The Dynamics of Shame
Before passing judgment, I must preface this post with the fact that I work for a very casual software company where the majority of developers don’t even bother coming into the office before 11am unless there’s an emergency. As such, we have a collegial environment that I have always loved since Day One. In fact, it’s a large part of why I came to work here three years ago — who could pass up a job where your boss has a nose ring?
That being said, I’ve been making a concerted effort lately to improve my level of professionalism at work by dressing up on a regular basis. It makes me feel good to wear pretty dresses or nice pants — at least more formal attire than flip-flops and jeans, though it’s perfectly acceptable here. This morning was no exception and I thought I looked pretty chic walking out the door.
However, it really doesn’t matter how good you look when you totally eat the pavement in front of a conference room full of people. And the shame you feel when that happens is further compounded when the dozen or so people in said conference room don’t even *react*. Seriously? Can’t you at least laugh at me when you see I’m alright? I mean, yes, my arm is gashed open, but can you please acknowledge the fact that I just majorly biffed it? It’s comedy pure gold!
Lord have mercy.
