Saturday, April 14, 2012

Is a Clown at a Conference Really Kidding?

               Due to the recent debacle with GSA, I feel, as a government employee, I must speak to this matter.  First of all you have to realize that not all government workers are this insane.  Apparently GSA should stand for ‘Guess you Should’ve Asked’. 

I have attended many a federal conference in my day; mostly in really obscure and/or boring places like Oklahoma City; Omaha or that part of Chicago out by the airport where the closest restaurant was a Dunkin’ Donuts at the gas station a half mile away, which I walked in the sleet because I will brave inclement weather and possible run-ins with indigenous peoples to get me some good iced tea, y’all.  Addictions are only called that when you’re trying to stop.

                In my career I have also planned and coordinated any number of meetings, trainings and educational opportunities, all successful, all within the bounds of policy, regulations and, of course, good taste.  For those who attended my conference in Chicago last year, I can’t help the fact that the hotel dressers didn’t have any drawers.  I have to believe that was as in keeping with the style of the area in which the hotel sat.  Truck stop chic is a real decorating scheme, I suppose.  If you don’t think it is, then I suggest you tell all those people who hold it near and dear to their burlap-covered, wagon-wheeled hearts.  I wish you luck in that endeavor.

                I attended a 2 day conference in Oklahoma City this week, just one block from the new American Banjo Museum.  During one of our allotted 15 minutes breaks, we discussed the circumstances of the GSA’s various sins and poor judgments.   We just could not believe what those people thought they could get away with.  I’m so flustered I’m ending sentences with prepositions.

Hiring a mind reader?  Really?  You want to read a federal employee’s mind during a conference?  I can do it for free.  The women are thinking (1) why is the food so expensive and (2) where is my sweater, its cold in here.  The men are thinking (1) why are all these women wearing sweaters and (2) where is the nearest Hooters.  The only difference between the married and unmarried men is the added thought, “Hey, my wife has that same sweater.”

The coordinator of my conference (this past week) is like me in that she’d rather just provide the snacks herself than lose her good government job over something as silly as food.  And I was happy with that.  I mean, where else would you be able to get good sheet cake and fruit salad?

And the gifts they supposedly gave away.  iPads? Really?  I have never gotten a freebie more exciting or costly than a “Leverage the Passion” keychain.

I realize how fortunate I am to have my good ‘guv’ment’ job seeing as how, as my Daddy puts it, I “git to sit on (my) butt and talk all day and get paid for to boot.”  And I couldn’t agree more.  I thank the good Lord and my boss for a career that I love and a nice pay check.  I guess I should thank you too, taxpayers that you are…well, most of you at least.  Don’t worry; your secret is safe with me unless I am asked by someone from the IRS.  I will not lose my job for you.  Just saying.

The silliest thing in this whole mess is that they thought they could spend thousands of dollars on t-shirts and ridiculous entertainment and someone wouldn’t tell on them.  Are you kidding?  Anytime you are a supervisor and have the authority to hire someone, there will always be that person who feels you have made a grave error in your decision to not hire them and you must be punished, so they lie in wait for you to make an error in judgment that they can use against you the first chance they get.

I kid, but there are some very sad, vindictive people on the federal payroll.  Of course, I’m not talking about the good people over here at the Department of Veterans Affairs where I work.  No, sir.  They are the salt of the earth.  I am of course referring to sketchy people from other federal agencies like Fox News.

I think those people should have been fired for the simple fact that they hired clowns.  I hate clowns.  Truly, in my heart, I hate them.  I know it’s not Christian but I think I should be given a pass on this one.  Clowns think they are so funny and they are NOT.  They are evil and I loathe them and they can just keep away from my conferences and my house.  Great, now I’m thinking about that stupid movie, “Killer Clowns from Outer Space”.  Lovely.  Now I’ve gone and scared myself.  Who’s gonna rock me to sleep tonight?

I’m scared because if those creepy clowns wanted to they could just march right in and get me with little to no interference from my roomies.  Daddy and Lulu do not good security guards make.  Seeing as how mi padre (that’s Spanish) can sleep through his own snoring, I am assuming he would not be awakened by any activities up to and including a Third World War or at the very least an invasion of clown-creatures determined to kill.  I assure you, unless one of those evil beings actually changes the TV channel from ESPN once inside the house, he’d be safe from the Dad.  And Lulu would sell me down the river for a Beggin’ Strip.  Know that.

If I had my druthers, I’d take my chances with the gang members who reside, I’ve been told, on the other side of the interstate.  I hadn’t really thought of it as a perk until now but living on a cul de sac on a hospital campus makes my house very difficult to locate.  I mean, if the intrepid drivers for Pizza Hut can’t find my house, I think I’m safe.  I have to believe the Killer Clowns (proper noun) don’t have a TomTom.  Or if they do, I hope it wasn’t a gift they got at a GSA conference.  Apparently, we have rules about those sorts of things.

God Bless America, y’all.

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