1 April 1999: Go Fish

My cool boss leaned in my cube this morning, asked me to do something for her, and added, "And come in when you have a second."

Naturally I went in half a minute later. That kind of vaguely worded request for an audience leaves me no option. I knew what it was about, though; I wasn't worried.

"You didn't have to come in now," she told me. I think she thinks I act subservient, but for me not to wait longer than it took me to throw her material on the fax machine was wholly self-serving, not under-serving.

A woman who recognizes priorities, she dropped that unimportant subject and, picking up a sheaf of papers, waved it vigorously. "Superb job. Really superb."

I remembered who encouraged me to undertake the hideous project the spectre of which drove me to various means of escapism over the past fortnight, and did not question whether she was angling for an April Fish. "Thank you," I said, and tried to believe it.

Whew.

So anyway.

Now I can continue my stack of children's books without worry.