Bosses, like parents, have the gift of showing up just when their employees are doing something they’d rather not explain. For example, my office recently held a farewell party for my boss, who has moved onward and upward. I thought it would be a nice touch to project an image on the big screen as a background during the party. Something along the lines of, “Goodbye. We’ll miss you.” I wasn’t worried that the projector was already on while I was searching, since she wasn’t there yet. So, I pulled up Google images and typed in the word “Goodbye.” Right on cue, she walked in just as Google put up “Goodbye and good riddance” as its No. 1 choice. Oh well, after eight years of awkward encounters, she wasn’t surprised.

That one wasn’t as bad as another boss, Linda, who stepped over just as I had pulled up a very sketchy website called “Plaster of Paradise,” which I was scrolling through with wide-eyed fascination.

“You want to tell me about this?” she asked.

Me, still fascinated, and not thinking at all about how this might look to her.

“Did you know some people have a thing for casts?”

“No, but hold on. … What’s wrong with that guy? She asked, pointing to a fully clothed man with two leg casts and a neck brace.

“It doesn’t say. Why? Do you want his number?”

She rolled her eyes (she did that a lot). “Dare I ask?”

“What? Oh! Sorry! I’m trying to find a cheaper option for plaster of Paris for next week’s craft.”

Luckily, she’d worked with me long enough to believe the truth of that statement.

Linda put up with a lot from me. Since I was the children’s librarian, it was my job to do strange — I mean creative — things. But I think the one that traumatized her the most wasn’t my fault. For some reason, I’d brought my 5-year-old daughter, Catherine, with me to work. Just minutes before we had to leave, she made a mold of her face with green silly putty. I gave her a quick scrub, but she still looked a little green and plastic with tendrils of green putty around her hairline. When I brought her in, work came to a crashing stop as my kind co-workers tried every skin cleanser they could think of, plus a few they definitely shouldn’t have thought of. By the time Linda walked in, all traces of silly putty were gone, and Catherine no longer looked plastic. She looked worse. My normally pretty little girl had a grey-green skin tone best described as “overripe corpse.” “Hi, everyone!” Linda said. “Is Anneli’s dau…” Her eyes widened as she saw Catherine.

I jumped in as though everything were normal, “Hi, Linda! Yes, this is Catherine.”

Linda recovered her poise, “Hi, sweetheart. Nice to meet you.” she said.

“Hi,” said Catherine, scratching her face.

“Uhhhh, I’ll see you all later,” she said as she bolted back into her office.

Later, I could tell she was dying to ask me what terrible disease Catherine had and, more importantly, whether it was contagious. But she was too gracious to pry. I couldn’t think of a graceful way to bring it up, so I let her assume I was struggling bravely on in the face of calamity.

But that was a long time ago, and now I have a new boss. When I met her, I brilliantly said, “Hello!” Then my mind went completely blank, so I just continued awkwardly into the kitchen. So much for dazzling her with my witty conversation. But no worries, I’m sure I’ll be making an impression soon.

Anneli Byrd is an academic adviser in Weber State University’s Student Success Center.

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