What the fuck made you think that you could treat me like your personal ass wipe assistant? Was it the double thumb ring, the purple nail polish, the mud-brown Hendrix t-shirt, the baggy jeans with the rolled up cuffs, the Birkenstock clogs, my use of the word "dude," or the simple fact that I'm a decade younger than you?

Bite me. If one of us is unprofessional here it's you. Despite what you think, a buttoned up shirt with slacks and a tie does not a "professional" make. And you, Mr. Buttoned-up-shirt-with-slacks-and-tie, have proven my point.

You know what "professionalism" is, bub? Well, here is what "professionalism" is not:

• "Professionalism" is not showing up 15-minutes late to a meeting... a meeting in your own fucking cubicle.
• "Professionalism" is not making your guest (me) wait in the break room for an additional 15-minutes while you finish up whatever useless shit you were working on.
• "Professionalism" is not dismissing everything I say to you. Seriously, I'm trying to help you out. Listen to me and write down what I'm saying.
• "Professionalism" is not complaining about being hungry every 5-minutes. You are the assmunch who delayed our meeting by half an hour in the first place. Buck up and deal with it.
• "Professionalism" is not leaving in the middle of a computer tutorial to grab a bite. I waited around for half an hour for your sorry ass to return, before I finally threw my hands in the air and left. What the fuck? Did you decide to take your lunch break in the middle of our meeting?
• "Professionalism" is not judging me based solely upon my appearance.
• "Professionalism" is not treating people as subpeople.
• "Professionalism" is not a mixture of arrogance, condescension, and false superiority.

And how would one quantify "false superiority"? Well let's see, Mr. Shiny Loafers, you are a General Professional (which is an obvious error, for there is not a gram of "professionalism" in your actions). I am an Engineer; I easily bank 10-grand more than you annually. In the natural order of our organizational structure, you are MY bitch... not the other way around. I have never pulled rank professionally. I have never busted somebody's chops simply because I could, though you did tempt me. I was close, as close as I've ever come. Instead, I let you make an ass out of yourself by talking down to me and treating me like dog shit.

Your time will come, maybe not today but eventually. And when it does, I will savor every second of your shrinking gaze and trembling chin as you sit before me and the truths of our respective positions are unveiled: you are the catcher and I am the pitcher, so take it and like it... bitch.
...and so it was written, shenry at 3/08/2005 01:20:00 PM.
...and so it was appended with .