Piece of Cake
"Why are we here again?"
Carter just handed him the sheaf of papers that had been sitting on the briefing room table when she'd arrived.
Avoiding Sexual Harassment in the Workplace.
"What's this?" O'Neill flipped through a few pages of the hand out and blanched. He glared first at the pamphlet, and then at Carter, who had lured him to the briefing room under the guise of a short meeting and refreshments. He set the packet on the table, and then tried to catch the Major's eye.
She assiduously ignored him.
He tapped the papers, still looking at her.
She found the screen at the front of the room to be interesting.
He poked her shoulder.
He saw her hesitate, her head drop a little, and the tiniest sigh before she turned her head towards him. "Yes, sir?"
"You lied to me."
"I lied?"
"You told me this would be a short meeting and that there would be cake."
"I said that you'd just have to sit through the presentation in order to get cake. I never lied."
"Stretching the truth counts as lying, Major."
She didn't answer.
"Carter."
She rolled her shoulders, shook her hair, resituated herself in her chair, and ignored him.
"Carter." He lightly kicked the back of her chair. When she still didn't answer, he kicked it again, a little harder. Finally, he put his whole foot on the back of her chair and applied sudden, harsh pressure.
She jerked forward, then swiveled. "Yes, sir?"
"Didn't you learn anything in Sunday School?" He held up the papers. "Liars go straight to Hell. This is not going to be a short meeting."
"It could be if you'd just sit still and be quiet, sir."
He frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
She gazed heavenward briefly—as if searching for guidance. Finally, she licked her lips, sucked in a deep breath, and looked him in the eye. "Well, sir. You have a tendency to drag things out."
"Me?" He looked like innocence itself. "Me? No—I don't drag things out."
"What about the negotiations with the Ardura?"
"What about them?"
"We'd just gotten to the final page of the treaty with them, and you pointed out that we really needed to add a clause stating that they weren't allowed to wear their ceremonial headdresses to Earth again."
He grinned, remembering. Finally, he quirked his head to the side and gave a little half shrug. "Well—you'd seen the hats. They were hideous. And the one guy sitting next to me—with the—" he motioned outward with both hands from the sides of his head, depicting with perfection the man's headdress. "Horns."
"They weren't horns. The Ardura believed that imitating nature was the highest form of worship. He was wearing a collection of twigs and sticks taken from his favorite trees."
"They were horns." O'Neill pointed at his face. "And that guy's totally poked me in the eye."
"It may have grazed you—"
"It poked me in the eye, Major, and then he blessed me with the joy that was having his horn in my eye."
"He was sharing his culture with you."
"He was sharing something." The Colonel smiled in his self-satisfied manner. "Some might say he was horny."
Carter rolled her eyes and indicated the packet of papers in front of her on the table. "And that's why we're here."
"What, we're here because that guy was horny?"
She traced the title of the seminar with her finger meaningfully, while looking at him.
He gleefully ignored her. "What does that guy's horniness have to do with Sexual Harassment in the Workplace?"
"I'd say that was ironic." Came a voice from the doorway. Daniel crossed the room and sat down in the space across from the Colonel at the table, followed by Teal'c.
"What's ironic, Daniel?" O'Neill queried.
"Well, we're here because you keep making inappropriate comments to people, and I walk in to hear you making inappropriate comments to people."
Sam groaned and leaned over, burying her head in her folder arms on the table.
"Wait—" The Colonel leaned forward in his chair. "What was that? We're here because of me?"
Daniel pursed his lips. "You didn't know?"
"No, he didn't know, Daniel." Sam raised her head slightly, so that only her eyes showed. Her muffled voice continued. "And he wasn't supposed to know, remember?"
"Oh—oops." Daniel grimaced, sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. "I guess I forgot about that."
"You did, Daniel Jackson. We discussed this yesterday, after the meeting with General Hammond." Teal'c sighed heavily.
"Well, I thought that once we got here, and he saw the pamphlet and the theme of the seminar, he'd kind of have a clue." Daniel pushed at his glasses and tapped the stapled sheaf of papers in front of him on the table. "I mean, I don't know anyone else on the team that keeps making bonehead remarks."
"I would have said stick head or twig head—but that's just me. Bone head works, too."
"See? There you go again." Daniel gestured with one hand towards the Colonel. "Just like that."
"Okay—so I admit to the one with the Hors d'oeuvre guy."
"Ardura."
"Whatever. But really—what do they know from this?" He pointed at the papers. "It's not like he was offended or anything."
"You told him to put it back in his pants, sir." Carter's voice betrayed her discomfort with the subject.
"I was making a joke."
"Those people segregate their own children into different portions of the house, girls from boys. The entire population prides itself on its purity and moral rectitude. I doubt that dirty jokes go over well on their planet."
"Well then, Daniel, why do they call their planet Ardor?" The Colonel made his point quickly. "I mean, Ardor is generally a term used for passion and heat. Why would the most frigid-cold planet in the galaxy call itself Ardor?"
"Ardur, sir." Sam sighed. "It has a 'u' at the end. Not an 'o'."
"That's simply spelling, Major."
"Oh, good grief." Carter returned her head to the nest of her arms.
"Right." Daniel nodded. "And was it a joke when you told the Draban ambassador that she had all the full frontal support of the Tau'ri people?"
"You saw her." O'Neill's eyes widened, and he ducked his chin slightly. "She needed that support." He lifted his hands in front of him, palms inward, fingers spread. "Really, really needed that support."
"She and her people had just survived a terrible storm. The population had been decimated. We were offering her planet's inhabitants food, medicine, and clothing."
"Yes, well, that particular article of clothing would have been highly supportive. Uplifting, you might say."
Sam groaned again, into her arms.
"A real pick me up for a down trodden couple of folks."
"Sir, please."
"Something to hold her up in times of trial." He grinned, enjoying himself.
"Jack, that's exactly what we're talking about." Daniel leaned his head against the back of his chair. "You just can't go around saying things like that."
"Why not?"
Daniel ran a hand through his hair, making a sound like a cow being strangled. He raised his head, fixing O'Neill with his gaze. "You know the guard at the surface? The one that checks badges before they're swiped through the little card reader."
"Which one?"
"Dark hair—grumpy all the time."
"They're all grumpy. It comes from being boring. Those guys can't take a joke for nothing."
"Well, the one I'm talking about is shorter—" Daniel held up his hand around 5 feet from the floor.
"Oh, the little one—always needs a shave."
"The one you told to use a straight edge razor rather than an electric."
"Oh—yeah—you mean Oscar."
Daniel just stared at the Colonel, his mouth gaping open.
Sam raised her head and gawked at her Superior Officer. Finally, after several tries, she asked, "You call that guard 'Oscar'?"
"Yeah—he's always grouchy—Oscar the Grouch, therefore, he's Oscar."
"The guard you call Oscar is a woman, O'Neill." Teal'c informed him loftily. "She does not appreciate being referred to as 'Oscar'."
It was O'Neill's turn to stare. "That's a chick?"
"Indeed." Teal'c nodded once.
"Wow." His eyes widened, and he sat back in his seat, stunned. "Wow. That's one ugly woman."
"Jack—that's exactly what we're talking about. You just can't say things like that." Daniel tapped the handout. "You have to learn how to control what you say."
"Why? She's gotta know that she's not Miss America."
"Sir, really. That's not kind, and in very poor taste." Major Carter leaned back against her seat, turning to peer at the clock.
"You see, there's part of the problem with this whole Political Correct thing." The Colonel began, "You can't ever refer to anyone by their most obviously distinguishing characteristic. We could have cut out—like—three minutes of chatter there if you'd been able to say, 'that ugly short guard with the chin hair'. I would have known exactly who you meant. it's like Walters—or Harry—what is that little bald tech's name?" He appealed to Carter, who shook her head in confusion.
"Walter Harriman." Daniel supplied.
"Harriman. I have to describe him by saying the 'diminutive follicle challenged male individual of great humoristic talent'. But I just want to call him that 'funny little bald guy'. Why do we do this? Why do we have to say things in certain ways when the more efficient way would be to say it somehow else?"
"Because it's nicer, Jack. Words have meaning, and we need to be sensitive to the meanings of words when they are ascribed to people's cultures, or to their own personas." Daniel spoke as if addressing a convention of preschoolers.
"Well, that's stupid. Take that guy who works in the commissary. The one with the black frames for his bifocals. He's what—three hundred pounds if he's an ounce, right? But the other day, I was talking with someone else and trying to describe him, and had to say things like 'large-boned' and 'good-sized'. If I'd been able to say, 'he's the fat guy with the glasses', we both would have known exactly who I was talking about like that." He snapped his fingers. "It just doesn't make any sense. So I say what I'm thinking. I use words that other people understand immediately. Isn't that the essence of good communication? And yet you lure me here with the promise of dessert in order to teach me how to avoid other people taking offense at what I say."
"Sir, that's not what we did." But Carter's denial fell flat, even to her own ears.
"Yes, it is." The Colonel stood, pushing his chair back with his legs. "And all I have to say is this. People understand me. Not at all like that gobbledy-gook that you're always spouting, Major. And Daniel, you speak twenty-three different languages, but you're constantly having to clarify things. And Teal'c—wow. A few more words might be a good idea."
"I speak when it is appropriate, O'Neill."
"Indeed, you do." The Colonel said. He glared at his three team mates and shoved his hands in his pockets. "So. If you don't mind, I'll be leaving. I'm not going to sit around here and have people tell me how I have to talk."
He stood and stalked out of the room, not noticing that his team had stood and followed him. He marched down the hall to the elevator and punched the buttons for Level 22.
His team took the stairs.
When he walked into the commissary, he was shocked to see his team at the door. Daniel waggled his fingers at him, his face showing chagrin and apology.
"Jack, listen. We shouldn't have submarined you that way. Really. All we wanted to say was this—"
He opened the door to the commissary to reveal practically the entire base inside—the majority of the techs, the infirmary staff, and many of the SG teams well represented. And General Hammond stood next to a cake the size of Alaska.
When they saw O'Neill, they all shouted "Surprise!" and "Happy Birthday!"
The Colonel faltered, then turned to see his team, smiling smugly behind him. He narrowed his eyes at them. "So all that upstairs was—"
"We made it up." Carter grinned. "Although, I must say, sir that it was an enlightening conversation."
"Yeah—we'll talk about it more later." Daniel nodded, his lips pursed. "When it's not your birthday."
"And for the record, Colonel," Carter began, "I didn't lie to you about everything."
"Oh?" O'Neill asked. He held the door open for her to pass through first. "And why do you say that?"
She stopped near the cart, next to General Hammond.
"Well," she said, nodding towards the candles burning on the massive pastry. "I did tell you there would be cake."
