Tidbits

Barbara thinks her fish is smart because he floats to the surface when she gets the food out at the same time every day.  

So Jennifer left her kids alone the other day.  One of the neighbor kids came over and Sebastian ended up with two staples in his head because he "fell off a stool."  Now there is talk at the apartment complex of calling CPS.  

We just taught Barbara how to copy/paste on her computer.  First we had to teach her how to right click.  Forget about keyboard shortcuts.

Barbara is asking Rachel about her grades.  The funny part is, Barbara can’t even pronounce most of the classes she’s asking her about. Microkenomics?  Not sure I’m familiar with that one.  

Terry showed us some family photos he had taken at a department store.  I could have taken more appealing pictures of salted meats. 

A Vue to be killed

Seconds after sitting down, Barbara started into it.  “Well, I made a big purchase this weekend.”  Then in a hushed voice, “I bought me a another vehicle.”

I’ve been tuning her out more recently.  She also hasn’t been at her desk much.  I’m glad though.  It’s the only way I can get any work done.  With being interrupted, intentionally or unintentionally, by Terry, if I were eavesdropping on her issues, I’d never get anything done.  Lucky for me, he doesn’t seem to be here this morning. 

 I got Barbara’s story, loud and clear.  As did anybody else working on my floor.  “I’m not sure yet if we really shoulda done it.  We just had to take the Malibu to the shop because the check engine light came on after we put some gas in it.  They said, for the light, the transmission pan that was leakin’, the brakes, and we didn’t even ask them to look at the brakes, near thousand dollars to fix all that.  We just asked them to fix the light.  And I’m not really sure, how do they know it wasn’t some freak thing with the light from the gas we put in?”  So we just pay for the light and go walk around the lot.  Then we find this little Saturn SUV thing.  It’s called a Vue.  It’s pretty cute.  There goes Reggie’s Social Security,” she said jokingly, but she wasn’t joking.  “But [Reggie] said, ‘You’ve lived without it before,’ and I was like I know.  But we’re gonna have to stop eatin out so much.  I’m still not convinced it was a good idea.”

“How much did you pay for it?” her desk partner asked, as if the gods themselves willed her to do so for my benefit.  And I’m really not sure what to make of her answer.  She said, “They were askin’ seventeen, but they dropped it to thirteen-somethin’.  But it ended up, with everything being like twenty-four.” What?  Seriously?  How does that work?  Eleven grand in extra fees and stuff?  I bet these two are a negotiator’s dream.  I bet there are dozens layers of undercoating on that car.  She said she got some extra insurance on it, which I think she meant was an extended warrantee.  But still, that’s a lot of money for a couple years of worry free* maintenance.  Regardless, $24,000 for a used SUV made by a company she didn’t even know was defunct.  This will not end well.

Character Introduction

Terry

Luckily, I don’t have to say much about Terry.  You’ll find he tells any listening ears everything they might need to know about him. 

I will say that he’s one of the more unaware people I’ve met.  At the same time, he’s not dumb.  We share educational backgrounds but that and our anatomical gender are where the similarities end. 

Let’s get right to it.

 

He told me he had something with sauerkraut on it for lunch.  Then he apologized to me in case I don’t like kraut.  I don’t.  I hate it.  It smells terrible, looks worse, and tastes like somebody forgot to add several ingredients.  I told him, “I absolutely despise sauerkraut.”  Then he opened his pungent item and it is currently filling the office with its German essence.

If you bring something that you apologize for, why did you bring it? It’s like warming up fish in the microwave.  No consideration.     

Stolen Conversations

Sometimes I get snippets of conversations.  Out of context they are even more ridiculous than they were when I documented them.

Barbara: I called your counselor about that one class you didn’t know if you wanted to take.  What was it? – Language arts?

Pause while her youngest daughter talks on the other end.

Barbara: Don’t worry, you’ll do good.

[with reassurance like that, how could she not be?]

Barbara about her youngest daughter: Everyday she gives me a headache.  She’s such a brat.  I just hope I live long enough to see her have a family and kids and no money.  That’s all I ask.

[nothing could make a mother happier]

Margaret leaving early:  I’m out for the day, I have a visitation to go to.

Peon: Whose?

Margaret: Janet Doersky.  It starts at 6:00 but I want to get there before they start the rosary because I’m not a good catholic.

[I'd say she's got the hang of it]

John: “Our dog fell off the bed last night.”

Noreen: “Is that the end of the story or is there more to it?”

John: “No, that’s about it.  It was just funny.”

Noreen: “My son’s cat got run over this weekend.”

Matt: “Jesus Christ.”

 
 
 

 

By any other name

Keep in mind this was relayed as a funny story.  

One night when Barbara was pregnant with her youngest daughter, her husband-at-the-tme was yelling at her loudly enough to draw the police.  They came and arrested him.  Later, Barbara went into labor. 

The next morning, he showed up at the hospital mad about having to spend the night on the floor of a jail cell.  “You had a rough night?” she asked.  “I had a baby!”  Then he got madder because, for some reason (which really illustrates the level of intelligence I’m dealing with here), she named her daughter Rachel West-Trumbo.  Her husband’s name was Trumbo.  Her EX-HUSBAND’s name was West.  Since Barbara wanted all her daughters to share a name, she extended the name of her ex-husband to her current husband’s daughter.  Since he was in jail at the time and not around to sign the birth certificate, he had no say.

And to this day, he still can’t remember her birthday.  Why do I know these things?

There's a time and a place

Somebody came over to hand John some paperwork and asked how he was doing.  He sighed and said fine obviously hoping for more questions.  He got one about Halloween and skirted it and started talking about his wedding.  I’m sure he's frustrated with the planning, but just say fine and get on with it.  Nobody cares about your drama. 

Sadly, I’m wrong.  People want to hear it.  They want to be involved.  Everybody wants to be a part of something.  Even if it is someone else’s misery.  I just overhear / eavesdrop, whatever you want to call it.  I try not to involve myself too much.  

Later I heard him talking to his sister through a clenched jaw.  I don’t get why his she has to be so involved in the whole thing.  Probably for the same reason that people want to hear about all his problems.  THE WORKPLACE IS NOT THE ARENA FOR THESE CONVERSATIONS. 

“We’re gonna get gifts from these people and then Jackie is going to get mad when we open them and she’ll ask who all these people are and why they were there.”  Jesus.  Gift horse lookers. 

“Do you know why I don’t think I could tell Jackie about all this?  Because it seems like, to us, that this wedding is not about us at all, it’s about everybody else.”   

Nope, you’re wrong, it’s about Jackie, and you fucking know it. 

If you don't know, now you know

I don’t get how people can be okay with making public their private matters.  I would never have a conversation on the phone AT WORK about my fucking wedding program and whether or not I’ve mentioned my sister.  Granted, I don’t know the whole story, even though I’m sure I’ll hear it later. 

Seriously, he is everybody’s bitch.  Jackie, his mom, his sisters. 

The issue with the programs (I knew I’d find out) was that John wanted to thank his parents, and both of their families and friends.  Jackie said no.  She doesn’t understand why he wants to do that.  Her parents are mentioned because they’re dead.  But his haven’t earned that right since they are still living.  He said he is going to ask her again tomorrow.  Then, if she says no, he is going to ask why.  I told him to stand up for himself and tell her what he wants to do and work to an understanding.  That way, the ball is in both courts, instead of him trying to gain control once she already has it.  But I guess it’s always been too late for that.

Oh, you were finished?

John went to a visitation last night.  I only know that because it was the background for his story about a bunch of people who reminded him that his wedding is six weeks away.  I was waiting for more to the story.  You know, something about a dead person.  I didn’t get more to the story. 

All in a day's work

The following is one day of complaints about John:

I keep getting updates on what the weather will be in Wisconsin where John will be taking his vacation.  Usually, I wouldn’t mind, but it’s getting aggravating.  I know the weather is nice in the north during the summer.  But seriously, stop telling me.  I don’t care. 

Stop talking about your vacation.  I have to stay here while you’re gone.   

He has a bit of an issue with bragging, I’ve noticed.  He has a trophy on his desk from years before he started working here.  Meaning that he was sitting at home one day and thought, "I want people to know I played baseball.  I know!  I'll take that trophy in so people will know I was good."

About the things people are buying you for your wedding, I care even less than I do about your vacation.  I think it’s selfish to want people to buy you new flatware.  Especially two sets of it because you want more spoons.  I understand that spoons get used more than other utensils, but buy them yourself.  “Hey, I’m already asking you to come to my wedding, you better bring a present, too!”  He checks his, I mean, her registry information on a regular basis. 

He drew a picture of his new house and yard on his dry erase board.  If I would have let him keep it the way it was, it wouldn’t have been recognizable as a building.  Yes, he was the only one who put marker to white board, but I told him about perspective and realism and scale.  Otherwise, it would have looked like a kid drew it.  And not one of those super smart Doogie Howser kids.  A regular, run of the mill, oblivious child.  Somebody the other day asked him if he did it.  He said yes.  She said it’s great! All I wanted was, he helped me a bit.  Well, all I want is to be listed as the art director, but I’ll settle for a little credit. 

He keeps counting down the hours to his vacation.  I hope he realizes, even though I know he doesn’t, that it just makes my day last longer.  If I could, I would cover up all the clocks in my cubicle in hopes that time would pass more quickly. 

Now he’s telling me about who he thinks bought what on his list.  Like I’m keeping tabs.  I understand sharing, but this is obviously oversharing. 

He just got off the phone with his fiancée because a coworker was waiting to talk to him.  The way he ended the conversation, in that lovey, crazy-girl-gloves tone of voice, made me start shaking in disgust.  Gross.