his man cave watching Family Feud. "Murgf," he replies, his mouth full of cashews.
My place of employment has started a new procedure in training techniques and it's called the ten-minute stand-up meeting.
"What stupid person came up with this one," I email my boss. "Oh, unless it was you than I need to say this is highly creative and inspirational on your part."
Research shows that a group of people needs five minutes to settle in and focus on a speaker which is why speakers use jokes and ice-breakers for those first five minutes, hey, here's my personality, get used to it, I'll be talking to you for awhile. But a ten-minute meeting? Will there be time for questions? You know, the questions people spout out who don't want to go back to work. I've never liked those lazy SOBs. They're the ones who sit on the edge of my desk every Monday morning, dawdling, holding coffee mugs that say I NEED A NAP and ask how my weekend went and they actually want to know.
Sara, the little HR supervisor is our speaker. We will be witnessing changes in our buildings the next few weeks, she drones blah blah. There are two men in our group, Dan the Man, our resident social worker and Lance, a tall gay guy who resembles Ichabod Crane, Adam's apple and all and he publishes a column in our monthly news letter. He writes things like, "it was in the opening prayer that the Archbishop's expression of gratitude to those who work the hardest, giving diligent, persistent service every day and I felt he was speaking to me directly and this was especially touching for me as a CNA/Direct Care Professional." Yes, he actually writes stuff like that.
Lance did not like being called Fran so he kind of snubs me. I sometimes mock his columns to my co-workers and they find it hilarious but come on, the articles beg for ridicule. Sometimes I need an audience despite the introvert I am.
Dan the Man stands up dwarfing little Sara and rearranges his belt over a bulging belly. Dan, yoo hoo, time to start wearing baggy polo shirts. He is giving a little speech of his own, monopolizing our time and Sara's grin is starting to look a little stretched and ridiculous. She says she will pass his information on to our CEO and then she quickly ends the meeting. As I grab my notebook with no notes I see Dan making a bee line towards her with more of his hype. So glad I have a peon job.
My place of employment has started a new procedure in training techniques and it's called the ten-minute stand-up meeting.
"What stupid person came up with this one," I email my boss. "Oh, unless it was you than I need to say this is highly creative and inspirational on your part."
Research shows that a group of people needs five minutes to settle in and focus on a speaker which is why speakers use jokes and ice-breakers for those first five minutes, hey, here's my personality, get used to it, I'll be talking to you for awhile. But a ten-minute meeting? Will there be time for questions? You know, the questions people spout out who don't want to go back to work. I've never liked those lazy SOBs. They're the ones who sit on the edge of my desk every Monday morning, dawdling, holding coffee mugs that say I NEED A NAP and ask how my weekend went and they actually want to know.
Sara, the little HR supervisor is our speaker. We will be witnessing changes in our buildings the next few weeks, she drones blah blah. There are two men in our group, Dan the Man, our resident social worker and Lance, a tall gay guy who resembles Ichabod Crane, Adam's apple and all and he publishes a column in our monthly news letter. He writes things like, "it was in the opening prayer that the Archbishop's expression of gratitude to those who work the hardest, giving diligent, persistent service every day and I felt he was speaking to me directly and this was especially touching for me as a CNA/Direct Care Professional." Yes, he actually writes stuff like that.
When I first knew Lance I accidentally called him Fran, the name of another gay man I knew. I loved the real Fran. When I ripped my ear lobe from a pierced earring I complained about switching to clamp earrings. Fran said, "you look so sexy when you rub that sore lobe, just like the movie actresses in the 40's." He was a hair stylist and when I asked how I should style my do he said, "just don't let your hair hide your face." How could I not love this man?
Lance did not like being called Fran so he kind of snubs me. I sometimes mock his columns to my co-workers and they find it hilarious but come on, the articles beg for ridicule. Sometimes I need an audience despite the introvert I am.
Dan the Man stands up dwarfing little Sara and rearranges his belt over a bulging belly. Dan, yoo hoo, time to start wearing baggy polo shirts. He is giving a little speech of his own, monopolizing our time and Sara's grin is starting to look a little stretched and ridiculous. She says she will pass his information on to our CEO and then she quickly ends the meeting. As I grab my notebook with no notes I see Dan making a bee line towards her with more of his hype. So glad I have a peon job.
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