I’m sure that anything I write will hurt or offend someone. There are a lot of people out there (around 8 billion, I believe) who believe a lot of things, many of them mutually exclusive. Hell, my existence as a Jew offends and hurts Nazis, who believe that people like me should have been made extinct seventy five years ago. I spent the first part of my career writing comics, which offended people who hated comics.
So what’s important for me is that I write things I’m proud of and can stand behind, that I’m a responsible author, and that I’m always prepared to listen to people. I owe my responsibility to the story, to making it the best that I can, so that the fraction of the 8 billion people who like my stuff can read it and enjoy it.
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My boss doesn’t take me seriously because I’m the youngest in the office by a decade and spend most of my time making his life hell (unrelated problems).
Yesterday he asked me to help him with a problem with a program we use but wasn’t actually listening to me when I tried to help, so it wasn’t working. He asked who the expert on this program was in our office and I told him it was me. He asked who the expert was within the organisation and I told him it was me. He sent me out of his office saying he would call IT to fix it. So I very patiently went back to my desk, where my phone rang a minute later, with IT asking me to help someone who had a problem with the program.
The sheer unadulterated joy I felt making direct eye contact with my manager through the glass wall of his office whilst I answered his phone call will fuel me for WEEKS.
i cannot stand this i keep seeing op’s face like this in my mind
