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I attended a business lunch yesterday afternoon. Business lunches are not typically a major part of my duties as a communications flunky, and to tell you the truth, that's fine with me. As romantic as it may seem, the downtown bustle and haute K Street cuisine are inadequate compensation for having to spend my lunch hour – the sole oasis of freedom in my workday – exchanging fatuous chit-chat with the very people I have to spend the rest of my day with. Maybe it would be different if I were meeting with charming and attractive professional people, or employed in an industry that skews younger than "60 Minutes." But invariably I get tangled in a conversation about kindergarten, world politics or how there's too much violence on television.
Yesterday I ate at Chef Geoff's with my demi-boss and director of communications, D.; the office membership coordinator and ad-hoc director of sass, S.; and our outside vendor for Web site development, P., who bears a stunning resemblance to the main character in Sideways without the faint smell of Pinot Noir. P. is a good guy, especially for a computer nerd, and S. is perhaps the closest thing to a friend I have in the office. D., however, makes my ears bleed. But at least she picked up the check. I'm always a little perplexed about the etiquette of this situation. D. called the meeting and is the highest-ranking individual at the table, and has always paid the tab at every single business lunch I have ever attended with her. Knowing this, am I obligated to make a token "reach" for the bill, even if I have no desire or intention to pay for it? Is she paying with her company credit card or a personal credit card? If it's her personal credit card, is she being reimbursed for it? If it is the company credit card, should I thank her for lunch, as I am conditioned to do whenever anyone buys me a meal? Either way, should I take this opportunity to order gluttonously, with drinks, appetizers, desserts and the like? Or should I go easy on the menu in an act of corporate responsibility? The fact that I have all these questions suggests that I am not yet a grown-up.
While at lunch, I spotted J.S., my former roommate from the old days on Columbia Pike. I had not spoken with J.S. since we both moved out two and a half years ago, the result of equal parts apathy and disdain. Three and a half years ago, when I was interviewing prospective roommates, he was far and away the least objectionable applicant. Over our year together, though, it became clear that I should have rented out the room as storage space. I could handle the copies of The Weekly Standard left in the bathroom, or his monopolizing the freezer with enough ground beef to be measured in gross tonnage, or even his inability to load a dishwasher with more than four bowls at a time. But what vexed me beyond my breaking point was his pathological unwillingness to throw out the garbage. It was a matter of routine: the garbage would climb steadily higher in the three-foot high kitchen garbage can until it reached the top, at which point a normal person would tie it up and take it down the hall to the trash chute. But J.S. would bring the garbage to this point, and instead of tying the bag up, he would simply place more garbage on top of the other garbage, ever higher, until it was balancing precariously on the peak of a towering garbage pile. I remember, one time, I threw away all my garbage in my own private waste bin, just to see how long he would wait before he finally gave in. The Great Garbage Mound grew to epic, artistic proportions. It took two weeks, at which point the vomitous stench must have overpowered his iron will.
Anyway, I was surprised to see him, since I knew he wasn't working at his House office job anymore. I noticed him in the corner of my eye and did a double-take. I didn't really want to talk to him, but I couldn't be sure if he had noticed my second take. Rather than turn my attention back to my lunch and possibly be perceived as snubbing him, I relented and gave him a wave, at which point it became clear that he had not seen me, because it took him a few seconds to recognize me. This was sort of bothersome to me, that I recognized him before he recognized me, especially since the only gratifying aspect of bumping into someone you don't like is that instantaneous, common affirmation that at least someone knows you. Even worse, he sped away before he even had the opportunity to do more than say hello and give me his business card, which probably means that he loathes me even more than I loathe him, and in any two-person relationship you always want to be the person who dislikes the other person more. It was a very unsatisfying encounter.
Later that evening, I was working late-ish, not so late that I was the last person in the office, but late enough that the cleaning crew was doing its job as I remained at my desk. Eventually, one of the cleaning crew workers came into my office to empty my wastebasket. (The waste level, incidentally, was substantially below the J.S. threshold.) This happens from time to time, and each time I smile politely and say "Hello" as I swivel out of their way. They usually nod sweetly in return, although they never actually say anything. These workers are pretty clearly Hispanic in origin – Salvadorian, I think, although I'm not totally sure – and they may not be fluent in English. I always consider offering my greeting in Spanish, like "Hola" or "Buenas noches." But I wonder: would they find that to be a charming attempt at achieving common ground and a refreshing departure from the self-centered and xenophobic reputation of the American middle class? Or would they find it to be another condescending and presumptuous gesture by the White Man? And would they respond in Spanish? What if they started talking in Spanish, and my Spanish-language recognition – largely dormant since high school – couldn't keep up? Should I nod along, saying something innocuous like "Sí, sí," or "ahh, no" or "Roberto Clemente, eh?" Or should I give that puzzled tourist look, indicating that I am not only stupid, but I am a stupid poser? So ultimately I just end up saying "Hello" and trying not to make eye contact.
Yesterday I ate at Chef Geoff's with my demi-boss and director of communications, D.; the office membership coordinator and ad-hoc director of sass, S.; and our outside vendor for Web site development, P., who bears a stunning resemblance to the main character in Sideways without the faint smell of Pinot Noir. P. is a good guy, especially for a computer nerd, and S. is perhaps the closest thing to a friend I have in the office. D., however, makes my ears bleed. But at least she picked up the check. I'm always a little perplexed about the etiquette of this situation. D. called the meeting and is the highest-ranking individual at the table, and has always paid the tab at every single business lunch I have ever attended with her. Knowing this, am I obligated to make a token "reach" for the bill, even if I have no desire or intention to pay for it? Is she paying with her company credit card or a personal credit card? If it's her personal credit card, is she being reimbursed for it? If it is the company credit card, should I thank her for lunch, as I am conditioned to do whenever anyone buys me a meal? Either way, should I take this opportunity to order gluttonously, with drinks, appetizers, desserts and the like? Or should I go easy on the menu in an act of corporate responsibility? The fact that I have all these questions suggests that I am not yet a grown-up.
While at lunch, I spotted J.S., my former roommate from the old days on Columbia Pike. I had not spoken with J.S. since we both moved out two and a half years ago, the result of equal parts apathy and disdain. Three and a half years ago, when I was interviewing prospective roommates, he was far and away the least objectionable applicant. Over our year together, though, it became clear that I should have rented out the room as storage space. I could handle the copies of The Weekly Standard left in the bathroom, or his monopolizing the freezer with enough ground beef to be measured in gross tonnage, or even his inability to load a dishwasher with more than four bowls at a time. But what vexed me beyond my breaking point was his pathological unwillingness to throw out the garbage. It was a matter of routine: the garbage would climb steadily higher in the three-foot high kitchen garbage can until it reached the top, at which point a normal person would tie it up and take it down the hall to the trash chute. But J.S. would bring the garbage to this point, and instead of tying the bag up, he would simply place more garbage on top of the other garbage, ever higher, until it was balancing precariously on the peak of a towering garbage pile. I remember, one time, I threw away all my garbage in my own private waste bin, just to see how long he would wait before he finally gave in. The Great Garbage Mound grew to epic, artistic proportions. It took two weeks, at which point the vomitous stench must have overpowered his iron will.
Anyway, I was surprised to see him, since I knew he wasn't working at his House office job anymore. I noticed him in the corner of my eye and did a double-take. I didn't really want to talk to him, but I couldn't be sure if he had noticed my second take. Rather than turn my attention back to my lunch and possibly be perceived as snubbing him, I relented and gave him a wave, at which point it became clear that he had not seen me, because it took him a few seconds to recognize me. This was sort of bothersome to me, that I recognized him before he recognized me, especially since the only gratifying aspect of bumping into someone you don't like is that instantaneous, common affirmation that at least someone knows you. Even worse, he sped away before he even had the opportunity to do more than say hello and give me his business card, which probably means that he loathes me even more than I loathe him, and in any two-person relationship you always want to be the person who dislikes the other person more. It was a very unsatisfying encounter.
Later that evening, I was working late-ish, not so late that I was the last person in the office, but late enough that the cleaning crew was doing its job as I remained at my desk. Eventually, one of the cleaning crew workers came into my office to empty my wastebasket. (The waste level, incidentally, was substantially below the J.S. threshold.) This happens from time to time, and each time I smile politely and say "Hello" as I swivel out of their way. They usually nod sweetly in return, although they never actually say anything. These workers are pretty clearly Hispanic in origin – Salvadorian, I think, although I'm not totally sure – and they may not be fluent in English. I always consider offering my greeting in Spanish, like "Hola" or "Buenas noches." But I wonder: would they find that to be a charming attempt at achieving common ground and a refreshing departure from the self-centered and xenophobic reputation of the American middle class? Or would they find it to be another condescending and presumptuous gesture by the White Man? And would they respond in Spanish? What if they started talking in Spanish, and my Spanish-language recognition – largely dormant since high school – couldn't keep up? Should I nod along, saying something innocuous like "Sí, sí," or "ahh, no" or "Roberto Clemente, eh?" Or should I give that puzzled tourist look, indicating that I am not only stupid, but I am a stupid poser? So ultimately I just end up saying "Hello" and trying not to make eye contact.
