Smile Police

I encountered another one of them today.

“My name is [redacted], and my job is to make sure everybody around here smiles. I’ve never seen a smile on your face. I want to see you smiling from now on.” Followed by the inevitable handshake.

I was using the bathroom, for heaven’s sake. Just left the room, plowing on through the hallway back to my cubicle. I heard someone call “Hey, you,” but it’s not uncommon in these halls to wander through conversations, so I kept on going. But no. She emerged from her office insisting on shaking my hand and wanting to see that smile.

Pardon the suspected Asberger’s sufferer who just left the restroom where he sat for a few moments peace while reading a little of Rumpole of the Bailey for not wearing a smile on his face as he walked.

I’ll smile when I want to, thank you very much.

I know it’s not meant as an affront, or a challenge, or as a put-down. She’s spreading cheer. I appreciate that. But am I really required, now, to wear a smile each and every time I see her. Or each and every time I’m awake? Maybe the former, but certainly not the latter. I’m no Skippy.

I do smile. A lot. And sometimes if – pardon my French here – I’ve just sent a really good poop to the sewers, I will smile after leaving the bathroom. Just not today when I got caught by the Smile Police.