I've come to understand why old ladies can get so mean. It's not that they're 'cranky' because of their lumbago or 'cantankerous' because they're hard of hearing or 'irascible' because they never get any nookie.
They just don't give a damn anymore.
They don't care if everyone likes them or if they have a wide circle of friends (who could croak at the drop of a hat anyway).
Seriously. Maybe they aren't mean because they're unhappy. Maybe they're mean because they're happy, because they have the freedom to go around looking and acting like hell on wheels.
I am waaay past being part of the 'in crowd' and 'one of the girls.' I'm not a member of anybody's posse, and I don't travel in a pack, even for a trip to Vegas. I'm well aware there are times I'm not invited places I would have once been welcome, and that's fine with me. I have people I like and respect and people who like and respect me.
And the rest can kiss my big butt.
And they can pay attention to the deadlines I set and the instructions I give.
I laughed out loud when I talked to Mack this week, one of my longtime management mentors, and he told me he was moving his office this weekend. He said he'd been snapping out orders all week, but never asking anyone to do anything he wasn't doing himself.
I'm usually one of the first to arrive at work and the last to leave, especially recently. When the move is finished, I'll have done more of the hands-on crap than anyone. Which makes it pretty hard to successfully whine anywhere within my earshot.
I can't wait until someone tries . . .