My supervisor? His name is Kosta. He’s Greek. Which has nothing at all to do with anything, but yeah. Greek. And he has very animated facial expressions, which is horrible for someone like me who picks up other people’s mannerisms all too easily. Every time I have a conversation with the guy, I feel my face start to twitch.
He transferred to our hotel just over a year ago. Just before the drama with my maybe-someday-ex-husband. I’m not sure if one had anything to do with the other, but let me just say this: I. Hated. Him. Kosta, that is. Not my sorta-husband. Although, sometimes I hate him, too.
Kosta eased into the new job with about as much finesse as a tornado. He grabbed our department with both hands and shook us like a despised rag doll. It was all too much too soon. With him, there was no stinkin’ honeymoon. He felt like things should be done a certain way and we should’ve started yesterday.
I wanted to shove a pen through his eye.
I’m a good employee. I’m knowledgeable, efficient, and a bunch of other synonyms. After Kosta’s first month, he had pulled me into his office on three different occasions to lecture me about God only knows. Which is about three times more than anyone else in the ten years I’ve been here. After that first month, he hadn’t made many friends.
Today? He has somehow managed to worm his way into my top three favorite people. I don’t know when or how the hell it happened (I thought I’d hate the guy until I finally ran his ass off), but now I can’t imagine not working with him. More than that- I can’t imagine not having him as a friend. (Wow, what a sap.)
(And it’s about to get worse.)
He’s one of the funniest, smartest, most thoughtful people I’ve ever met. We talk about everything, yell at each other often, give each other shit for every little thing, and we laugh. Constantly.
I don’t know when I stopped hating him, but my God, am I glad I did. He still makes me crazy. Hell, I still make him crazy. But at some point while I wasn’t paying attention, I let down my guard and we bonded. Don’t tell anyone.
Last night, he turned to me at work and said, “I’m gonna need a beer after this. Interested?” To which I responded, “Um, YES.” We left work together at ten. I followed him to the bar and I thought, we’ll have a quick drink, I’ll be home before midnight. It would leave me plenty of time to blog! (And, yes, I realize “blog” is a noun and not a verb. Get over it.)
At two-thirty a.m., after hours of talking and laughing, we said goodnight. And even though it made me a teeny, tiny bit sad to realize that once again I wouldn’t finish what I started, I was (am) perfectly content in my failure.