Do you remember when you were a child- how people would tell you to look both ways before crossing the street?
They said that because they didn't want you to get hit by a car.
"Look both ways before crossing the street. You don't want to get hit by a bus."
Or better yet...
"You don't want to get thrown under a bus."
If there is one thing I hate, it is getting thrown under the bus. This is a term used for when someone just puts you out there and embarrasses you. It could mean getting scapegoated, snitched upon, or volunteered for something that you didn't volunteer for...
You get my drift.
Now, on my job, I have been thrown under the bus so many times that I have permanent bus tire tracks across my face. It rarely phases me, but I still get pissed off about it from time to time.
My boss, The Darth Sista T, knows my response to this. I do the Celie two-fanger point and yell:
"Ya'll best get my money straight!"
... or "All ya'll can go sit on a TACK!"
Sista T groans hard, drags her hands down her face, and murmurs "LadyLee, you are so full of drama!"
*LadyLee scowling and backing out of her office, still pointing hard.*
Anyway... I have a couple of funny bus tales to share. One where I threw someone under the bus, and then they turned around and threw ME under the bus. We have been laughing quite hard about it at work. I wasn't mad, and didn't do what I usually do: turn in a leave slip, and take my ass home in protest.
But maybe you had to be there to find it funny... Any which way it goes, I wanted to blog about it.
So right now, I am working on this emergency crisis project at work, which I can't talk about here. Let's just say if you have been watching the news, you will no doubt have heard about it. When this type of thing happens, all of management is up in arms about it. My boss runs around nervous as a fat rat cornered by a gang of alley cats. I just do my job, make that overtime money, and hope it's all over quickly.
Now, for the past several weeks, I have driven to work on Thursdays because I have a writing class in the evenings. And there is no way that I was missing that class over some work-related ish. I don't care how "important" the work was. I made this known to management. As usual, they look at me like I'm smoking something...
But I mean what I say!
Hen-Dog happen to finish his work early one afternoon, while I was back in the lab printing out some results. He'd come in at 6:00 a.m. that morning, and was ECSTATIC about leaving at a decent hour, i.e., 3:30 p.m. I saw him in the cubicle area cheesing real hard, doing a hard fraternity step, he was so happy to actually be going home ON TIME, that he almost broke out breakdancing. I rolled my eyes, and just walked on past him.
Anyway, our lab director (I will call her the "Queen Sista"), came back into the lab to talk with me about some results. Some that were positive needed to move forward.
"Are you going to do it, LadyLee?"
"No. That's for the other instrument."
She stood their silently peering at the paperwork.
"Well let's get it on the other instrument."
"I don't do that. HEN-DOG does that."
"Where is he?"
Now I almost thought to do the right thing and tell her that he was gone. But... I didn't do that.
I blink hard. "He's at his desk."
"Alright," she answers. She immediately leaves the lab.
Hen comes back in the lab a couple of minutes later, looking shell-shocked.
"Man, I heard heels clicking down the hall, and then I heard heels on carpet. I thought 'That don't sound right.' It was the Queen Sista. She said I couldn't go home. I gotta get this done before I leave today."
*LadyLee cheesing hard and breaking out into chants of "Hen-Dog, you da MAN!"*
I followed him around making bus sounds. He was frowning hard, and made several obscene hand guestures during this time.
He ended up working four hours overtime. LOL!! He was NOT happy about that AT ALL.
But at the same time...
He had that look in his eye. He was looking for some payback!
Well, the next day, we had a meeting, a boring nationwide call about the project. We have at a couple a week. I listened to what was going on, took a few notes, and worked my beloved cryptograms. At the end of the meeting, we were all standing around talking about work progress. The Queen Sista says something bizarre.
"LadyLee, I don't think I have your phone number."
I just stared at her.
The issha with the Queen Sista: she likes to call people late at night and tell them what they need to be doing the next day. She likes to call and ask questions.
In other words... she likes to do some old crazy sh**! How the heck you gonna be calling people at night? I've heard that she will call as late as 10:30 p.m. Man, I am not THINKING about work at that time of night. Goodness.
She just stands there and stares at me when I don't answer. She even raises her eyebrows. (How sick is that!)
I rub my chin. "Uh, I don't have a phone, Queen Sista."
She didn't know what to do when I said that. I held her hard stare. Yeah, I know it was a lie. But I was NOT giving up my phone number. The hell with that!!
Hen-Dog chimes in. "I have her number, Queen Sista."
I stand there in awe. My breath is caught in my throat.
He whips out his cell phone. Queen Sista follows suit and whips out her cell phone.
He walks rapidly around the table over towards the Queen Sista.
"Come on Queen Sista, you ready?"
"Yes," she EAGERLY replies.
"678-555-1234. You got that."
She repeats it for him.
He smiles at me and nods slowly.
I squint HARD at him.
Shorty threw me under the bus. DANG!
To add insult to injury, she made us follow her over to her office, and she put my number in her blackberry. Hen-Dog was standing there, making sure she got the number right.
"Now LadyLee," Queen Sista said. "When I call, and you see my area code XXX, you know that's me."
Hen-Dog was standing there, cheesing down.
Humph. Gotta get that boy back soon.
But it's all good... because now? We're even.
But are we?