Mixing Business with Pleasure is Bad
By Susan Mercedes. Filed in Family, Friends, Health, Work |
It’s no secret. I’m an executive at a company. With that position comes a level of professionalism that I maintain in my work life.
There are times when I must mix my work life with my social life. I have several friendships at work that extend outside the workplace. One particular example is my friend at work. I set him up with my aesthetician who I’ve known for years and is a dear friend. She handles my obsession with body hair…or lack of. Evidently I should be a matchmaker because they have been together ever since I arranged their first meeting over two years ago.
But that’s not my point. What I’m trying to share is when I mix business with pleasure. Prime example is at my company party.
Again, as an executive I am expected to mingle with all employees. I actually love this part of my job. Who am I kidding? I love all parts of my job. Really, I do.
My company recently held our annual summer party. We all get together with our families and mingle, eat, play, dance, laugh, drink! I did all but the dance part this year. Obviously I brought Elle, my darling 10 year old. She loves going to these events too. Mostly because of the rides and kid activities.
This year we arrived fashionably late. Large groups of people congregated not far from the bar area on the patio. Elle and I joined them. As we were standing around talking more people joined the group. Again, this was a large group.
Two seconds later, I realized the danger of mixing business with pleasure.
Elle: HEY MOM *pointing to my long time friend/aesthetician who just walked up with her boyfriend*, THERE’S YOUR WAXER!
Naturally, at that very moment, there was a lull in the multiple conversations within the group. Everyone turned to look at me.
I laughed and realized there are some things you don’t want your employees to know. My personal maintenance routine is one of them.
But hell, hair free is my obsession. And now many people in my company know where I stand. Or, more appropriately, on who’s table I lay back on.
