Working In An Office

Don’t tell Donna that Ted said that Marty was….. If I had a dollar for every time I heard some version of this ridiculousness today, I would not have to come to work with these gossip mongers. Ring. Ring. It is Linda, the bookkeeper at the next desk. She cannot turn and talk to me, because she is telling tales about Sheila who sits less than ten feet behind us. I laugh politely at the end of the tale, hoping she will let me get back to my bill-paying. But no, she now has a story about Jacque. Off the phone I write two checks. Brring Brring The supervisor glares at me. We are supposed to get the phone after the first ring. It might be one of our vendors or our stores. We pay bills for a chain of stores. I grab the phone. It is Jacque, who is telling me stories about Linda. None of them nice ones. They both want to sit with me at lunch, but not with the other one at the table. I slink out with my lunch and eat in my car again, third week in a row. The supervisor comes out and raps on my window. I roll it down about an inch. "You are not supposed to eat in your car," he tells me.