glad that shit is over

I know I don't have the character of a saint because I'm willing to bitch and moan on this blog about shit that happens at work. A saint would be positive in demeanor and wouldn't feel cheated out of six hours of his life if he had to endure the workshop I just went through.

My presentation, which happened early and ran for about thirty minutes, was well received. My supervisor, who was there while I was presenting, told me later that he thought I was "a natural" at such presentations, then he joked that I should become R&D's official presenter whenever we have to interact with other departments. At the very end of the workshop, the leader of our branch of the company—a young twenty-something who is the daughter of the company's CEO and not really deserving of her position—asked all the people who had presented during the workshop to come to the front to be recognized, thanked, and photographed. I stayed where I was. She didn't notice, and as far as I know, neither did anyone else except for my R&D coworkers.

As usually happens when I'm forced to sit through six hours of bullshit, I left the workshop thoroughly pissed off, and because I'm not a saint, I don't mind confessing this fact to you. Call me a big baby if you want; tell me how much worse it is in other companies, where people have to endure far more egregious corporate nonsense. I accept your criticism even before you make it: I recognize that things could have been far worse. That doesn't make me happy about attending these sorts of meetings, though.

The best thing I can say about today is that the workshop is fucking over. A pizza is on its way over to my place. Yeah, yeah—another bad life-choice, but you know what?

Right now, I want a goddamn pizza.