I often talk about how crazy my job makes me, but the truth is my job, by itself, is practically a cakewalk--I do paperwork, make deliveries, do some flower arranging, nothing too challenging but not too boring either. What really makes me crazy (beads-of-blood-popping-out-on-my-forehead-frustrated-crazy) is Cranky Boss Lady.
As the observant among you are no doubt able to discern from her name, she's cranky quite a lot of the time, but I've come to expect it and I'm usually able to adjust for it so it's actually less of a problem than the other stuff. Stuff like the "conversation" we had today about potstickers...
For lunch, she brought a bag of frozen potstickers from home and was talking about where potstickers "come from" (you know, other than from her freezer). She said, "Aren't they Korean or something?"
And I said, "I have no idea. I do know they're on the buffet at the Chinese restaurant."
"Yeah, but I don't think they're Chinese. I think they might be Vietnamese or Korean or something."
Again, not being an expert on Asian cuisine, let alone on potstickers specifically, which I've never even tried before today because at the Chinese buffet they're sitting there looking sort of larval and not at all tempting, not something I'd want to put in my mouth or study academically, I said, "I really have no idea--all I know is they're on the buffet. It's entirely possible that more than one country makes potstickers."
"I know, but I just don't think they're Chinese. 'Potstickers' just doesn't sound Chinese."
Duh. How do you have a conversation with someone who thinks the English word "potsticker" sounds more Korean than Chinese?
The saddest part of all--and I would only admit this to you, my Internet friends--is that I came straight in the door from work and Googled "potstickers," about which I'd like to remind you, I don't give one small crap, and what I got was repeated mentions of China (including a column about Chinese-American author Amy Tan's family tradition of making potstickers on the anniversary of her mother's death). In fact, "potstickers" are also called "Chinese dumplings."
A further frightening truth: This entire post is an attempt by me to distract myself from my urgent need to call Cranky Boss Lady at home to tell her that "potstickers" might not sound Chinese but they are, in fact, Chinese. I won't let myself call because calling and saying "I told you so" especially when I didn't actually tell her at all (I repeatedly said I didn't know), is so something she would do.
Which brings me to the real crux of the problem here--I guess it's not really Cranky Boss Lady who's the problem, it's the horrifying things she brings out in my personality that frustrate and, frankly, terrify me.
(Tune in next time when we discuss why (according to the wise and wonderful CBL), salmon is "man fish.")
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