Gum Would Be Perfection.
The senior partner in my office of whom I am most afraid just stepped into my office and gave me what I'm sure is a heinous assignment to look through some depositions. This is the type of man who makes me want to wet my pants every time he talks to me. He is 70ish, tall, imposing, a low talker, and he can go from barking orders to subtle mockery to flippant witticism all at the drop of a hat. He is brilliant, and he is intimidating, and I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm a ninny. In fact, he gives nicknames to everyone in the office, and I've heard on good authority that mine is "Cheerleader."
So after he gives me this terrible assignment, I respond, "Great." Not no problem, not I'll get on it immediately, but I actually express that I find the prospect "Great." I feel like Chandler Bing in that episode where he's trapped in the ATM vestibule with Jill Goodacre: "Gum would be perfection." Going through box after box of depositions, Mr. Hartridge, would be perfection! Please leave now before I pee my chair. I can't help it, he's terrifying.