I don’t win much. One of my friends once described me as the unluckiest person he’d ever met, but I think he was just being kind. A croupier, despite working on commission, once told me to stop playing - “it wasn’t my game,” he’d said. If I was more competitive I think it would bother me. I’m not so it doesn’t. It doesn’t make winning any less of a sweet surprise though. Not in a Na-na-nah-na-nah-You’re-All-Losers sort of way - there have been too many “Oh, so you’re not Sarah Jones” retractions for me to be complacent or smug. There’s clearly some screaming lack of expectation in my suppressed subconscious that keeps me from believing I have any right to success. God, it’s a good job I can’t afford a good psychiatrist.
It wasn’t me that said it though. As I returned to my cubicle, a colleague lent over to congratulate me. I always accept compliments even if they are undeserved, unwarranted or misdirected - I’d hate to appear ungracious and besides, I had absolutely no idea what he was talking about. Ever the brilliant master of disguise and subterfuge I paused, flummoxed but smiling. “You have absolutely no idea what I’m talking about, do you?” he quizzed. It had been my best poker face too, damn it. ‘Not a clue,’ I confessed. But there on my computer, a note, sent to the whole department, from the Boss or at least the Boss’s secretary. “And the winner is...” then my name in very impressive looking capital letters. Back in the mists of time, I’d put in an idea to revolutionise the way we use the office shredder. It had won the quarterly “How to Welcome Newcomers and Instil Discipline” competition. I was delighted. There was even a prize. It is official: I am a winner.
Your name in capitals? You must be proud ;)
But congratulations.
Did you get a prize, or was it just the capital thing?
Posted by: The Boy Who Likes To | Wednesday, 31 January 2007 at 08:45 AM