Work for You Means Work for Me

I decided today why I don’t ever delegate tasks to other people. It’s actually a question on the Obsessive-Compulsive Personality Disorder interview...”Do you have difficulty delegating tasks to others..?” or something like that. I would certainly say YES to this question; however, I do NOT have that disorder. Actually, some people would laugh at the thought of me even attempting to pretend that I did have that disorder (i.e., my advisor, Josh, who is convinced I have the lowest level of Conscientiousness in the history of graduate students). Josh won’t read this, which is good. As I write it, though, I’m thinking about how conscientious he is and acknowledging the fact that he would search for my blog on Google for hours if he heard that I mentioned him in it. So, those of you who do read my blog and know Josh, shutup. And no, I’m not going to throw him a compliment at the end of this paragraph as if I am scared. Not my style.

Anyway, I hate delegating tasks to others for fear that they will do it incorrectly. Why? Because they do…every damn time. I’m reminded of this frequently and then kick myself in the vagine for being stupid and forgetting the rule. Forgetting the rule just makes more work for me, which obviously brings us to the title of my blog: Work for you means work for me. What a shitty concept…really. I’m by no stretch of imagination the most diligent ant in the colony, but I do sometimes feel like I’m shiftin’ dirt from my pile and people are just pilin’ it on when they’re facing the south end of my north bound ass.

Exhibit (no letter, because it will be the only one in this blog).

I took my team to Luella’s BBQ tonight for dinner. $11 limit including drinks…yes, I didn’t stutter children. No, you can’t use someone else’s money if they don’t use all of theirs.

“Coach, she doesn’t like Luella’s.”

“I could care less.”

That’s pretty much how it went. Food was good, I thought, but I do come from a place where free meals are good. Apparently, that isn’t a concept that has drifted down to scholarship athletes, but none of my concepts about how to cut hard, defend, and communicate drift down either, so I shouldn’t be surprised. I also shouldn’t be surprised that work for them (which was the easiest job ever) meant more work for me. By work for them, I mean, I give you $100 and you eat for 5 days. That’s $20 a day if my math is good…certainly not Rachel Ray material, but sufficient when you have a grocery store less than 3 minutes away and are surrounded by places that cater to poor college students. Come to find out when the Luella hating girls practiced after their day off, most of them ate only one meal prior to the 2 PM practice and one of our girls actually ate nothing. So, in a hasty, emotional moment, BB, our head coach, demanded that they return $60 for 3 days worth of meals and that we “hold their hands” to each of their meals for the next 3 days (this means I hold their hands because I'm in charge of team meals). OH JOY! To BB…thanks for taking a stand in my honor. To the girls…I hate all of you.

Keep in mind, I would not say anything in my blog that I wouldn’t say to the faces of the people in my blog. I can promise you that. If you read my last blog, you know I asked a man with horns why he had horns. Well today, as we left Luella’s and all I could think about was how giving my players $100 to eat ended up being me eating 3 meals a day with them, I told them, “Meet me at McDonalds tomorrow morning at 9, and…I hate all of you.” They laughed, and I kicked myself in the vagine.