2005-03-03 18:52
digitaldiscipline
I'm certainly going to say that N1, the woman who is in charge of my office is cool. She used to work on a deepsea fishing boat, and she and her husband have taken a competitive driving course in the porsche she occasionally uses for her commute (my coveting of said car has been no secret). Every so often, I get the impression that she enjoys fucking with me, or letting me run my mouth in order to fuck with somebody else (vis a vis pimping our aftermarket additions to the training software, to the guy who wrote the original, who proceeded to Blackberry at an impressive clip).
Today, she wandered over to my desk at 4:55 and asked for a favor, since N2, the woman nominally in charge of me this week due to my direct supervisor's emergency absence, had been tied up in a conversation about the dress code with M (money dude and nominal HR overseer; several people have been written up or gotten the axe since the gloves have come off about the dress code this week), and hadn't had a chance to convey N1's request to me.
Sure, no problem. K's working late, I plan on bailing early tomorrow, I could use the hours, and it's easy.
The aforementioned dress code conversation spills over into an impromptu gathering around my cube (N1, N2, M$, Other Senior Dude, and Yours Truly), wherein various facets are clarified, mocked, and otherwise bandied about. I point out my knowing and willful violation today (understated black cargo pants and a silk shirt meant to be worn untucked - the shirt is OK, but the pants are in direct violation), at which point, I mention to all and sundry my desire to wear one of my kilts on casual day.
At this, N1's eyes light up, and she says, "Do it!" Ribald commentary follows.
It went something like this (in front of N2, M$, and OSD):
"If you wear a kilt, I want to see you in it. There were a couple of boys where I used to work who were allowed to wear shorts -every- day, no matter what the dress code said."
"I'm not going regimental, so don't worry about -that.-"
"Well, if you wear it, I'll conduct a dress-code inspection in my office."
"You know, I'm not sure if I'm being flirted with or if I should feel harassed."
I grin. N1 grins. Others look vaguely mortified.
I will, however, be bringing a pair of shorts with me, just in case somebody decides I'm wearing something "distracting or disruptive."
Today, she wandered over to my desk at 4:55 and asked for a favor, since N2, the woman nominally in charge of me this week due to my direct supervisor's emergency absence, had been tied up in a conversation about the dress code with M (money dude and nominal HR overseer; several people have been written up or gotten the axe since the gloves have come off about the dress code this week), and hadn't had a chance to convey N1's request to me.
Sure, no problem. K's working late, I plan on bailing early tomorrow, I could use the hours, and it's easy.
The aforementioned dress code conversation spills over into an impromptu gathering around my cube (N1, N2, M$, Other Senior Dude, and Yours Truly), wherein various facets are clarified, mocked, and otherwise bandied about. I point out my knowing and willful violation today (understated black cargo pants and a silk shirt meant to be worn untucked - the shirt is OK, but the pants are in direct violation), at which point, I mention to all and sundry my desire to wear one of my kilts on casual day.
At this, N1's eyes light up, and she says, "Do it!" Ribald commentary follows.
It went something like this (in front of N2, M$, and OSD):
"If you wear a kilt, I want to see you in it. There were a couple of boys where I used to work who were allowed to wear shorts -every- day, no matter what the dress code said."
"I'm not going regimental, so don't worry about -that.-"
"Well, if you wear it, I'll conduct a dress-code inspection in my office."
"You know, I'm not sure if I'm being flirted with or if I should feel harassed."
I grin. N1 grins. Others look vaguely mortified.
I will, however, be bringing a pair of shorts with me, just in case somebody decides I'm wearing something "distracting or disruptive."
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"THIS is distracting." *lift kilt*
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I must get Alan a kilt, oh yes.
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but, yes, sil speaks true; there are some frightening-looking and -dressing women at our office.
maybe if they stopped -making- miniskirts in XXL. . . .
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When I worked in the Chicago bottler for a summer, I saw some *scary* ensombles...
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But damn, there's a lot of XXL+ miniskirt-wearing ladies around the town.
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i wore shorts every day i could, and my birks. i've come right out and said that i'd go barefoot here if i could get away with it.
today, it's standard-issue weekend wear. combat boots, clingy black workout shirt (short sleeved), and the black utilikilt.
the chief loves it
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I love you, man.
(I had a dream one time that *I* wore a kilt to work. Mind you, it had to be all dark colors in the tartan to match the icky baby-blue shirts we wear)
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