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me when I was young that I’d grow up to be a glorified, adult babysitter, I’d have said they were crazy. Unfortunately, that’s my reality. At least this week when I’m swamped with employee relations issues.
    I can’t choose which issue has been more eventful. Could it be the conversation I had yesterday with an employee and their manager about hygiene? Talk about uncomfortable. I still haven’t decided what was worse – telling a grown man that, although we value him as an employee, others are complaining about his flatulence and overall body odor, or the way his manager dry heaved to the point of having to excuse himself not even five minutes into the conversation.
    Thank god I had the foresight to book a conference room.
    Or how about the group of co-workers who came to complain about their peer who was picking and saving her scabs in a jar on her desk? Unbeknownst to me, Dermatillomania is an actual disorder. The woman explained that in times of high stress, picking at her skin, and sometimes scabs, brings her relief. Her reason for keeping them? She’s also a hoarder and couldn’t bring herself to throw away a piece of her own flesh away.
    At least the conversation I’m currently mediating hasn’t made my stomach turn yet.
    “You reprimanded me in a room full of dozens of my colleagues for having bad oral skills,” the female employee shouts in horror.
    “You do!” the manager insists.
    My eyes go wide as saucers.
    “Could you please elaborate?” I interject, unsure if I really want to hear his explanation.
    “In meetings. She never make a point, only talk in circles. No one can follow,” he animatedly describes. “Bad. Oral. Skills.”
    For the love of God.
    “I believe you mean verbal ,” I suggest, though it’s not really a suggestion.
    The manager is beyond exasperated. “Same thing,” he exclaims, and then proceeds to describe his subordinate’s issues with ineffective communication in further detail.
    Half the problem turns out to be that English is the manager’s second language. This annoys a lot of people, but not me. I cringe just thinking of the things I’d unintentionally say if I was sent to work abroad.
    Luckily, what started as a potential sexual harassment claim ends up being a simple misunderstanding. Or rather a translation error that required a lengthy conversation on why publicly reprimanding someone’s lack of “oral capabilities” is never appropriate. This was quickly followed by a discussion of why sending an email to the team insisting that the woman’s blowjob skills were likely fine, would only make it worse.
    Apparently they both need training.
    An hour later, they leave my office in a better place, though I’m drained. I want an umbrella drink and a nap in that order.
    Despite the craziness that is my job, I can’t imagine doing anything else. And if I could just get the bastard across the hall to give me a chance, everything in my world would be right.
    It’s been three days since our first meeting and though I’ve tried to talk with him, he’s successfully avoided me like the plague. Aside from introducing him to Mike, the head of Global Sales and Marketing, we haven’t exchanged a word.
    That could be partially my fault. Mike asked Lucas to set up a time for the two of them to meet, and since Lucas hadn’t taken any of the documents I’d prepared for him, I knew there was a good chance he didn’t know Mike’s last name. He appeared slightly uncomfortable, yet I could tell he wouldn’t ask. Lucas excused himself and I couldn’t help myself. I quickly got Jack’s org chart and set it on his chair, along with a personal message on a pink sticky note.
    I couldn’t tell. Do you need me now?
    I guess he didn’t appreciate that. I’m officially getting the cold shoulder for the first time I can remember and it sucks.
    Thinking back to our first encounter, I cringe. In fact, the more I think about it the more clearly I see what an epic fail it was.