guilt
Everyone who works in an office has one. That woman who is so incessantly annoying that it's all you can do to not punch her in the neck on a daily basis.
The one who feels it necessary to share EVERY SINGLE DETAIL of her life with you. How many people helped her move in 1989. How far her parents lived from her grandparents when she was in grade school. Why she chose to bring her red umbrella to work instead of her black one. How much she's paid for every bed she's owned in her life.
The one who talks as loudly as possible while on the phone so everyone can hear how friendly and important she [thinks she] is. Even though her job description basically consists of ordering lunches, answering phones and typing up meeting notes.
"OH, HI JOE! HOW ARE YOU?? OH, I'M GOOD, I'M GOOD, THANK YOU! HAD A LITTLE HEAD COLD THREE WEEKS AGO, BUT I'M HANGING IN THERE! WHAT? WHAT? OH - HAA HAHAHA HA HA! YOU'RE TEEER-RIBLE! YEAH, YEAH! IT'S TRUE! ANY-WHO, I NEED TO ORDER SOME BOXED LUNCHES FOR TOMORROW! WHAT? OH - STOP! YOU'RE THE WORST!!!"
And I have a very strong feeling that half the time, she's phone-faking. You know, just pretending she's talking to someone. Like I do on my cell phone when I see someone really good-looking walking towards me on the sidewalk (cuz I come off much more charming and irresistable when I'm throwing back my head in fake laughter or acting like I'm working out a complicated business deal). Or when I see a homeless person begging (I just feel like the biggest piece of shit EVER when I say no to a homeless person).
Or she'll do the same thing talking to her kids.
"OH, HI SWEETIE! HOW WAS SCHOOL? WHAT? WHAT? NO *****, DADDY IS GOING TO STOP AND GET KFC ON THE WAY HOME FROM WORK SWEETIE! WHAT? COLE SLAW? COLE SLAW??! OH - YOU'RE TEEER-RIBLE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?? WHAT? YOU'RE WATCHING WHAT? WHAT'S THAT? WELL, I DON'T KNOW IF I APPROVE OF THAT! THAT DR. PHIL ISN'T ON TODAY IS HE? WHAT? ARE YOU GOING TO PRACTICE THE PIANO SWEETIE? WHAT? OH STOP! YOU'RE THE WORST! WHAT???"
And so on. My feeble attempts to describe the conversations really don't convey the nails-on-a-chalkboard pain of listening to it ALL DAY LONG.
Needless to say, I hate her. One day she wore her hair in pigtails to work for christ's sake. She's in her 30's! Today she's wearing her Freddy Krueger sweater. You know, black and red stripes. Every time I see it I think of "Nightmare on Elm Street." Except instead of long razor fingers she has press-on-nails, half of which have fallen off.
So today a meeting was cancelled and the boxed lunches meant for the meeting were put in the breakroom for all of us to eat. As I walked into the breakroom I had to sigh when I saw her sitting there reading her pathetic Shirley McLaine book. I grabbed a turkey croissant lunch and the newspaper and sat down as far away from her as possible. Things weren't too bad, besides the fact that she would break out into gales of laughter every few minutes and then tentatively glance up at me to see if I was going to inquire about what was so funny. I kept my eyes planted firmly on a story about Mark Cohen's new album. You know, the "Walking in Memphis" guy? After all, anything is more interesting than having a conversation with her. ANYTHING.
Our interiors library intern walks into the breakroom and asks what the strange salad in my lunch tray is. I say that I think it's cous-cous, but I'm not sure. Immediately Freddy Krueger pipes up.
"AHAHA HAHA - I HAD A BOXED LUNCH TOO! I JUST FINISHED MINE ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO! MINE WAS TURKEY ON WHEAT! YOU KNOW WHAT I DID? HUH?? I SWITCHED OUT MY COUS-COUS FOR THE NOODLE SALAD IN ANOTHER LUNCH! THE NOODLE SALAD WAS GOOD! I LIKE NOODLES!! AND MINE HAD A LITTLE BROWNIE! DO YOU HAVE THAT LITTLE BROWNIE TOO? OOP - NOPE, YOU HAVE A COOKIE. OOH - IS THAT A PEANUT BUTTER COOKIE? YOU BETTER KEEP AN EYE ON THAT MISTER OR I'LL GRAB IT WHEN YOU'RE NOT LOOKING! YES SIR, I LOVE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES! ISN'T THAT LUNCH GOOD? I JUST FINISHED MINE FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO!! FIFTEEN!!!!"
I look straight into her eyes and say in my deadliest tone, "Fascinating." Hold the look for two or three seconds, then slowly lower my gaze back to the newspaper. I sense her still looking at me. I look up into her sad face and she says in a hurt voice, "BOY, YOU'RE NICE TODAY."
So I apologized. And now I feel guilty every time I walk by her. Goddamnit. Why, why, WHY?! Will she ever feel guilty for making my work life a living hell for the past six months? No!
UGH - sometimes I wish I wasn't a stupid sensitive Cancer....
The one who feels it necessary to share EVERY SINGLE DETAIL of her life with you. How many people helped her move in 1989. How far her parents lived from her grandparents when she was in grade school. Why she chose to bring her red umbrella to work instead of her black one. How much she's paid for every bed she's owned in her life.
The one who talks as loudly as possible while on the phone so everyone can hear how friendly and important she [thinks she] is. Even though her job description basically consists of ordering lunches, answering phones and typing up meeting notes.
"OH, HI JOE! HOW ARE YOU?? OH, I'M GOOD, I'M GOOD, THANK YOU! HAD A LITTLE HEAD COLD THREE WEEKS AGO, BUT I'M HANGING IN THERE! WHAT? WHAT? OH - HAA HAHAHA HA HA! YOU'RE TEEER-RIBLE! YEAH, YEAH! IT'S TRUE! ANY-WHO, I NEED TO ORDER SOME BOXED LUNCHES FOR TOMORROW! WHAT? OH - STOP! YOU'RE THE WORST!!!"
And I have a very strong feeling that half the time, she's phone-faking. You know, just pretending she's talking to someone. Like I do on my cell phone when I see someone really good-looking walking towards me on the sidewalk (cuz I come off much more charming and irresistable when I'm throwing back my head in fake laughter or acting like I'm working out a complicated business deal). Or when I see a homeless person begging (I just feel like the biggest piece of shit EVER when I say no to a homeless person).
Or she'll do the same thing talking to her kids.
"OH, HI SWEETIE! HOW WAS SCHOOL? WHAT? WHAT? NO *****, DADDY IS GOING TO STOP AND GET KFC ON THE WAY HOME FROM WORK SWEETIE! WHAT? COLE SLAW? COLE SLAW??! OH - YOU'RE TEEER-RIBLE! WHAT ARE YOU DOING NOW?? WHAT? YOU'RE WATCHING WHAT? WHAT'S THAT? WELL, I DON'T KNOW IF I APPROVE OF THAT! THAT DR. PHIL ISN'T ON TODAY IS HE? WHAT? ARE YOU GOING TO PRACTICE THE PIANO SWEETIE? WHAT? OH STOP! YOU'RE THE WORST! WHAT???"
And so on. My feeble attempts to describe the conversations really don't convey the nails-on-a-chalkboard pain of listening to it ALL DAY LONG.
Needless to say, I hate her. One day she wore her hair in pigtails to work for christ's sake. She's in her 30's! Today she's wearing her Freddy Krueger sweater. You know, black and red stripes. Every time I see it I think of "Nightmare on Elm Street." Except instead of long razor fingers she has press-on-nails, half of which have fallen off.
So today a meeting was cancelled and the boxed lunches meant for the meeting were put in the breakroom for all of us to eat. As I walked into the breakroom I had to sigh when I saw her sitting there reading her pathetic Shirley McLaine book. I grabbed a turkey croissant lunch and the newspaper and sat down as far away from her as possible. Things weren't too bad, besides the fact that she would break out into gales of laughter every few minutes and then tentatively glance up at me to see if I was going to inquire about what was so funny. I kept my eyes planted firmly on a story about Mark Cohen's new album. You know, the "Walking in Memphis" guy? After all, anything is more interesting than having a conversation with her. ANYTHING.
Our interiors library intern walks into the breakroom and asks what the strange salad in my lunch tray is. I say that I think it's cous-cous, but I'm not sure. Immediately Freddy Krueger pipes up.
"AHAHA HAHA - I HAD A BOXED LUNCH TOO! I JUST FINISHED MINE ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO! MINE WAS TURKEY ON WHEAT! YOU KNOW WHAT I DID? HUH?? I SWITCHED OUT MY COUS-COUS FOR THE NOODLE SALAD IN ANOTHER LUNCH! THE NOODLE SALAD WAS GOOD! I LIKE NOODLES!! AND MINE HAD A LITTLE BROWNIE! DO YOU HAVE THAT LITTLE BROWNIE TOO? OOP - NOPE, YOU HAVE A COOKIE. OOH - IS THAT A PEANUT BUTTER COOKIE? YOU BETTER KEEP AN EYE ON THAT MISTER OR I'LL GRAB IT WHEN YOU'RE NOT LOOKING! YES SIR, I LOVE PEANUT BUTTER COOKIES! ISN'T THAT LUNCH GOOD? I JUST FINISHED MINE FIFTEEN MINUTES AGO!! FIFTEEN!!!!"
I look straight into her eyes and say in my deadliest tone, "Fascinating." Hold the look for two or three seconds, then slowly lower my gaze back to the newspaper. I sense her still looking at me. I look up into her sad face and she says in a hurt voice, "BOY, YOU'RE NICE TODAY."
So I apologized. And now I feel guilty every time I walk by her. Goddamnit. Why, why, WHY?! Will she ever feel guilty for making my work life a living hell for the past six months? No!
UGH - sometimes I wish I wasn't a stupid sensitive Cancer....
posted by denverco at 12:58 PM
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