I know that I never talk about what Tim does or anything else pertaining to his “line of work.”
Mostly because it’s all $?!!!%?#%$#^&?!!?!!??!!!!!#$$%^&@! kinds of stressful and it is usually something we both like to *not* have to think about for at least a small part of the day and writing about HIS JOB means I will have to think about it (because, duh) and Tim will have to think about it whenever he reads my blog.
This totally negates the Not Thinking About It mentality.
Anywho, I’m only kind of going to talk about it right now, mostly to explain why, when I whined about not having friends, I can’t tap into the Tim’s Job Goldmine and make nicey nicey with Tim’s co-workers’ wives.
Problem Numero Uno: Tim’s “co-workers” are all in different states, so that kind of friendship wouldn’t really be anything different than a bloggy friend, technically speaking.
At his actual, physical job location, there are no “co-workers,” if you take my meaning. And, being the Boss and the Wife of the Boss means we can’t play favoritism and we can’t do things with people from his work…unless we did something with everyone in an equal and fair manner. I’m almost more sensitive to this than Tim sometimes, because the last thing I want to happen is for anyone to think Tim is playing favorites.
He doesn’t and what’s more, he can’t.
Which, by definition, means I can’t….make nicey nicey with any wife of any person who works there because then that could potentially qualify as bad mojo…politics…”this person never gets in trouble because his wife is friends with Tim’s wife…”
You know, the basic sandbox mentality.
It exists…even at the corporate level…though no one wants to admit it.
Random, slightly related sidebar: A woman at Tim’s old job in Atlanta had him programmed into her work phone as “BMOC.” No name. Nothing else. Just BMOC. When her phone would ring, BMOC would pop up on the screen as the caller.
When Tim found out about his cell phone title, he thought it was hilarious (he’s too humble sometimes…though I’m not one to talk…) and when he came home from work that day he was all, “Guess what Anna calls me on her work phone?”
Me: Is this a trick question? I have no idea?….”
Tim: The BMOC
Me: The Be…wait…lemme try and work it out…the be…moc?…The be…the what?
Tim: The B-M-O-C! Not bemoc!
Me: Obviously, I have no idea what you’re talking about.
Tim: You don’t know what BMOC stands for?
Me: Do I even need to answer that?
For those of you who were completely in the dark, like me, let me bring you into the light: BMOC = big man on campus.
There is a really long winded way to say that I can’t be buddies with the BMOC’s (I still say “bemoc” in my head) work peeps.
PS: Being the BMOC and the BMOC’s wife isn’t always all that it’s cracked up to be…so if you’re ever wondering how awesome it’d be to be “the boss” and also happen to be complaining bitterly about your own BMOC (unless you are the BMOC or BWOC), just know that they’re suffering tenfold what you’re feeling and getting beaten up about it worse than you. This I promise.