Tuesday is my FT job’s work-at-home day.
My manager told me yesterday that I’d have a “messy, cut and pasted” 10-page document to edit this morning.
I sent her two emails last night—one via Outlook, the other by gmail—requesting that she call me when the document was ready. This, so I don’t have to plant myself in front of the computer—waiting, waiting.
Not having received a phone call, I checked my email at 10:15. She had sent a message with the document attached at 9:30. I responded (at 10:15), “OK. Here goes.”
She called me at 11, telling me that I hadn’t attached the edited document to my 10:15 message, and inquired where it was.
The document turned out to be a particularly messy 15 pages, as expected, and yet she expected that I had it finished in 45 minutes.
Remember Cool Hand Luke? “What we have here is a failure to communicate.”