me, dispensing slightly uncomfortable moments. and fish for $.10, apparently.
Me: “Why are you mad?”
Male Coworker: “I’m not.”
Me: “Are you sure?”
Male Coworker: “Yes.”
Me: “Are we still work married?”
Male Coworker: *sigh* “Yes.”
Me: “Do you still find me work attractive?”
Male Coworker: “You know I’m gay, right?”
Me: “Yes, but you aren’t WORK gay!”
A few days ago, Pregzilla handed me an envelope.
“What’s this?”
“Just open it.”
It was a baby shower invitation. I was touched. I even hugged her.
“You don’t have to come if you don’t want. I mean, it’s on a Friday at two in the afternoon. So, you know, it’s no big deal. There is a list of places I’m registered on the back.”
“So, you don’t want me to come?”
“No. I mean yes, but no. I mean, I invited, like, 40 people and my house only holds 6 or 8. So, no.”
She reached over to me, still holding the invite, pulled it out of my hand, turned it over, and put it back into my hand.
“Yeah, so, you just go to the store and tell customer service my name and you are there to get my list and buy something on it.”
*blinkblink*
“But you don’t necessarily HAVE to go to one of these stores. I mean, if you do then whatever you buy will match what everybody else buys but I’ll really take gifts from anywhere, if that makes it easier.”
*blinkblink*
“Okay, so, I’m going to hang one on the bulletin board. If anybody asks, can you tell them my last name? It makes it easier to find me in the registries.”
As she walked away, I reminded myself that she is with child and throwing her down some stairs could get dodgy, legally. After all Johnnie Cochran is dead and Gloria Allred has her hands full of Tiger’s mistresses (sexy!), so who will defend me?
I’m also keeping my eyes on the prize: she has stated she will try to get more government assistance so she can stay home after the baby is born. Come on, President Obama, in for a penny in for a pound, what’s another couple thou?
This week’s column has been posted at RVA News. In it I give TLC the whatfor, which they have been deserving for QUITE. SOME. TIME.
Off The Clock with The Checkout Girl
“Did you see that girl’s boots? I’d let her step on my private parts all night long.” – coworker, who is in his 60’s
Every little girl's dream...
A customer sneered at me and spat, “Is English your FIRST language?” in a tone I’m certain she reserved for the help.
As I relayed the story of the encounter to my coworker, a woman of about 55, she sighed, “Did I really stop hooking for this?”
That’s a universal philosophical question: Did we ALL stop hooking for this?
