mytopleft

Saturday, December 10, 2011

You really can't talk about that

One of the things I have learned (yes, the hard way) in my years of temping is that almost no subject is too mundane to not piss somebody off enough to complain to the powers that be about the topic. In Temp Town, someone is "offended" byu everything. We are talking about the thinnest skinned bunch of assholes on the planet. Not all of them, obviously, but where more than two are gathered, one of those temps will be a sensitive fuck head who will complain. naturally, then, you cannot discuss politics, religion, the opposite gender or anything that could be construed in any way by the most twisted mind as sexual, or pretty much anything else on the face of the planet on which two people might hold differing opinions. This can be limiting on conversation. Obviously, our employers probably like that, and there are fringe benefits to having an excuse to not talk to temps (too many to mention, really), but I ain't no Benedictine monk or whoever the fuck it is that takes the vow of silence. Sometimes, people just want to talk a little.

Thank God for football, or else I'd never open my mouth. I was on a project once with this old witch of a woman who really wanted to get me fired and complained repeatedly about things she claimed I said. The HR person from the agency and the VP would come in, interview everyone to see if the complaints had any basis. Fortunately, after a couple incidents where everyone agreed in one case that the complained-of comments were never made, and in another case that the complained-of comments were made, but by a radio talk show host and repeated by someone else, not me, nobody paid attention to her anymore. I still call her Fab everytime I see her, even though it's not even close to her name, because I know she will never figure out it stands for Fat Ass Bitch.

But I digress. The reason I thank God for football, at least in this context, is I decided during that project that if didn't have anything to do with the NFL, I wouldn't talk about it. This gave rise to the expression, anytime somebody mentioned something the least bit risky, "That's no way to get an NFL franchise." That was usually enough to change the topic, as the other folks new that FAB would probably complain if the conversation continued, even if I didn't participate. I used to hope she dies a slow and miserable death, but I later realized, she already is. For some people, that's all life is. And misery loves company.

So come Monday, I will put in my headphones and do my best to get through this awful fucking project. And, when I simply cannot remain silent any longer, we will discuss the glory that is the NFL.

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