I’ve worked for you for over one year and I think I’ve done a good job. I’ve stayed late to finish projects and am always willing to pitch in. I thought you were genuine when you told me how much you appreciated my efforts this year. And then you handed me my holiday gift.
Now, I’m not greedy. I wasn’t expecting something fancy. But a bottle of wine, a gift certificate, even some fancy bath products would have been nice. But instead, you gave me a bushel of pears.
Now, I have nothing against pears per se, but I’m not exactly a pear freak. In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever eat a pear at the office. Just FYI.
Plus, I’m not sure why, given that you know I’m leaving in 36 hours for over a week, you chose to give me a bucket of them. Pears are, after all, perishable (or should I say pearishable?) items. Unlike apples, carrots, onions and potatoes, they don’t last for weeks. Not that I would have preferred a sack of potatoes, but that’s not the point.
And even if I was a huge pear freak and continually regaled my colleagues with stories of how "Omigod I had, like, the best pear ever last night!!", can you imagine the havoc I would wreak on my digestive tract if I tried to eat all of them over the next two days?
Or maybe you thought that I could spend my one free day before leaving whipping up pear-lescent delights s like pear sorbet, pear cobbler, pear and chevre soufflé. Well, let me ask you this: do I look like Betty Fucking Crocker? I didn’t think so.
You knew I was leaving for a week.
You also knew tonight was our office holiday party.
What you probably didn’t know was that I was planning, come 6 o’clock, to don a little black dress and a pair of fuck-me shoes, guzzle down a shitload of free alcohol and then head off into the night, young, a little bit drunk, a little bit slutty, and most of all, unencumbered by anything but lipstick, cash, and a few—a very few—inhibitions. But now, thanks to you and the agricultural albatross you’ve imposed on me, I’m not going to be the sexy, carefree hottie in the black dress, I’m going to be the girl with the bucket of fruit.
Fuck you. Fuck you and the bushel of pears you drove in with.