Argentina has been on a decades-long search for economic stability, but it always seems to be out of reach. High inflation has been plaguing the country and just surpassed 160% a year.
Over the past couple of years, the local currency has collapsed. One U.S. dollar used to be worth 20 Argentinean pesos in 2018. Today, one U.S. dollar is worth 1,000 pesos on the black market. And that means for Argentineans, the real prices of everything — from groceries to gas — have spiked.
In a country where the local currency is in free fall, promising to replace that currency with the US dollar can seem like a magical solution.
Argentina's new president, Javier Milei, won in part by promising to do just that - to dollarize. To scrap Argentina's peso and replace it with the relatively stable, predictable, boring United States dollar.
On today's show, what does dollarizing mean? Why dollarize, how to do it, and will it even work?
The miracle of birth is so incredibly beautiful to behold. Do you know the only thing that could make it better? Percussion. Nothing calms one’s stress and eases the pain of delivering a baby than a little boy standing nearby absolutely shredding on his drum. That’s why it’s so lucky that I just so happened to be passing by this barn, where I discovered a woman having a baby. What better audience?
Now, to be fair, I did ask permission before I started drumming. And she nodded—at least I thought it was a nod; she could have just been recoiling or looking down to make sure the donkeys weren’t in the baby’s landing zone. Nonetheless, I took that as a go-ahead to play my drum throughout the labor and delivery. Newborns love loud banging, right?
Honestly, thank god I had my drum with me because otherwise, I would have been empty-handed at what soon became a full-fledged baby shower. Here I thought it was just your everyday live birth in a stable, but then these three guys showed up with presents. They kept referring to them as their “finest gifts,” but what the hell is a baby going to do with myrrh? They couldn’t have brought a crib? Oh, and they called him a “newborn king.” Yeah, right. The kid’s being born in literal hay, he’s obviously a poor boy like me. But it must have been a cloudy night when I was born, because no magical star was leading gift-bearing kings to me. Imagine how many more drums I’d have if a bunch of random kings cared about my birth.
But you know what? The more the merrier. My kick-ass drumming filled this joint up like you wouldn’t believe. When I first got here, it was just the pregnant lady and her man (baby looks nothing like him, by the way, just saying), and then soon enough, there was a baby, three kings, a couple of shepherds, and this winged, halo-wearing lady that stood behind them—I’m assuming that was the midwife or something? Luckily, I perform even better with a crowd. And thank goodness that ox and lamb were so good at keeping time.
They said they’re gonna name the baby “Jesus,” which is cool, but I’m gonna pronounce it Jay-Soo. And the more I think about it, the more I can’t help but think that this whole story would make for a great song. There are so many songs that feature drumming, but what if there was one about drumming? Would be pretty cool, I bet. I could make the birth of Christ all about me. And instead of just playing the drum, I’ll make drumming noises with my mouth, onomatopoeia-style. “Pa rum pum pum pum.” That’s what a drum sounds like, right?
My story will become legend. Sure, I won’t make it into the actual Bible, but everybody knows that’s payola—getting a mention in there is all about who you know. It’s all politics. No, I’ll be a fun little add-on to the story. And one day, Josh Groban will spread it to the world.
So, we’re watching The Bells of St. Mary’s for the fifth time—wholesome movie, so much more fun than hot jazz and lively bars—when some fella in the balcony starts hollering, “Hee-haw!” at me. “Is that man drunk, daddy?” whispers Zuzu, afraid. “No,” I sigh, sinking lower into my seat. “That’s just Sam Wainwright.”
George Bailey here. I love Sam Wainwright, I really do. But if he says, “Hee-haw!” one more time, I’m going to fucking kill him.
His speech at my father’s funeral? “Hee-haw.” My wedding toast? “Hee-haw.” His honeymoon night? “Hee-haw,” over and over again. I only know this because his fancy, fur-draped wife came crying to Mary and asked if that was normal. It is not normal.
The first time was funny, I admit. A human being acting like a donkey? It’s a good bit, and the floppy-donkey-ears-with-hands thing really drove it home. But we were ten then. Now we’re middle-aged. Is it too much to ask to work and pay and love and die in this town without being subjected to a local millionaire’s incessant braying?
It’s the one thing Mr. Potter and my father agreed upon. “You’re pathetic, Bailey, but at least you don’t say ‘hee-haw’ and make donkey ears,” he growled at a contentious board meeting. The whole board uncharacteristically nodded in agreement, and my father and Potter shared a quick, surprised smile. Then Mr. Potter unveiled his plan to enslave the town’s Italian people.
It’s not just the hee-haws. I mean, would it kill Sam to toss me a few bucks? I told him about plastic from soybeans. I gave him the hot tip on the old tool and machinery works. He’s a literal millionaire, and I make, get this, forty-five dollars a week. He calls me his best friend; meanwhile, my family of six is squatting in an abandoned mansion. I can’t even afford wood glue for my banister knob.
Do you remember the telegram from London after Uncle Billy—don’t even get me started with that guy—lost the money? “My office instructed to advance you up to $25,000. Stop. Hee-haw and Merry Christmas, Sam Wainwright.” I am forever grateful, of course. But honestly? I’d rather be in jail, away from the hee-haws. That night, the whole town came together to support me, yet all I could think about was a confused Western Union clerk in London taking dictation from a middle-aged donkey enthusiast from America. Also, I’ve never been to London, or anywhere else, because there seems to be a far-reaching conspiracy to keep me from ever leaving Bedford Falls. But that’s a different story.
I used to say, “Wish I had a million dollars. Hot dog!” whenever I hit that weird fire machine on Mr. Gower’s counter—I get the appeal of a good catchphrase. But when I became a man, I put away childish things. The worst part? I never got a million dollars, but Sam did get to become a jackass. Oh, and he got a million dollars. I reckon I had it coming by stealing his girlfriend, Mary Hatch, now my lovely wife. I didn’t even have the decency to hang up the phone, so he had to listen to our angry canoodling, all while paying 1940’s long-distance rates. And, of course, my drunk driving. But I’ve repaid my debt in hee-haws, as has everyone else in this town. It has to stop.
Look, I’m a decent man, I don’t have any enemies… except maybe Mr. Potter. And the schoolteacher’s husband. And Alfalfa, who tried to drown me in the surprisingly high-tech high school pool. But I have my limits. I’ve hired Nick, the bartender from Martini’s, to rough Sam up a little, tell him to lay off the hee-haws, maybe slip him a right for a convincer. Nick may seem like a sweetheart, but he’s got a dark side, trust me.
As long as we’re clearing the air, I should have married Violet. She’s sexy, she’s fun, she was great as Ado Annie in Oklahoma!, even if she can’t sing a lick. Oh, what am I saying? That’s just the double bourbons talking. I love Mary. Please don’t mention this to her… though the way I see it, she owes me big time. If I hadn’t come along, she’d be—I shudder to say it—a librarian. Or worse… married to Sam Wainwright! Hee-haw!
Constitutional Framers here. We’re just sending a little missive to clear up some confusion. We hear there’s been a bit of hullabaloo regarding the precise meaning of the words our colleagues and we labored over about eight score years ago. We’re here to clarify that we indeed meant what we fucking said.
Some of you are suggesting that when we wrote that someone who previously took an oath “as an officer of the United States … to support the Constitution of the United States” but “engaged in insurrection or rebellion” cannot be president, perhaps we meant something other than the literal fucking meaning of those words.
We can understand the confusion. Sometimes, people’s words are the opposite of what they mean, as when using sarcasm or engaging in a bit of satire. I can assure you that we were not employing such literary devices when we drafted the goddamn Fourteenth Amendment to the US Constitution.
It may be surprising for you to hear, but we actually took our task—which, again, was writing an amendment to the document that serves as the supreme law of the whole frigging country—rather seriously. We held long debates to align our intent, we checked our spelling and grammar, and you can bet your ass we wordsmithed the shit out of it.
Incidentally, we’re proud of the end result. It was written soon after a rather difficult time for our nation—you may have read about the War of Rebellion (or perhaps you haven’t; we hear your history textbooks are somewhat lacking in this area). As you might imagine, not everyone was enamored of this amendment when we wrote it. And yet… this is the amendment that was fucking ratified on July 9, 1868.
Sorry if we sound peevish. It’s because we underwent much hardship to arrive at these carefully chosen words—did you know that more than seventy proposals for an amendment were drafted? Seventy! That’s a lot of fucking parchment!
Frankly, it’s a source of extreme vexation to still be encountering this kind of fuckery when our intent couldn’t be any fucking clearer. Should insurrectionists be disqualified from the highest office in the land? Absofuckinglutely.
Mary, sorry we’re late. Traffic was completely donkey-to-donkey. I told your father not to follow the same damn star everyone else was, but who listens to me?
Oh wow, there are lots of animals here. That doesn’t seem very sanitary. My rule was no pets in the house, and you and your siblings were no Messiahs, believe me.
What do you mean, “no room at the inn”? Did you even try the Bethlehem Marriott? Very nice place. I guess my genius son-in-law didn’t think to write ahead. I told you to marry that scribe. Oh—hello, Joseph. I didn’t see you there behind the ox. Wait, Joe, don’t go anywhere. Find a place for my Dolce and Galilee bags.
Now let me see my only Begotten Bubelah! Aw, my grandson is gorgeous. But he doesn’t look like the Son of God. Don’t get me wrong; he’s perfect. I guess I expected something else.
And what’s our Redeemer’s name? “Jesus”? Sounds like an exclamation. I guess “honor thy father and mother” means nothing to this generation. But I suppose an entirely new, odd name is also an interesting choice.
Oh, let me hold him! Jesus, your feet are freezing. Did mommy forget to put socks on you? It’s no wonder with all these drafts. Are you cold? I’m cold. Mary, once you lose the baby weight, you might be as sensitive to temperature as I am.
You need a nicer dress than those robes, Mary—there’ll be lots of company soon. But what you’re wearing looks very comfortable. Very brave of you.
I’m not complaining, but I didn’t even hear the Good News from an angel! I had to hear it from a shepherd.
Did you get the sandals Esther gave you? Not that he needs them, as far as I’m concerned, he can walk on water. I’m just asking because she didn’t get a thank you scroll.
Where did Joe go now? Always disappearing. Typical stepdad. Good thing for you, I’m staying for seven sundowns.
Speaking of deadbeats, I see the Holy Spirit sent nothing. Surprise, surprise.
What else did baby “Jesus” get? Oh, gold! Very nice. You know, that one magi is so classy. The other two? Please. I heard Gabriel calls them the One Wise Man and the Two Schmucks. But you did not hear that from me.
I bet being a wise man pays more than a carpenter. I’m just saying. Come back here, Joey, and sprinkle some frankincense and myrrh around me—it stinks like a cow toilet in here.
I’m surprised my nose even works. All this hay is doing a number on my sinuses.
Show me his bed. A trough? It’s so hard for the big-shot carpenter to build a crib? Look, where he sleeps is none of my business. Just know when you get home, there’s a beautiful bassinet from Bergdorf Nazareth.
How does he even sleep with all this racket? If it’s not a sheep baa-ing in my ear, it’s this damn kid with the drums. Go pa-rum-pum-pum-pum somewhere else.
I thought the Dead Sea Ramada was a dump, but at least no oxen were breathing down my neck. I can see this place needs a grandmother’s touch. I’ll stay about forty sundowns—you won’t even know I’m here.
So, we’re watching The Bells of St. Mary’s for the fifth time—wholesome movie, so much more fun than hot jazz and lively bars—when some fella in the balcony starts hollering, “Hee-haw!” at me. “Is that man drunk, daddy?” whispers Zuzu, afraid. “No,” I sigh, sinking lower into my seat. “That’s just Sam Wainwright.”
George Bailey here. I love Sam Wainwright, I really do. But if he says, “Hee-haw!” one more time, I’m going to fucking kill him.
His speech at my father’s funeral? “Hee-haw.” My wedding toast? “Hee-haw.” His honeymoon night? “Hee-haw,” over and over again. I only know this because his fancy, fur-draped wife came crying to Mary and asked if that was normal. It is not normal.
The first time was funny, I admit. A human being acting like a donkey? It’s a good bit, and the floppy-donkey-ears-with-hands thing really drove it home. But we were ten then. Now we’re middle-aged. Is it too much to ask to work and pay and love and die in this town without being subjected to a local millionaire’s incessant braying?
It’s the one thing Mr. Potter and my father agreed upon. “You’re pathetic, Bailey, but at least you don’t say ‘hee-haw’ and make donkey ears,” he growled at a contentious board meeting. The whole board uncharacteristically nodded in agreement, and my father and Potter shared a quick, surprised smile. Then Mr. Potter unveiled his plan to enslave the town’s Italian people.
It’s not just the hee-haws. I mean, would it kill Sam to toss me a few bucks? I told him about plastic from soybeans. I gave him the hot tip on the old tool and machinery works. He’s a literal millionaire, and I make, get this, forty-five dollars a week. He calls me his best friend; meanwhile, my family of six is squatting in an abandoned mansion. I can’t even afford wood glue for my banister knob.
Do you remember the telegram from London after Uncle Billy—don’t even get me started with that guy—lost the money? “My office instructed to advance you up to $25,000. Stop. Hee-haw and Merry Christmas, Sam Wainwright.” I am forever grateful, of course. But honestly? I’d rather be in jail, away from the hee-haws. That night, the whole town came together to support me, yet all I could think about was a confused Western Union clerk in London taking dictation from a middle-aged donkey enthusiast from America. Also, I’ve never been to London, or anywhere else, because there seems to be a far-reaching conspiracy to keep me from ever leaving Bedford Falls. But that’s a different story.
I used to say, “Wish I had a million dollars. Hot dog!” whenever I hit that weird fire machine on Mr. Gower’s counter—I get the appeal of a good catchphrase. But when I became a man, I put away childish things. The worst part? I never got a million dollars, but Sam did get to become a jackass. Oh, and he got a million dollars. I reckon I had it coming by stealing his girlfriend, Mary Hatch, now my lovely wife. I didn’t even have the decency to hang up the phone, so he had to listen to our angry canoodling, all while paying 1940’s long-distance rates. And, of course, my drunk driving. But I’ve repaid my debt in hee-haws, as has everyone else in this town. It has to stop.
Look, I’m a decent man, I don’t have any enemies… except maybe Mr. Potter. And the schoolteacher’s husband. And Alfalfa, who tried to drown me in the surprisingly high-tech high school pool. But I have my limits. I’ve hired Nick, the bartender from Martini’s, to rough Sam up a little, tell him to lay off the hee-haws, maybe slip him a right for a convincer. Nick may seem like a sweetheart, but he’s got a dark side, trust me.
As long as we’re clearing the air, I should have married Violet. She’s sexy, she’s fun, she was great as Ado Annie in Oklahoma!, even if she can’t sing a lick. Oh, what am I saying? That’s just the double bourbons talking. I love Mary. Please don’t mention this to her… though the way I see it, she owes me big time. If I hadn’t come along, she’d be—I shudder to say it—a librarian. Or worse… married to Sam Wainwright! Hee-haw!
OTTAWA – Shockwaves spread throughout the House this week when staffers realized that the vaguely threatening elf watching their every move was actually the leader of the Opposition in a festive winter accessory. “At first, all I noticed was a judgemental frown paired with unnerving elven features”, shared the honourable Carla Qualtrough, Liberal MP for […]
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The Colorado Supreme Court banned President Donald Trump from appearing on the state’s Republican presidential primary ballot, citing the Constitution’s insurrection clause and Trump’s conduct during the Jan. 6, 2021 attack on the U.S. Capitol as disqualifying him from holding public office. What do you think?
TORONTO — It’s that time of year again; The lights are shining, the snow is falling, and “woke moralists” are forcing me to say “Happy Holidays”. But this year I’m taking a stand. I won’t say it! Because I’m just simply not happy. Sure, the lights are shining. Directly into my bedroom window. Since all […]
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There’s nothing more Canadian than avoiding the increasingly wet winter weather by hiding inside and watching your favourite Christmas special. Check out this list of the most popular holiday special in each province! Newfoundland Miracle On 34th Screech Nova Scotia Some weird regional TV movie about that creepy giant talking Christmas tree they have […]
Trump's team vowed to appeal the decision. If it's in front of the U.S. Supreme Court by Jan. 5, Trump's name will stay on the ballot. Legal experts say the question is likely to keep coming up.
This post was written by Alison Green and published on Ask a Manager.
It’s “where are you now?” month at Ask a Manager, and all December I’m running updates from people who had their letters here answered in the past. Here are four updates from past letter-writers.
We do have a resolution, and it has absolutely nothing to do with headphones.
I didn’t put all the pieces together, but at the time I sent the letter, my youngest child was struggling and we were all pretty sleep-deprived and stressed. Not long after I wrote to you we saw the pediatrician and started some medical and therapeutic interventions that have been an absolute game changer for our family. My kid is so much happier and as a result, we are too.
My husband… still does not wear headphones. He doesn’t like the way they make him look so it isn’t really an issue of how effective they are. And at this point, we’ve all accepted that if he won’t wear them, he’s going to have to deal with standard family noise. Now that our kid is doing better he is much more flexible and tolerant about it.
Looking back this was clearly more about what was going on with our family and our own well-being, and I really appreciated the commentators that pointed in that direction! (And there was some great advice about headphones, so I might pick up a pair for myself.)
Thank you so much for your advice with my question!
My writing sample got me the next interview. At that stage my interviewer hardly talked about my writing at all—other than to say it was great!—and didn’t ask about my experience with the AI. Based on your suggestions, I asked about their experiences so far with AI as a writing tool. I learned they were still in the very early stages of exploring how AI could support the team and that the person they would hire for the role would get to take the lead on that exploration.
That person is now me! So far, we haven’t had a lot of success in getting the AI machine to learn our style and tone, and it has a tendency to make stuff up that’s not necessarily obvious at a quick glance (deceptive word salad). For now, writing from scratch is still the fastest and most accurate way to get the job done.
We’ll keep experimenting with the writing, but for now I’ve been using AI in other ways. It’s been a great help in brainstorming solutions to data challenges the team faces. After I learned how to formulate questions in a way the machine understands, it’s written Excel formulas that speed up my workflows. I’ve even had it write Excel scripts, and teach me how to use them, since that’s something I’ve never done before.
I’m cautiously optimistic about the potential uses for AI in the future in this role. I’ll be sure to keep you posted.
First off, I’d like to thank you for posting my question. You and the readers have been really kind, and it helped a lot to know that it bothers other people too and it’s a legitimate thing to be bothered by.
I tried your advice and said, “Please, don’t joke about suicide” or “That’s not funny,” but he would just respond that it’s just a joke and keep on doing it.
I decided to follow the readers’ advice, thinking that maybe the jokes were a cry for help (and I feel bad for not thinking of that earlier; I really wanted the jokes to seem like they never occurred to me to think about why they were happening). Unfortunately, I’m not in a good enough place to have a face-to-face conversation about this, so I grabbed a suicide prevention flyer and left it on his desk.
I saw when he read the flyer, and I don’t know if he needed help or realized it could be taken seriously. But it’s been a week, and he hasn’t made any kind of joke. So, I consider it a win.
I took your advice and said I’d just head home in the evenings to take care of family responsibilities … and then we got hit with a massive ice storm during the conference. We ended up stuck at the hotel for five days! I did have to share a room with a colleague, but there was enough other stuff going on that I decided to just roll with the punches, and it was fine.
My husband and I moved about five hours away from our old city this year. The 2024 annual conference is in our new city, just about 10 minutes from our house. I made sure everyone knows well in advance that I’m going to spend the nights at home.
This post was written by Alison Green and published on Ask a Manager.
I’m on vacation. Here are some past letters that I’m making new again, rather than leaving them to wilt in the archives.
1. I offended people at a staff meeting by saying my staff works the hardest
At a recent staff meeting, I said in a light way, “My staff are the hardest working staff here!” Of course, the other managers could have immediately said the same thing about their staff, but a couple of managers were absent and the others, including the director, did not speak up or to join in with compliments. Instead of people making light of it, other staff were pissed, as if I was insinuating that they didn’t work hard. Of course, I did say that everybody works hard, but others were then trying to defend themselves on how they work hard, and the director was like “Well, you’re digging yourself into a hole.”
Obviously, I will never try and praise my staff in staff meetings anymore since people are highly sensitive. I tried to apologize to a couple of the staff who report to another manager, saying that they are valuable members of our department and are very much appreciated and that I appreciate them, but they are still upset at me. One won’t speak to me even after the apology. The more I think about it, the more this situation is like the “everybody needs to receive a trophy” sort of situation. What is your suggestion in smoothing this over?
Everyone here is overreacting! Your original compliment to your staff was well-intentioned but not particularly thoughtful, given that it inherently meant that others in the room were not as hard-working. So that was a misfire. But the people who got upset about it are way overreacting — this should have been a “roll their eyes and move on” situation. It doesn’t warrant them not speaking to you; that’s ridiculous. And you’re overreacting by saying that you’ll never praise your staff in staff meetings anymore; that’s not the message to take away. You can praise your staff in all kind of ways without comparing them to other teams.
Ideally, you would have addressed it on the spot by saying something like, “That obviously didn’t come out right. Everyone here is hard-working. I’m especially proud of my team for doing X, Y, and Z.” That moment has passed, and apparently people are refusing to accept an apology now, so I’d look for an opportunity to give sincere public praise for other team’s work in the near future. And if they don’t drop this within a few days, you may need to go talk with their manager and ask what’s needed on your side to put this to rest, because it’s ridiculous for your office to allow this to become a thing that interferes with work.
I have a relatively new desk mate – we sit probably three feet from each other in an open office setting. She is very nice, but there is something about her that is driving me NUTS. Whenever she gets stressed or upset or is just concentrating a lot, she makes noises exactly like um, sex noises, about every minute or so. Heavy breathing, gasps, and moans … It is maddening!
I have my headphones up on the absolute loudest setting, but the noises are so loud and distracting and annoy me to the point I can hardly sit at my desk.. Can I say something? Or do I have to just suck it up since it is just breathing?
Oh my goodness. Well … you could try saying, “You’ve probably never noticed, but you do a lot of vocalizing when you’re stressed — heavy sighing and other noises. It can be distracting! Could you try to rein it in?” You could blame the open office too, adding something like, “They have us packed in here so closely that stuff can be distracting that wouldn’t be if we had walls.”
This is likely to make her pretty self-conscious for a while, which isn’t ideal, but it’s also true that when you’re working a couple of feet from other people, regularly gasping and moaning is not cool.
My company recently moved to a new office that has a car parking lot. By luck of the draw, I was fortunate enough to get a parking space right outside the complex.
Unfortunately, another employee of the same company has decided to park in my spot every day since.
Because of this need to find somewhere else on a daily basis, I’ve experienced threats of tickets, annoyed coworkers whose spaces I’ve inadvertently taken, and had to move my car multiple times during the workday.
Recently, a member of our HR team asked me to move. After I did so (twice in 10 minutes), I discovered that it was actually their car in my space. They explained that it was double booked to them and that they would continue parking there. I mentioned this to the person who assigned the spaces and was informed this was not true at all. It appears that the person didn’t like their allocated space and has chosen to just occupy mine. This also happened to a colleague who parks next to me, again with another HR team member.
To keep the peace, we have now been assigned their old spaces a way down the road. While this isn’t a big deal (at least I have a space now), I can’t help feeling some negativity towards our HR team for this apparently dishonest behavior. What are your thoughts?
My thoughts are that at least some members of your HR team are jerks who abuse their positions, and that their higher-ups either don’t know or don’t care.
I don’t know whether it’s a battle you want to fight or not, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable to complain to someone over their heads about how this was handled. If you do, your framing should be that HR has misused their authority to reassign parking spaces to benefit themselves. (That assumes that the HR department is in charge of assigning spaces; if it’s done by someone else who simply gave into HR’s requests in order to “keep the peace,” then that person is spineless but it’s not quite as offensive.)
4. Should my cover letter extend sympathies to the company CEO, whose daughter just died?
I am working on a job application for a nonprofit organization of about 15 staff. The position reports to a vice president.
The organization has announced that among the victims of the train crash in Philadelphia was the daughter of the organization’s president and CEO. Would it be respectful or distasteful to mention that in the cover letter – i.e., “Please extend my sympathies to Ms. Jones” or something along those lines? Should I remain mute?
Do not mention it in your cover letter. It’s not the place for it, they’re not going to mention to the CEO that a job applicant she doesn’t know sends her sympathy, and it risks coming across as if you’re using her tragedy to create rapport (although I understand that’s not at all how you intend it).
Things seemed seemed to calm down till the end of the summer. After my first letter, I started documenting conversations to prepare for a confrontation with Keith. Jan then started dating someone! yay for an appropriate distraction! The passive aggressive comments stopped about 99%. I thought we were in the clear.
Unfortunately it didn’t last. They split up after a few months. To put it simply because Jan’s deadbeat adult son drove her new beau away. Jan’s insecurities and inappropriate boundaries returned quickly. Only this time she stated being more “public” with her flirting and obnoxious comments.
I was recently promoted and started receiving more “attention” from Keith since I work with him more on projects now. During a group lunch I had my phone on the table. Jan saw a message alert and immediately demanded to know why Keith was contacting me and not her and that I didn’t need to bother him while he was on vacation. Another coworker stepped in and asked why it mattered? Jan loudly snapped back that she is the office manager and “the only one that takes care of Keith.” She left the restaurant embarrassed and my puzzled coworkers asked what all that was about. I filled them in on the other inappropriate comments. Our other coworkers at the table thought she was joking with the flirting, but clearly wasn’t now. My coworker Stacy, that I have since befriended, volunteered to talk to Jan to tell her to knock it off or she would tell Keith personally. Whatever she told her seemed to work because she essentially ignored us for a few weeks. Probably because she was afraid we would gang up on her.
I wish I could say that was the end but her behavior escalated again at Keith’s daughters engagement party last month. Jan introduced herself several times as “Aunt Jan” to the point where Keith’s wife Amy told her to stop. Then after a few too many drinks she “jokingly” tried to insert herself in a family picture and cut into dances with Keith’s wife. I could tell from across the room that Amy told Keith to make her leave. He actually asked Stacy and I to take her home. We all came separately. I firmly told him no that we were enjoying ourselves. We weren’t responsible for her and he needed to be the one to deal with her. Stacy went as far as to say that “she pulls this crap at work too and you know it.” He eventually called her an Uber. I think it finally took her making an idiot of herself in front of his family for him to realize how obnoxious her behavior had become for everyone. Keith said he would call her over the weekend to have a “long talk.”
I don’t know what the details of the conversation were, but she didn’t come to work that Monday and put in her notice not too long ago. She said she needed a fresh start and decided to move closer to other family. I think once she finally figured out that she wasn’t going to get what she wanted out of Keith that giving herself a fresh start would be wise. I do wish her well. I did learn through Stacy that her marriage wasn’t a happy one and combined with the deadbeat son, her possessive, people-pleasing with Keith made a lot more sense. I’m hoping this move will give her a new sense of purpose.
After footage leaked of a congressional staffer having sex in hearing room used by the Senate Judiciary Committee, The Onion asked senators to reveal the best places to have sex in the capitol, and this is what they said.
WASHINGTON—In an attempt to protect travelers from the dangers of secondhand smoke, a new federal law went into effect this week requiring flight passengers to go at least five feet out on the plane’s wing if they want to smoke. “Encouraging passengers who crave a mid-flight cigarette to open up the emergency exit …
PASADENA, CA—Persuaded to spend another evening playing board games with a handful of neighborhood couples, local single woman Beth Fritch was reportedly paired with the dog again. “I knew this was going to happen—we’re always the odd players out and forced onto a team,” Fritch said of Popcorn, the golden lab who she…
ATHERTON, CA—Hoping to unwind and enjoy one of his all-time favorite films, an exhausted billionaire reported Wednesday that he just wanted to curl up and rewatch an enslaved Hugh Grant and Julia Roberts perform Notting Hill at gunpoint. “I must’ve seen it a million times, but I still love the chemistry those two have…
