When you work in a small company or on a small team, there are bound to be tensions. Conflicts. We can't all always get along. And, while I try very hard to be optimistic and positive, sometimes people just rub me the wrong way.
One of the lovely gentlemen I work with is a total and complete PrimaDonna. He thinks he's the smartest guy alive because he has a PhD. (He's not.) He only eats fish and vegetables and talks about fat grams and carbs like he's a chick. He also thinks I am his servant and secretary. And I've just about had it.
It got bad in London because he is laboring under the impression that I am CBL's "favorite." He is NOT her favorite. And, while I agree that it is problematic that CBL thinks we are such GalPals, there's really not a whole lot I can do about it. The first day in the city, I invited him to come out to lunch with a group of us. He declined, saying he was getting email harassed by CBL (shocking, I know) and had to get some work done. But could I bring him back a salad?
I should stop right here and say - I should have responded immediately with "Get your own damn salad," but I did not. I said sure.
Alas, as we have seen, in England, salad contains mayonnaise. You got egg salad, you got potato salad, you have "salad" which equals coleslaw and that's about it. I know that PrimaDonna would not even consider consuming something with so many fat grams, so I passed on the salad options. PrimaDonna got no salad.
I heard about this for - I kid you not - four hours that night as we went out for "teambuilding drinks." Once, ha ha. Twice, okay. By the fifth time he'd brought it up, I told him it was no longer funny and to get over himself. I don't think it was until I told him I was going to beat the living daylights out of him if he didn't shut it that he actually understood I had had enough. I don't recommend threatening one's co-workers with physical violence but, hey, a girl's gotta do....
Of course, he gets to pick the restaurant for our next big "love fest" in February. He thought he'd be clever. He picked Lucilles BBQ. Told me I'd be fine as they served fried okra. Very nice.
I, of course, responded by saying that they could enjoy dinner without me, as my last attempt at BBQ made me violently ill. To which response, CBL publicly scolded him for even suggesting they "force a vegetarian to be in that situation."
Oh, Mr. PrimaDonna. Do not try to beat a smart, sassy blonde at the game of life. It will not be pretty and you will not win.