Why am I a weirdo magnet?
I feel like everywhere I go [ok, mainly everywhere I WORK] there are weirdos just waiting for me.
Just like BTSG.
And just like a girl who works for my dayjob company. Let’s call her “Woodchuck” because, yeah.
I, idiotically, let it slip to her that I had some good news.
Bad move, Cracker. VERY bad move. In my own defense, though, this girl has done and said so many “OMG please be my friend” things that I was pretty sure she’d keep her lip zipped.
Later that afternoon, Woodchuck’s coworker [we’ll call her Amazon] saunters down to talk to my coworker [the one who looks like Gary Coleman] and looks over at me. This comes out of her mouth, “Woodchuck said you have some exciting news. What is it? We’re wondering if you’re pregnant.”
There are SO many things wrong with what she just said. First, Woodchuck needs to keep her big woodchuck teeth in her big woodchuck mouth aka not talk about my biz [I know, I know, I spilled it first, but I didn’t tell her to share it!]. Second: do you HONESTLY think that being pregnant would be GOOD news for me? I can barely feed myself, let alone a fetus that will eventually become a needy, needy child! Third: are you wondering about my possible state of pregnancy because you’re BLIND?!?! I’ve lost weight, Amazon! I don’t have puffy ankles, I don’t eat NEARLY as much as I used to, and my midsection is not quite so convex as it once was!
After her oh-so-I-could-kill-her questions, I replied, “That girl (meaning Woodchuck) has a BIG mouth.”
The next morning, I got this email:
I wanted to apologize for yesterday… Amazon and I were talking and I just casually mentioned that you had some good news and I was anxious to hear what it was. I am sorry. Please forgive me.
That email has “loser” written all over it. I won’t even go into the other things Woodchuck has said to me, on the false premise that I actually give a shit.
I think my reply was, “Don’t worry about it. I just don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
What’s even BETTER, though, is the encounter I had with Woodchuck this morning:
I was sitting there, reading some fluff magazine like US or something, and she casually walks over to me and asks, “So what’s your big news?”
WHAT? Woodchuck, you are a damned idiot if you think I’m going to answer that question.
I just looked at her and said, “Um, I’m not telling you.”
Woodchuck: “Awww, but Amazon and I were just talking and I was excited and…”
Me: “Well, I really don’t want people broadcasting what’s going on in my life.”
Woodchuck: “I’m sorry.”
Me: “It’s not a big deal, I just don’t want everyone knowing my business.”
Woodchuck quietly walked away after that.
She probably will go home tonight and throw out the floor pillows she bought because, she told me, “I know how you like to sit on the floor.”
I’ve been to her apartment ONCE, about a year ago, and I’m never going back. Psycho.
Speaking of psychos, BTSG has done it again.
Last night I walked into work and, after a two day absence, there she was. SITTING AT MY FUCKING DESK.
I went over to CW/S and said “What the fuck, dude? She’s sitting at my desk.”
I go over to my rightful desk and grab some supplies. BTSG has the audacity to look over and say, “Yeah, they moved me here today.”
According to CW/S, nobody moved shit that day, so BTSG apparently took it upon herself to invade my workspace.
So, hoping that the particle board divider would keep her at bay, I duly ignored her presence, took the desk next to her, and got to work.
But I couldn’t concentrate. I HAD to tell someone about it.
So naturally I went into another part of the office and called my sister so we could “OMG” together.
“She probably is trying everything she can to be near you, Freshcracker! Watch out that she doesn’t wait for you after work and try to follow you home!”
Seriously, sis is right.
Later, she wrote me an email that said, “Well, her taking your desk and then lying about being moved could’ve been worse: she could’ve patted the chair and said ‘There’s room for one more!'”
I almost vomited at the thought.
After a few “WTFs” with some coworkers, I really cracked down on my work. There was one “she’s about to ask me a question” scare that turned out to be her just scanning the room for someone else to complain about, and a period of about 20 minutes where we were blessed with her absence.
Then BTSG went home.
As soon as she was out the door, coworker S rolled her chair over to me.
“Did you just see that?”
“What?” I asked.
“BTSG just waved bye to you.”
“Um. What? Are you sure?”
“I’m pretty sure. She was waving in your direction and no one else’s.”
Oh, God. Please don’t let me have another stalker. Especially a female one who could probably kill me after just a few short minutes of sitting on my head.
And, as my brother would say, “I bet that butt stinks.”