The Art of Fanny Patting

I work at a facility that borders the world of for profit and non-profit. My contribution to The Facility happens to be on the non-profit side of things. For those of you who have never worked for a non-profit you are probably making more money than I am, so good for you. For those of you who have done time on the non-profit treadmill, you have probably spent time mastering the art of, what I like to refer to as, fanny patting.

Fanny patting is a careful blend of gratitude meshed with appreciation and topped with a sprinkle of pure ass kissing. I found this difficult to do when I first arrived into the world of non-profits, because after all I am a punk and I don’t kiss anyone’s ass. Over time, I observed my peers as they instructed me on the etiquette of fanny patting, and I discovered that it is not so much a means of groveling, but rather a finely tuned talent such as playing the guitar or lip syncing like a pop diva.

In the world of non-profits you deal with a lot of people such as colleagues, vendors, volunteers, etc. Those people, you don’t have to pat fanny with, in fact, in some cases, you can treat them like shit if that’s your bag. The fanny patting comes into play with the other folks you end up dealing with: the Rich People. Without Rich People, non-profits wouldn’t exist, then again, neither would the American poverty structure or the puppet government that caters to the Rich People, but what can you do. It’s not like voting helps. Anyways, Rich People need a shitload of fanny patting.

Some folks are generous to a fault and give modestly expecting nothing in return and wanting absolutely no notoriety. Unfortunately, it’s not often that I get to deal with those people, no, I deal with the people who need to be coddled, congratulated, and told that the organization and The Facility would shrivel up and die if it wasn’t for them. The Rich People are further divided into various sects, and I always end up with The Clueless.

The Clueless are the ones you explain something to 5,000 times and they still don’t fucking get it! If you ever see me at a bar slamming shots of Jack while eating happy hour spinach dip straight from the bread bowl without any crackers, it’s because of these people. Yet, due to their “Rich People” status, I have to pat their fannies like there’s no tomorrow. Thankfully, out of all of the rich people that I currently have to deal with I only have two of The Clueless.

One of the other sects in the Rich People contingent are a group of very wise people who get what I’m trying to accomplish and do a lot to help the cause, and because they do a lot, they expect a thorough ass kissing every time I see them. These are the people in the newspaper smiling while holding a big cardboard check for a donation that they are giving to the charity whose representative is forced to pose in the picture with the Egomeister. Although I appreciate the knowledge the Egomeister brings to the project at times I feel nearly suffocated by their enormous head, which seems to fill the meeting room at a rapid pace.

Despite my management level position, I am often enlisted as the personal assistant to any of the Rich People at a moment’s notice. Not only do I deal with their bizarre personality quirks, I run errands for them, listen to their problems, solve those problems, write their speeches, and on top of all this have to thoroughly pat their fannies while trying to get my own work done.

The benefit is that I’m a patient and somewhat quiet person. I’ve also done many years in the music industry where I learned to deal with the strange demands of weird people, while having my fanny patted sometimes (unfortunately for me it was literally, and not the figurative fanny patting I’m talking about above). However, I managed to make a life out of being all things to clueless, egomeister, sometimes crazy, rich people, and I’m usually rewarded with a borderline, disinterested “thank you” or kissed on both cheeks at the major event, which I’ve put together for them to make them look good in front of their peers.

I do what I do, and I am good at it. I’m a champion fanny patter, not because I was born that way, but because, like a diligent student hungering for the knowledge of the universe, I’ve mastered the art. Tomorrow is another meeting of the Rich People and you can be sure that I will be patting fanny ‘til the cows come home.