Wednesday night, I was supposed to host a bbq at my house for a committee that I am part of at work. We meet once a month, usually at some restaurant, and discuss the hundreds of ways we can make our unit the most awesome place to work.
I suspect that sometimes (okay, most of the time), we use the meet up as an excuse to eat/drink.
Really. It takes almost six months of meetings to add an extra garbage can in the break room. Gotta love bureaucracy.
So, I volunteered to offer up my humble abode to be the location of this months drink-fest, er, I mean, meeting. It was to be a meeting, and sort of an end-of-summer kick-off. The chairperson was concerned. She has a nervous breakdown whenever the meeting strays from the agenda (which she tells us she spends 30 minutes typing up).
She's as anal as I am laid back. She has a clear, concise plan to get from point A to point B and we MUST FOLLOW THE PLAN. Failure to follow the plan will be an open invite for the Apocalypse and we WILL ALL DIE A HORRIBLE AND PAINFUL DEATH!!!
I, on the other hand, don't care how we get from point A to point B, just as long as we get there...eventually. It's sort of my attitude towards sex. I like to be consistent in all things.
(The truly amusing part is that I'm chair-elect of this committee, which means, the whole thing falls into my command in 2009. That's like turning over White House interior decoration from Martha Stuart to Rosanne Barr.)
Imagine my not-surprise when I checked my work email this morning and there was an email from her saying that she has rescheduled the meeting to next week, and we are meeting at some restaurant, and we may have next month's meeting at my house.
While it was an eye-rolling moment (glad I waited until the last minute to buy bbq stuff), it wasn't all that shocking. I was actually relieved because I currently have a plywood hallway because we are in the middle of putting down laminate flooring. I'd rather have that done before I entertain. No one wants to feel like they are at a party hosted by Bob the Builder. Unless, of course, it is hosted by Bob the Builder.
Rather than have a meeting-bbq next month, I'd just soon forgo the meeting, and just have the bbq at my house. Who wants to attend a bbq and have to listen to how well the new break room garbage can is functioning before you start having fun? Not me.
So, another party at my house. I'm sure it won't be to Christmas party proportions, but I'm sure it will be fun anyway. Nurses work hard. We play harder. We deserve it.