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.
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