Today we had our store managers’ meeting, including the various admins like me who aren’t direct supervisors but keep the place from burning to the ground. We had it out back, in the sunlight, at a clump of picnic tables in the corner of our parking lot, next to an old rotted fence overbranched by cherries and bordered by wild tulips.
The agenda was the usual stuff: sales, hiring, ships & shoes & sealing wax, cabbages & kings.
At the end, we did this thing they do in this company– we went around and said things we were grateful for that had happened, or that other people had done. (I’m trying to be careful here not to use company jargon.) And everyone had something or someone to be grateful for or about, and I sat in the sun and was so, so, so fucking happy to be working with this little group in this tiny clump of chaos. And then one of them said that they were grateful to be working with me, because I was “the best” (official acronym of my position) they’d every worked with, which wasn’t meant to be a dis on others but just to say how organized and detail-oriented I was and how I’d helped take a tremendous load off.
And everyone else said yes, aloud, adding agreements.
No one’s ever said I was the best before. Ever.