I’ve always had a knack for putting my foot in my mouth.
Like the time I told the sorority girl whose house I wanted to pledge that their decorations resembled “shit.”
Or the time I pointed to my co-worker’s stomach and said, “Oh, I thought you already had the baby.” And she had.
Or the time I tweeted that my date was a big geek and he read it. On my own freaking phone.
But today, instead of mere social humiliation and a lost sorority bid, this acute case of foot-in-mouth disease could potentially cost me my job.
I manage the Twitter account at my company — a very conservative business where psalms are regularly posted on bulletin boards and folks use the phrase “rear end” in place of “butt,” or heaven forbid, “ass.”
I typically tweet about boring business stuff like the stock market and small business loans – crap that makes my right brain want to eat my left brain then vomit it into the toilet and flush.
I realize the job is probably not a good fit for me, a godless miscreant who blogs about sex and uses the word “cocksucker” several times a day. Nevertheless, it pays the bills and offers pretty good bennies, so getting fired was not part of my game plan.
Back to story. I also tweet throughout the day on my @singlegirlie account, which, like my blog, is totally uncensored and replete with TMI. I use different apps for each Twitter account so as not to mix them up.
Today, I mixed them up.
I tweeted something entirely inappropriate to the business account.
Minutes passed without me realizing what I’d done. Then I noticed three new messages in my work e-mail, telling me three people replied to my company’s tweet. I opened one of them.
“Oooops!” it said simply, from @someguy. That’s weird.
I opened the next, from @somegirl: “I hadn’t realized that was a serious issue for [company name].” Hmm, is she responding to my last management tip?
And the next, from @oneofyourclientsidiot: “Think this may be the wrong account.” Wait a second…
I then saw the tweet being replied to:
I shit a submarine.
I mean, it was true. I’d noticed earlier in the bathroom that my nipple erections were glaring brighter than the neon-lit boobies at the Las Vegas Hooters. But my company’s clients probably didn’t need to know that.
I deleted the post immediately, but clearly a few individuals saw it. And it wouldn’t disappear from my HootSuite stream. It just sat there, staring at me like my headlights were staring at my office mates today.
Cocksucker, cocksucker, cocksucker!
One of the VPs at my company tweets. What if he saw it? And that other dude on the sales team — he tweets, too. What if he saw it? And my arch nemesis, who constantly competes with me on who’s more social media savvy — he tweets, too! Holy mother of fuck.
Please, please say these people are not online. I wanted to ram my head through my double monitor.
What if my boss finds out? Especially after she just granted me the promotion that I spent months begging for, reasoning that I deserve it in part because of my stellar work ethic.
I immediately began concocting excuses. Among them:
- The account was hacked. Fortunately, due to my quick thinking and response mechanism, I swiftly changed the password and the account is now safe and 100% hack-proof. So in actuality, I saved the day!
- It wasn’t me. I was wearing a bra that day — my new pink Victoria’s Secret racerback with extra padding and front closure. (This one could have holes in it as many co-workers surely could testify to the contrary.)
- It was Arch Nemesis. He has the username and password. I noticed he wasn’t wearing a bra today and he totally has man-boobs. So you do the math.
I sought advice from my @singlegirlie Twitter followers and they were extremely helpful. The ever-so-clever @berzerkeley advised me to acknowledge the situation and deflect it with humor, as the Red Cross did recently.
I did just that, saying the tweet was removed and not to worry, we were in fact “very well-supported” (bra pun FTW!).
However, I did not admit to mixing up the accounts, because if called on it I might have to resort to one of the excuses above. I don’t work at a cool, laid back organization like Google, Southwest Airlines or Hustler.
I know the execs at my work, and they would not just laugh it off. Meetings would be called. Special task forces would be assigned. New social media policies would be drafted, then re-drafted, then re-drafted, then re-drafted. My promotion would be rescinded. I’d be burned at the stake.
It has been 39 hours now, and no one at work has mentioned it. But my boss is on vacation. What if there is a message waiting in her inbox? Perhaps this is an opportune time to find God and pray like fuck.
In hindsight, I suppose it could have been worse. I could’ve tweeted a link to my blog, where I post anonymously for good reason. Or I could’ve tweeted my original thought, which was:
There’s always a bright side.
Categories: Something is Wrong with Me