Drinks with the Boss

We had a new guy start last week. This guy happens to think that he's been hired as our "boss" but will actually be viewed as more of the "resident raise-giver" to our team. We'll let him think that we're following his leadership as long as it keeps the money coming in. Hey, reviews are coming up in April. He won't know any different than what we tell him, so, it's totally win-win. He seems pretty cool by most accounts, young and single, so he fits into our group. Being new in town, and with no other plans by his own admission, he invited his new team out for drinks tonight. He even offered to pick up the tab! Bless his heart, he hasn't been with the company long enough to know that the tolerance level of a group increases dramatically after working for our company, and that his bill would probably come close to his mortgage payment! And yet he didn't even blink. I think I saw him swallow hard, but no blinking, I'm sure of it. Anyway, in the course of the conversation, I inadvertantly managed to become "that girl." I have somewhat of a sarcastic sense of humor, but sometimes I do it so well that it comes across as serious and some people, especially new people, don't realize I'm joking. So, unfortunately, the conversation of the evening revolved around work and the office, even though we'd make failed attempts to really pretend to care about each other's lives (you know, asking questions about family members and then tuning out the answers). As we spoke about work, something came up about a strategy we're working on and the work I've put into it, and he made the comment of "you're my new favorite person." And I quickly quipped, "well, I always want to be the boss' favorite," which was supposed to be sarcastic but came across as more of a brown-nosing comment. Ugh. There was nothing I could do to save it. It was out there and lost in the recorded minutes of the conversation. I felt like the personified character on all of the teenie bopper tv shows - you know, the girl with long, mousey straight black hair, a Catholic school girl skirt, glasses, and a stack of books in hand, practically riding piggy back on her teacher not to miss a move. Complaining about an A when she feels she should get the A+. Oh well, he's only been with us for a week. Over time, he'll find that that's not really the case. I really don't care if he chooses me to be his favorite as long as - you guessed it - I get a good raise every April.