Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Hating Me Won't Make You Pretty
They're picking on me!!
When I started this blog, I made a promise to myself. This isn't like the time I promised myself I'd never snort coke again. This one I was actually going to keep. I promised myself I wouldn't write posts bitching about my co-workers, but they'll never know it's me and I'm pretty sure no one is reading this (that was a desperate and thinly veiled plea for comments, by the way), so I'm breaking my promise to myself. I'll never trust me again.
I am getting the silent treatment from a co-worker. No, my company does not employ four-year-olds. I am getting the silent treatment from a 68-year-old woman. That's right boys and girls, Grandma Moses is pissed off at me.
I take that back. Comparing her to Grandma Moses is not accurate. Grandma Moses was a sweet old lady who took pleasure in her art. This old hag (I'll call her FC) doesn't take pleasure in anything. Except maybe making my life a living hell. I could sit here and list everything I can't stand about her, but I don't have that kind of time. So, I'll just tell you that she has absolutely no redeeming qualities. At all. What she does have is such an overinflated sense of self-importance that I'm baffled by the fact that her head fits through the front door. This Mount Everest sized ego does not keep her from being jealous of me. I am a hopeless flirt, it cannot be helped. Mr. Pitsberger knows and accepts it. It's what I do, it's who I am. Well, the boys at work flirt back and she absolutely cannot stand it! On more than one occassion, she has chided our married warehouse manager to "Remember your vows!" I can feel her vast hatred of me emanating from her like stink from shit. I don't like it when she stands behind me...I'm that afraid that she's plotting my demise. Like I haven't been feeling well for the past few days, and I've almost convinced myself that she's poisoning my lunch.
I know you're sitting there reading this and thinking to yourself, "That's mean. FC is just an old lady." But that's part of her plan, you see? If you spent 10 minutes listening to this fossilized bag complain about the weather, her job and life in general you would see the error of your ways. You would pray for mercy and beg for death.
The reason that she's not speaking to me is because she was 'noiding out yesterday and convinced herself that I was laughing at her with some of our colleagues. In truth, we were having chuckle about the stupidity of one of our customers. So, when I giggled about an email I got from one of the salesmen, she looked up from her cube and said (in the bitchiest, snottiest tone of voice I've ever heard), "What's funny?" I replied, "Yeah, it's about you. You need to get over yourself." Silent pouting ensued. She hasn't spoken a word to me since.
I can't complain too much, though. When I'm getting the silent treatment, I don't have to hear about her dumping in K-mart, the car and various other public places.
FC in a rare moment of joy.