Friday, July 07, 2006

Gnome Chomsky

The devilish imp of a lawyer who works just behind the partition wall in my office has grown into a major irritant. I've written about her and her transgressions before: her mild catfood aroma, her tactless criticism hamfistedly disguised as wit, her running a side-business out of her office ever since I started working here (about four years), not to mention her thunderous farts that shake one's very soul. I felt she deserved my wrath, at the time, because I found on my computer a folder containing a document constructed, by her, for the express purpose of forming a harassment case against my boss, a case in which I was implicated as an annoyance because of all the "noise" I make (the irony being that her eruptions of flatulence sound like whale calls and she likes to sing along to her music in an ear-shattering falsetto that ACTUALLY INDUCES NAUSEA...I believe I likened it once to a cat being strangled, but it's more like a cat being gang raped behind a giant, industrial-sized exhaust fan). She deserved it then, and she deserves it now, largely because somehow, in this dying office, she's managed to manufacture a "project" for herself that involves continuously crossing in front of the threshold of my office door every five minutes. AND, she overtly stares into my office, which would be a completely innocuous act if I didn't know her. Because I know her, I know she's keeping track of what I'm doing, despite the fact that she has been an obsolete fixture in this place for at least two years and RUNS A TOTALLY UNRELATED BUSINESS OUT OF THIS OFFICE.

I'm no psychologist, but I believe her problem is called "projection." She's constantly taking tactless stabs at my wrinkled clothing (I like to sleep), yet, her wardrobe consists mainly of sweatclothes and awful sundresses. She does nothing, yet has the audacity to make a snide comment to one of the many extra temps, saying "Oh, so you're actually WORKING today?" She asks me to turn my radio down, then sings her shrill, crooning tunes at the top of her lungs (a warbled fit of random notes emitting from her mouth the other day, upon further listening, turned out to be "Galileo" by the Indigo Girls...but I had to REALLY work at that conclusion). I feel like I'm under surveillance and it stinks.

On the lighter side, everything else is great. I've decided that I'm going to take a lil' vacation to Munich. German sausage all around!

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

it was me. the temp was me! you fuck!