Tuesday, July 3, 2012


I watched him move down the row of coworkers; each one got a hug. I fidgeted in my work clothes like a five-year-old on picture day, sweat beads starting to form on my forehead.

This would be he first time meeting the president of our company, and I felt vastly unprepared. All of the huggers had met him before. And though I'm usually quick to hug, it seemed inappropriate for the president of the company.

Closer and closer he got, until he stood in front of me. I extended my hand and started to introduce myself, but he brought it in for the real thing. Ladies and gentlemen, we have a hugger on our hands.

The rest of dinner went fine, although I happened to get pushed into the seat directly next to him at a table of twenty, in one of the fanciest restaurants in town. (I'm not the fanciest lady, if you havent noticed by my constant stream of curse words.) I tried desperately not to spill on myself or say anything inappropriate, the "that's what she saids" sitting on the tip of my tongue.

I managed to make it through with one faux pas: I noticed everyone around me ordered the scallops or a salad, but naturally, I took the opportunity to order a delicious steak. It was about the time that my coworker whispered in my ear that the pres was a vegetarian. Fan-fucking-tastic.

I guess next time, I'll skip the steak and just order vodka. Maybe that will make the hug or handshake fiasco a bit more tolerable.

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