THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Thursday, March 9, 1995 TAG: 9503090407
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Column
SOURCE: Guy Friddell
LENGTH: Medium: 60 lines
Every firm has a realignment now and then, and you can bet your bottle cap collection or your sister's paper dolls from the Sears Catalog on one sure thing any time these newspapers indulge in one.
And that is that Guy Friddell will wind up with three or four new bosses without losing any old ones.
Which explains why, at last count, he - or I, let's get out of this third-person enwoofment - had 48 bosses, 29 of them women.
That has a bright side. Nobody is sure who should ``look after'' or, as some few put it, ``look out for,'' me. If I weren't such a responsible youth, I could play whaley around here and none would be wiser.
There's one drawback to the multiboss setup. How in the name of Emily Post do you greet your boss upon meeting him or her - or, in my case, them - in the hall the second time in the morning.
First time's easy. A ``Hi!'' will do or, more expansive, ``How's it going, old sport?'' or, showing concern, ``What in the world did you eat that made you break out in green and purple spots?'' or, it being a young woman, something cheerful, ``Nice knees!'' - in which case you'd better buy a ticket for the next plane to Tierra del Fuego. One friend said he made a clucking noise like telling a horse to giddyap. ``I'll tell you another thing,'' he said. ``I'm not going to do it ever again.''
Another said that once, unable to think of anything to say as the boss approached, he, in a fit of inspiration, hit his forehead with the palm of his hand and turned the other way as if he had just remembered a vital paper to fetch.
Did it work? I asked.
Pretty well, he said, except that the third time they met the boss asked: ``Did you find it?'' And he, in a stupor, said, ``What?''
``What you went back for this morning?'' said the boss, wishing he hadn't brought it up. And my friend, in a panic, replied, ``The sardine sandwich I brought from home and left on a seat in the foyer.''
What made him do that? I asked.
``Who knows?'' he said. ``I haven't had a sardine sandwich since the sixth grade. I always hated 'em. More than ever now.''
On the second time, some merely nod, or extend an index finger and stick up a thumb and make a clicking noise as if firing a bull's eye.
One friend said he didn't make a dumb clicking noise. ``I say PING!'' he said. A standby is, ``Aha, we meet again!''
A veteran, smiling, cries: ``See you again!'' Another, on being asked, turned as gray as a wad of gum stuck under a movie seat. ``I just recall saying to him `We've got to stop meeting like this!' ''
``It's only inane,'' I told him. ``I've done worse.''
Once, seeing a boss of bosses coming, I bowed my head as if in deep thought and, always inclined to wobble, plowed into his midsection.
``Don't apologize,'' he said. ``I should have expected it.''
If you have solutions, write me. Or call. by CNB