oxfordhacker

I know I was bitching about my job earlier, but even then I was forced to concede that it had some excellent aspects. Paramount amongst these is my boss. She's charming, and cheerfully perky at a level that fluctuates between 'refreshing' and 'disturbing'. She is also young, blonde, curvaceous, and very pretty. Even better, she's a fantastic manager, always willing to deflect a little flak, to raise an issue that needs raising, or to boost the morale of a flagging office. Morale-boosts come in various forms: a sweet, perhaps, or an aphorism from her hilariously dispiriting 'improving quote a day' calendar. Sometimes, however, the malaise is deeper, and she will be left with no choice but to declare an 'Angelina Jolie Half-Hour'. The notice board that shows our unclosed support calls is reversed, revealing her lovingly-chosen selection of photos (including our favorite) with some token pictures of Brad Pitt and George Clooney for the other ladies in the office. This is not a tradition in any other place I've worked, and they were all the poorer for it.

Anther thing I like about her is her phobia. These are, of course, always fascinating to the non-sufferer, and the odder the better. I know I'm not the only one who immediately begins to ask questions exploring boundary conditions in an attempt to discover exactly where the scary bit lies, despite the instrisic futility of such an exercise. Uniquely, in my experience, my boss was able to describe the nature of her fear so vividly that I felt a shadow of what it must be like. Her fear is pigeons (not doves, nor sea gulls, just pigeons), and her explanation: they're like robots sent by God. Dwell on that one next time you're in a city alone...