As a current middle manager, I now find that all jokes involving said position are no longer amusing, as of yesterday.

I saw Office Space when I was in college. I laughed at Gary Cole as the smarmy smarmer of a manager who always said “Yeah, could you get those TPS reports to me by this afernoon? And tomorrow is Hawaiian shirt day, so if you could go ahead and wear a Hawaiian shirt, that would be greeeat, OK?” I feel like that guy, EVERYDAY. It’s not happy.

It used to just be Chasen and me, and occasionally, I was a little passive aggressive and I said things like, “Uhh, Chasen” and as soon as those words left my mouth, he knew he was going to be corrected and his balls shrunk up like raisins. That’s what he says happened, anyway. Now, in the afternoons, I work with 3 other people. I have to coordinate the tiny 12-20′ room we’re in for 4 people to do something, anything, to make the work move through. We’re all in one big digestive system, pushing the cases on down the line until they get shit out into the metal department and we can forget about them.

But anyway, I hate being that guy, the one who tells people what they did wrong, and how they can do better and makes sure all the work is up to standard. Cause, really, who am I to say that one way to make teeth is better than any other? I mean, I can judge our end result, but if Chasen and Limerick want to have cases scattered all over the room while they’re working on them, what does it matter as long as they still get them to me on time? If May only pours 3 pans an hour, what does it matter if that’s all we really had for her to do in that 5 hours?

Bottom line, even though DientesHombre tells us that we’re his favorite department all the time, and he loves to hang out in our room because no one is ever stressed out and we get our shit taken care of, I still feel like I’m turning into that guy. I hear the words coming out of my mouth without interference from my brain. And I don’t know what to say instead.