Monday, August 25, 2008

Dear new co-worker,

Let’s recap, okay? The first thing you said to me was: “It is nice to meet you, but just so you know, I’m not much of a chatter.”

I smiled and took your word for it, since the only other time you talked to me all week was when I was setting up my voicemail and you told me to turn down the volume. “That’s pretty loud if I can hear it over here," you said.

And a week later, when I asked if you had a pair of scissors to borrow, you seemed annoyed and told me, “Yes, but you really should get your own.” In other words, just this once, and don’t ask again. No problem.

I would believe that you really do like things quiet, but you also like to make a lot of noise yourself. With your loud, nasally, boisterous outbursts. Your phony kissing up to the bosses around here, your gossiping with other biddies, your sing-song phone voice and referring to everyone who calls in as “sweetie” or “doll”.

Hey, lady, I get it. You are a chatter, but you just didn’t want to chat with me. I don’t take it personally -- how could I? -- you don’t know me.

But I’m getting to know you. Too well.

I’m pretty sure you’re not Latina or Parisian, but you like to talk to your special someone on the phone with a mixture of Spanish and French cutesy-wootseyisms. “Papi! Ça va? Ohhh, Papi… Buche buche…” I think that last bit is a bastardization of a foreign word for kisses. It’s nauseating in any language. I try not listen, but it’s hard to avoid. The specifics are as syrupy as the tone. I can't tell if these hourly sweet-nothing conversations are with a boyfriend, girlfriend, dog, cat, gerbil or perhaps giraffe, judging from the photograph at your cubicle of you kissing one of those tall spotting grazing animals. Safari? Zoo? Romantic getaway?

Whatever. That’s cool. I’m not judging, mind you. Even though I suffered some personal trauma with a pack of wild giraffes, you go ahead with your interspecies verbal intercourse.

I just don’t wanna hear it.

Just like you don’t wanna hear anything from me. Still, I'm gonna tell you something: I’m getting married in 3 days. I’m madly in love with my fiancée and can’t wait to call her my wife. We’re often overcome with affection…

But out of consideration and professionalism -- and an attempt to avoid hypocrisy -- I try to keep that shit in check during working hours. Tomorrow’s my last day at work before we get ready to tie the knot and go off on our honeymoon. I’ll be outta here for 2 weeks. So for one day, can you spare me from hearing “Ohhh, Papi, je t'aime, Papi”? Once I’m gone, you can get back to your loud-mouthed long-necked love.



Post a Comment

<< Home

This page is powered by Blogger. Isn't yours?

Weblog Commenting and Trackback by