Well, that being said I am too much of a perfectionist and way too hard on myself when I make a mistake. For instance, right now I’m trying to decide if you can kill yourself by eating an entire box of paper clips.
Oh ugh, I SO made a mistake. Here at work, yesterday – no really, a BIG one.
I generally avoid talking about work because one should always learn lessons that others are kind enough to live through for you (thank you, Heather Armstrong) but I have to tell you enough so that you know how much I
I screwed up while scheduling a meeting and basically added an email that said “this dude is so pissing me off!!” into the meeting invitation.
And now I die.
Now in my defense (which sounds stupid as I type it, because HOW DO YOU DEFEND THIS STUPIDITY? ONLY BY CLAIMING TEMPORARY STROKE OR POSSESSED BY ALIEN GHOST MONKEYS!!!!) I ask you, why would someone send an email asking to schedule a meeting, and then mention “oh by the by, isn’t Senior Doody-head being a Doody-head? Dang him!” in that same email?
Of course the answer is “because you are supposed to READ THINGS in your job, right?” Apparently I learned nothing from all of those tests in grade school that start out “Step 1: read ALL of the directions before you start this test” and end the list with “Step 15: don’t do anything at all – we were just seeing if you could follow the simplest of directions. Now turn and mock all the people in your class who are half-way through cramming Kleenex into their shorts (step 4).”
The good news is that my boss is super-cool and understood how I made the mistake, and yet also didn’t take responsibility for the mistake which so many bosses do, and which is super nice (which makes me feel even worse) and yet not appropriate because it is NOT their mistake (and therefore makes me feel borderline suicidal). She put the onus on my as it should be, and now I just need to figure out some way to stop wanting to stand in traffic from the guilt. Because I’m too much of a perfectionist. And I’m way too hard on myself when I make a mistake.
Happy Slapsgiving, everybody.
(raise your hand if you wanted to giggle like a 10-year old boy when you read the word “onus.” Yep, me too.)