The Office Meeting From Hell, The Pervy Flatmate... and Other Difficult Situations

... the Office Meeting From Hell was today (Tuesday morning, now that it's technically Wednesday).

I would say that was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do: tell a superior about her shortcomings... Ever had to come up with diplomatic ways of saying "Sometimes you're a b*tch to work with, to put it mildly." No? Lucky lucky you. It's not fun. I don't like doing it. I hope I never have to do it again.

Then I thought of an example in the past of something else I had to do that was difficult: When I was 22 and living in a shared flat in Edinburgh, Scotland, one of the flatmates was this French guy from Bordeaux who wouldn't look a woman in the eye when he was talking to her, only her chest. Unfortunately, I was appointed as the flat spokesperson (oh joy of joys) to tell him to get the hell out cos he was a perv. It was a democratic vote, so I can't say I was coerced.

How do I get into these situations?? Should I be working for the UN??
Needless to say, telling a pervert that he is a pervert is about as easy as explaining to a nudist why running around with no clothes could be a problem.

Boobs Bordeaux: "Pervert? What's a pervert?"
Gail: (frantically scanning her brain for the French word for pervert) "Um... I mean, my female friends come over here and you stare at their chests while we sit at the table. It makes them uncomfortable."
Boobs Bordeaux: "Why? What's the matter?"
Gail: (thinking to herself, 'you mean, what's the matter with the breasts, or, shouldn't you girls be glad for all this attention?') "Look, obviously you don't think there's anything wrong with that, but we're not putting up with it, and everyone thinks you should move out."
Boobs Bordeaux: "Why?? What did I do?? Why should I move out?"
Gail: "Because you're a pervert!"
Boobs Bordeaux: "I don't know what you are talking about!"
Gail: "Look at my eyes when you're talking to me! That's exactly what I'm talking about!"
Boobs Bordeaux: "Are you crazy? I am just talking to you!"

... and so went the gist of the so-called explanation. I could see his eyeballs twitching from the probable strain of trying to keep his eyes from wandering south.

What was unbeknownst to Boobs Bordeaux was that for days the rest of us in the flat had been desperately trying to figure out how to get rid of him.

One afternoon while he was out, Gordon, Gillian and I ransacked his room, looking for incriminating paraphernalia by which to claim grounds for banishment. We looked for porn (although that was too weak an excuse, that's how desperate we were), and we became giddily excited over some syringes, which we discovered were for something benignly medical, like an ear infection or something of the sort. I think we were peering underneath his bed when we heard the sound of a key in the front door.

Ever seen the Keystone Cops?

If you have, you don't need your imagination. Otherwise, imagine three people banging their heads together trying to get out from underneath a bed as fast as they can, bolt for the bedroom door, only to smack into each other in the mad scramble to get out...

Aaron, our other flatmate, was standing in the hallway, incredulous at the sights and sounds of Gordon, Gillian, and Gail in a flailing heap outside of Boobs Bordeaux's bedroom: "What the hell are you guys doing???"

We could NOT STOP LAUGHING... we were laughing so hysterically Aaron thought we'd lost our minds. I guess we had, there, for a moment. The moral of the story (and I have to tell you the moral right now, because I have to be up in 3.5 hours) is that the best way to deal with a difficult situation is just to get the damned thing over with and not carry on like silly, cowardly people. Which I can say because YOURS TRULY had to "do the dirty" at 22 and 31, and I am still no good at it!!