Monday, May 19, 2008

Old Men

((x-posted to an LJ community))

Dear Obnoxious Random Execs,

Nice to meet you, I'm C, the new Sales Analyst. I know I'm young enough to be your daughter and/or granddaughter, but my name is not "kid" or "sweetie" or "hon". I know that females are an endangered species in this office but giving me that shit-eating grin when you get to shake my hand because your wife hasn't let you touch her since before I was born is not a good business practice and will not get you your oh-so-valuable data any faster, nor will it encourage me to "tweak" your numbers to make you look good for Mr Boss-Man and subsequently make me look brutally incompetent when the numbers turn out to be wrong. I am not stupid. I am not a little girl. I know more than you do. I'm smarter than you. I, with my Bachelor's Degree in Mathematics, have more education than you, with your Associates in Elementary Typing Skills. Stop treating me with kid gloves. I will be your boss one day. And you will regret making those oh-so-subtle sexist remarks.

Also, please stop censoring yourself with a statement like "Oops, there's a lady in the room!" when you feel like cussing out an account. I DON'T CARE. I've cussed before, I know what those words mean. Treating me like I'm a child is going to make me lose respect for you *much* faster than letting a four-letter word slip out once in awhile.

And stop staring at me like that. I'm not your eye-candy, you creepy old fart. Just because I'm friendly doesn't mean I want you to be my sugar-daddy.

Not Yours,
C

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