Don’t get me wrong, Sheila. Its not like I have spent the last two years in the cubicle down the hall believing you were some kind of adrenaline junkie or anything. But ever since our Company got taken over by those rich, foreign guys who don’t know what to do with us next, I spend a good portion of my day listening to you discuss the intimate details of your personal life.
And to be honest, the more you reveal to me, the more I have an overwhelming urge to take this letter opener and gauge my eardrums out.
I guess I just didn’t pay much attention to it before. I mean, sure, there were countless times I overheard heard you going on and on about something or other. But since my mind was pre-occupied with actual work-related issues, I became somewhat oblivious to your long-winded, monotonous updates about what was going on in the town of Dullsville, Population-You.
Before, when you declared your passion for crocheting toilet paper roll covers disguised as dolls, or explained in real-time how you tricked your cat into taking its anti-seizure medication, I could nod my head and feign interest, while mentally outlining a business proposal idea or deciding where I would meet my friends for lunch. But since projects are currently on hold and most of my friends have been laid off thanks to this crappy recession, I have nothing to do but acknowledge your humdrum existence.
Reminiscing about the time your defective lazy susan wouldn’t rotate a full 360 degrees or how you solved the mysterious case of “Who is Has Been Throwing Cigarette Butts in Sheila’s Neighbors Gardenia Plants?”, has made me wonder if living vicariously through you could be considered somewhat comparable to Chinese water torture.
Its only a matter of time before a couple of big, burly men in uniform show up, shove me into a straight jacket and take me to wherever they took Helen from Accounting last year. You know, after the cleaning lady found her curled up in the fetal position under her desk, sucking her thumb and wearing nothing but a strategically placed Capital Budget binder? Well, wherever that place was.
I hope the reason you are crying has nothing to do with what I am telling you, the last thing I want is for you to feel bad about your socially-awkward behavior. Deep down you are a really great person, and your passionate opinions on topics like ergonomic awareness and personal hygiene are really quite admirable.
I only wish you had found that perfect hearing-impaired man (before you gained all that extra weight and developed neck jowls of course), who would appreciate your tedious, repetitive anecdotes and love you in spite of your lackluster and uninspiring personality.
So keep your chin up, because hopefully if there is a God, it’s only a matter of time before we get busy again and can forget this whole discussion ever happened.
