When I was fifteen, I was super involved in planning my own surprise birthday party. My mom revealed that a secret sweet 16 was in the works after she mistakenly started to think- because of some ridiculous 15-year-old thing or another that I said- that I didn't want one. But boy did I really want one! And boy did I love making sure that she invited everyone I liked, and made just the cake I had in mind, all without me knowing when exactly all the Dr. Peppers and Tostitos and birthday balloons were going to drop. I dressed up in my high school finest every time that I left the house, always thinking giddily that the surprise party I had carefully planned for myself could be literally around the corner.
So now picture that surprise party as an evaluative meeting with my three bosses, and picture fun anticipation as stomach-churning agony, and you've got a pretty good sense of my week. At my meeting with my three bosses a few weeks ago, they said that we'd have a follow up some time this week. It was sort of like knowing that I was having a surprise party, but didn't know when, except that this was shitty. And I planned for it all I could, as I planned my guest list when I was 15, but this week's preparation was an exhaustive list of carefully phrased "I statements" as they related to my miserable experience with my immediate boss and what I would like the big bosses to know about it. I also, as I did in the weeks leading up to my party, wore some great outfits this week. Looking nice when people are going to look at me- be it for celebration or reprimand- is really one of my core values.
But here's the thing- My 16th birthday was an uber delight! I was completely surprised on the day, and had a magical time with my friends and my family. Because they all showed up! Which no one did for our follow-up meeting! And now the week is over, and we have next week off, and I think that they're just going to let it die, which is appropriate because it's killing me! All this lead up, all this anticipation and anxiety, and around 3 o'clock today, one of the big bosses poked his head in my office to tell my coworkers and me to have a great break, and he was out of there. I think that a terrible meeting would have been better than the anticipation of a terrible meeting, and then having no meeting at all. Now what do I do with this my-side-of-the-story presentation I wrote down and rehearsed with my mom? What happens to its three part structure? Where do the carefully phrased, thinly-veiled attacks on my immediate boss find a home now? A shame, to waste them. A real shame. Though not as much of a shame as it would have been to waste cake and ice cream, so there's that.
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