My friend is called in for her annual review. They tell her she’s
been a good girl. No, sorry. They give her a grade. Good. She is
Good. She asks what does that mean? And they say it’s like this—
you are a builder, and we asked you to build a staircase, and you
built a staircase exactly to specs. Now, you could have been Great.
You could have put in an escalator. Or better yet, you could have
invented an elevator. That would have been Exceptional. So my
friend smiles, because you have to thank your boss where she
works; it is an important part of company culture to show
appreciation. And she leaves with a raise that will not cover the
increase in health insurance premiums for next year. If you think
there’s a punch line, there’s not. Women are Exceptional at
sublimating rage, which is better than Good and better than Great.
We have improved year over year with practice. We squeeze our
talent down in our cheeks like a wombat and it comes out shaped
like a cube, which is something like a diamond, but no one
confuses this shit for a gem.