When Darcy worked for me, she asked me 10x a day for information that:
- She could have looked up herself, and
- I had to look up instead
When she was new to her job, I didn't mind, but as the years went by I became a tad resentful.
"I am not your google bitch," I growled into the phone when she called from a bar, wanting to know which was the deepest Great Lake.
Darcy is gone, but my scars remain. Just this morning I had to google something for Veronica, who, like Darcy before her, found it easier to type her search criteria into IM instead of the Google toolbar.
What tipped me over the edge, though, was when a buddy asked me where a new Indian restaurant is. He emailed me from his office at Google.
I'm going to interpret this as my being especially renowned for my search prowess—and not as my having the laziest friends on Google Earth.