The reason the client didn't like it is because you F'd it up. Both in terms of deadline and your bad manners. The client was leaving, right? Standing at the door threshold. Then, suddenly, the client mumbled something. “What?” you said. “What?” Your “client” was having none of it. You ruined it for everyone. All parties involved.
I was listening to something real hard. Paying close attention. Client calls, you take the call. Now, here you go on and on in this damn loud voice explaining and re-explaining. I'm straining to hear something else. Meanwhile, your concerns are quotidian and being voiced too loud. Do you know what that does? All that mundane banter and recycled phraseology? Ruins me, sends me to the depths.
It seems we “can't get along.” So we'll just end it. I'll make the executive decision to end it. I'll be the “bad guy.” Tell me what you want. Is it to take your “client” with you? I'll damn well bet it is.
If this is the stuff of ruined relations, I'll have mine without the drama, thank you very much. You take what's yours and let's leave it at that. Most of the hardware is mine. Now you want to say “what”?
Damn fool. It had to be me who IS leaving and you think you might run this operation solo. Not the nature of the business, FYI. Not even close. By the way, clean out all the junky Ticonderogas you left in my fold-out.
Buster. You're a damn “buster.” Busting in on me. Did you think the meeting ended at five like you claimed with the vexed-up face? You said you, “could've been makin' popcorn in the time it took me.” Well is that so? I, then, could've hashed it out with the client about twice as quick. Also, with no mumbled junk at the threshold. BUSTER.
I'm callin' it quits. And now while you're burnin' it up on the central at Silver's, I'll be right square on the train with a camp-rack portion for the next prize option, client be damned. You never saw me fall so fast! It'll be the stuff of classics.
I’m not done yet. I can’t just “let this drop.†You made it bad for me. You made it bad when: you put those cacti under the desk where my knees go. I stumbled into work, groggy. OUCH! First F’ing thing in the morning. Thought, “what the..†And saw a ton of what appeared to be prickly green wooden soup spoons. Then you come out of NOWHERE, smiling. “Surprise!†you say. “Happy Birthday!†Like it was some damn gift. “It’s not anywhere even near my damn birthday†I say. And then you clam all up and sulk away. Grinning, I’ll bet.
You did these things to me and made my life tough. It was a life, to be sure, but just for a time. I tried to make it work. Wrote you notes with smiley faces to lighten it up. Because every day the tension increased. Every day you’d come in with your hair all dripping wet and making me sick with your habits.
Then you snapped. You elbowed the computer screen, hard. Next, you stood up quick as if called to attention. Then sat down fast. And up and down like this for a good twenty minutes. I just ignored this fit you were pitching and kept working. It started speeding up, this stand up/sit down business. Then, the chair busted and your ass was grass.
After all I did for you: bringing you up out of financial ruin, counseling you through the trauma of a broken relationship, helping you get on your feet and re-connect the dots of your life. You thought it was enough to give me a damn singing“tribute.†You worked your big connection, your “friend of a friendâ€, to get old Bette Midler to come in and sing that corny ‘Wind Beneath my Wings’ song to just me. While you sat there staring at me, waiting for me to well all up with tears and gratefulness at finally being acknowledged as some kind of damn “wind.†First of all, when did you get the F’ing idea that you’re some sort of soaring eagle? Listen. You’re a REGULAR bird. And likely a scrawny one at that. The scrounger type that sees some other bird with a scrap of crust or something way off in the distance, enjoying it. You swoop the hell in and STEAL that stuff. Eagle my ass.
You’ve got ZERO dignity. You got to be too big of a buster for everyone. Now you’re gonna have to be pickin’ up some serious pieces. You’re in the HOT SEAT. Too good for the clients, eh? You’re forgetting who puts the bread on your table, Mister Man. Wanna insult them? Tell them that they can’t see your “vision� You haven’t a lick of vision. Your vision’s obstructed by fat dollar signs. Get OUTTA HERE, KID!
I know you’re reading this. I know for a fact that you’re out there with your steak sandwich and sourmash, reading this. And so this is why I’m writing.
This morning I arrived at the office, 8am sharp. Did I expect you? No chance. But to see, upon my arrival, that you had been there in the night with your (what?), “night moving crew.†You moved out every damn desk, took every last chair. All the hardware, gone. Nothing left but dust, except where there had been some furniture or piece of equipment. In those spots, the floor looked practically new. I sat down in a large square of clean floor where the copy machine had been. You knew I’d be there this morning. Is that why you painted prison bars on the now bare walls?
Go ahead. Take it to the bank. Or the track. That’s what it’s always been for you, right? The dainty ladies in wide brim hats and red, red lipstick sipping mint juleps. You smoke your cigar and waive your winning ticket in the air. Those overgrown ponies run in circles. Cash it in. Cash it all in. Ain’t you a son of a gun.
Jul 27, 06 1:15 am ·
·
Block this user
Are you sure you want to block this user and hide all related comments throughout the site?
Archinect
This is your first comment on Archinect. Your comment will be visible once approved.
Complaint! (bad MANNER)
The reason the client didn't like it is because you F'd it up. Both in terms of deadline and your bad manners. The client was leaving, right? Standing at the door threshold. Then, suddenly, the client mumbled something. “What?” you said. “What?” Your “client” was having none of it. You ruined it for everyone. All parties involved.
I was listening to something real hard. Paying close attention. Client calls, you take the call. Now, here you go on and on in this damn loud voice explaining and re-explaining. I'm straining to hear something else. Meanwhile, your concerns are quotidian and being voiced too loud. Do you know what that does? All that mundane banter and recycled phraseology? Ruins me, sends me to the depths.
It seems we “can't get along.” So we'll just end it. I'll make the executive decision to end it. I'll be the “bad guy.” Tell me what you want. Is it to take your “client” with you? I'll damn well bet it is.
If this is the stuff of ruined relations, I'll have mine without the drama, thank you very much. You take what's yours and let's leave it at that. Most of the hardware is mine. Now you want to say “what”?
Damn fool. It had to be me who IS leaving and you think you might run this operation solo. Not the nature of the business, FYI. Not even close. By the way, clean out all the junky Ticonderogas you left in my fold-out.
Buster. You're a damn “buster.” Busting in on me. Did you think the meeting ended at five like you claimed with the vexed-up face? You said you, “could've been makin' popcorn in the time it took me.” Well is that so? I, then, could've hashed it out with the client about twice as quick. Also, with no mumbled junk at the threshold. BUSTER.
I'm callin' it quits. And now while you're burnin' it up on the central at Silver's, I'll be right square on the train with a camp-rack portion for the next prize option, client be damned. You never saw me fall so fast! It'll be the stuff of classics.
I’m not done yet. I can’t just “let this drop.†You made it bad for me. You made it bad when: you put those cacti under the desk where my knees go. I stumbled into work, groggy. OUCH! First F’ing thing in the morning. Thought, “what the..†And saw a ton of what appeared to be prickly green wooden soup spoons. Then you come out of NOWHERE, smiling. “Surprise!†you say. “Happy Birthday!†Like it was some damn gift. “It’s not anywhere even near my damn birthday†I say. And then you clam all up and sulk away. Grinning, I’ll bet.
You did these things to me and made my life tough. It was a life, to be sure, but just for a time. I tried to make it work. Wrote you notes with smiley faces to lighten it up. Because every day the tension increased. Every day you’d come in with your hair all dripping wet and making me sick with your habits.
Then you snapped. You elbowed the computer screen, hard. Next, you stood up quick as if called to attention. Then sat down fast. And up and down like this for a good twenty minutes. I just ignored this fit you were pitching and kept working. It started speeding up, this stand up/sit down business. Then, the chair busted and your ass was grass.
i'm too tired to understand, but i feel your pain.... unless you're actually talking to me, but i don't think that's possible.
“could’ve been makin’ popcorn in the time it took me.â€
-awesome
also, like the use of "BUSTER"
ps, when i was a kid, i thought my mom had invented the term "dust buster"
be careful partnering with friends?
the designationbuster is as splendidly utilitarian as motherfucker
at least he didn't sleep with your mother.
After all I did for you: bringing you up out of financial ruin, counseling you through the trauma of a broken relationship, helping you get on your feet and re-connect the dots of your life. You thought it was enough to give me a damn singing“tribute.†You worked your big connection, your “friend of a friendâ€, to get old Bette Midler to come in and sing that corny ‘Wind Beneath my Wings’ song to just me. While you sat there staring at me, waiting for me to well all up with tears and gratefulness at finally being acknowledged as some kind of damn “wind.†First of all, when did you get the F’ing idea that you’re some sort of soaring eagle? Listen. You’re a REGULAR bird. And likely a scrawny one at that. The scrounger type that sees some other bird with a scrap of crust or something way off in the distance, enjoying it. You swoop the hell in and STEAL that stuff. Eagle my ass.
You’ve got ZERO dignity. You got to be too big of a buster for everyone. Now you’re gonna have to be pickin’ up some serious pieces. You’re in the HOT SEAT. Too good for the clients, eh? You’re forgetting who puts the bread on your table, Mister Man. Wanna insult them? Tell them that they can’t see your “vision� You haven’t a lick of vision. Your vision’s obstructed by fat dollar signs. Get OUTTA HERE, KID!
Are you my ex girlfriend?
i'm so sorry, i thought the cactus told me that it wanted to be closer to you
........(....\.................../....)
.........\....\................ /..../
..........\....\.............../..../
...........\..../´¯.|.¯`\./.../
.........../... |....|.... (¯ `\
..........|.....|´¯.|´¯.|\....\
..........\......` ¯..¯ ´......•
...........\_ ............ _.•´
THIS THREAD ROCKS ! ! !
I know you’re reading this. I know for a fact that you’re out there with your steak sandwich and sourmash, reading this. And so this is why I’m writing.
This morning I arrived at the office, 8am sharp. Did I expect you? No chance. But to see, upon my arrival, that you had been there in the night with your (what?), “night moving crew.†You moved out every damn desk, took every last chair. All the hardware, gone. Nothing left but dust, except where there had been some furniture or piece of equipment. In those spots, the floor looked practically new. I sat down in a large square of clean floor where the copy machine had been. You knew I’d be there this morning. Is that why you painted prison bars on the now bare walls?
Go ahead. Take it to the bank. Or the track. That’s what it’s always been for you, right? The dainty ladies in wide brim hats and red, red lipstick sipping mint juleps. You smoke your cigar and waive your winning ticket in the air. Those overgrown ponies run in circles. Cash it in. Cash it all in. Ain’t you a son of a gun.
Block this user
Are you sure you want to block this user and hide all related comments throughout the site?
Archinect
This is your first comment on Archinect. Your comment will be visible once approved.