Saturday, June 30, 2007

True Story

So we hired a special consultant to help us out on a job this week, and he came out on Tuesday. I met him, and he seemed nice enough, but something about him bugged me. I couldn't tell quite what, maybe the long hipppy-esque hair, but I wasn't sure. As I got to working with him he seemed like a nice enough guy; willing to work hard and good at his job.

So the second night on the job we're talking about a variety of things and he mentions: "So I went to graduate school at Stanford."


It all made sense then; I sensed his Stanfurdness, and it bugged me. Out of professional courtesy, I forced myself to not respond with a "Fuck Stanfurd" when he told me. But I could only barely hold it in.

1 comment:

Reva said...

I admire your restraint. I know what you mean, I am forced to work with people who go there too, and I try to be nice to them, but I don't think it's a coincidence that my least favorite summers happen to go there...

Go Bears!