You Keep Blowing the Smoke Up My Ass, I'll Keep Bending Over Backwards

i've not made it a secret that, as of late, i really don't like my job. the work is tedious and unfulfilling and while i'm very fond of almost all my co-workers, most of the people i deal with (outside the office; on the phones) are incredibly stupid, uncooperative and surly, to boot. That's corporate america, kids.

every so often, though, there's one person that recognizes the amount of work you do and tells you how much they appreciate it. there's one lady, in particular, who's always incredibly sweet and convivial when she calls. she calls me "hon" or "sweetie" or "dear" and never fails to tell me how wonderful and helpful and hard working she thinks i am. no matter what how small the task, she praises me like i just resurrected Sheila E's career. it's almost sickening how much she gushes, via e-mail, fax and over the phone.

the result: i can't do enough for her.

i know she treats everyone in my department the same way(they've told me), and that my reaction is exactly why she does it, but i just don't care. call me simple, but if everyone i encountered was just half as nice as she, maybe i wouldn't care how much i can't stand this place.