An Epic Entry for a Little Tale...

Here I am. On call. Again. Woo, this rocks! And by rocks, I mean it blows monkey ass, but you all follow me, yes?

So I'm going to try to convey this strange occurence at work that happened last week. It's hard to describe without knowing all the players:

So there's this guy that I work with (no, it's not going to be one of those stories...). And he's a cool guy. You're typical post-grad former frat guy (he's even got a tattoo of his Greek letters in the same place where I have my tattoo). But I don't hold that against him. He's a cool guy. And he was very nice to me my first day when my boss was out of town and I didn't know anybody so he asked me to lunch and was very nice about the fact that within 5 seconds of meeting him, I spilled my coffee all over him. Classic Carrie. But I will always be grateful to him for that.

And he's cute. He's not really my type, but he's working the All-American good looks sort of thing. He was a baseball player in college and that's his body type (the cuter type of baseball player, not the ones that make you cringe that they all wear white pants). Most importantly, I'm going into all this because he's a flirt. Doesn't bug me, but you know that he's used to getting what he wants by flashing a very charming smile. I'm used to flirty men (and flamy men, and who are we kidding, I hang out with all men, so very few things shock me about the less-fair sex).

Alright. So he's set up.

And there's this temp attorney, who I'll call "Crazy." Now Crazy is the type of girl who went to Kingwood that we hated. You know, the one that came to school bitching about how daddy got her a Camaro when what she REALLY wanted was a BMW. And she's blonde. And I won't say stupid, because somehow she made it through law school, but she's a little slow on the uptake and you can see her get flustered easily when she's not surgically removed from her cell phone.

Now when I work down with the temp attorneys doing a task so menial I can't even be bothered to try to explain it, we pass the day shooting the shit and being VERY relaxed. We drop the "F" bomb like it's a George Carlin special. And we joke about sex and all the crazy things that probably shouldn't be talked about in the office. Crazy told us a story about getting a massage and she heard the masseuse next to her give a hand job to her male customer. Things like that. We all recognize that this particular task sucks and if you have to do it 10 hours a day, you should be able to enjoy the company and it's true that time passes much faster that way. Calling it informal is a bit of an understatement.

We could tell very early on that Crazy had a little crush on All-American. Like, honestly, the woman would lick her lips and arch her back when he came into the room. It's funny. And she has a boyfriend and talks about how horrified she'd be if he cheated on her. Meanwhile, she doesn't recognize the hypocracy of making googly eyes at a co-worker and not just innocent flirting, it seemed to us to be an active pursuit. She even asked that we not mention she had a boyfriend. Charming, yes?

I was down there and we get a call from our boss saying All-American won't be coming down so much anymore because he will be needed elsewhere. He's going to be her running-boy. Which, immediately after getting off the phone with us, we start laughing about what "tasks" our boss will have him do. Cuz that's how we roll. And I make an off-hand comment to Crazy about how she'll miss him coming down to our room. And we roll along in our work and she runs off with her cell phone in tow (nothing new) and when she comes back, there's all this tension in the room. Suddenly, Crazy Explodes:

"I just don't appreciate it! I think it's unprofessional and inconsiderate and rude and maybe I'm on my period but I'm offended."

"Huh? Why?" [actual look of shock on my face]

"First of all, you're in my seat [are you serious? Are we 12? And have you not noticed that technically I'm your boss and I'll sit where I goddamn please] And then you're making insinuations that I don't think are appropriate for the workplace [like hand job stories? I didn't even mention sex] and I'm offended."

OK. Fun stops. Truth be told, it is unprofessional so I apologize profusely. Homegirl has a right to be offended, I suppose.

But it doesn't stop there. She leaves the room again with that trusty cell phone of hers and comes back and it is obvious to EVERYONE that she has been crying. No, wait. The way her face looked it looked as if she had been crying in a way that implied she had to watch her entire family be slaughtered with an axe. I understand being offended, but being DESTROYED by this? Now, that's just crazy.

I pull her aside and apologize again for the comment. Not for the seat thing, cuz fuck her for that. Right? But the rest of the day, she cannot for the life of her pull her shit together. Her hands shake. She looks down. And then All-American comes down and they rush off to smoke together. God knows what she told him, and I don't really care as long as it doesn't go to my boss. Though if it did, I certainly have enough ammo on her (especially since the rumors of the sparks between the two have increasingly intensified--I don't care to share, but they're not doing a good job of NOT adding fuel to the fire) and the rest of my team has my back. Her reaction was...here it is...REDONKULOUS.

It took her a week to even look at me again. I spent as little time down there as possible. She ruined the joy in Case Room 7. All cuz she's playing puppy love with someone she works with (a bad idea all 'round, and that's even without her having a BOYFRIEND).

I was down the other day and All-American had a headache. I do the pressure-point trick my stepdad taught me, but it requires holding the person's hand. The death-look I received was priceless. And then today she was nothing but sugar and spice to me. From looking like she wanted me strung-up and paper-cut to death, to asking stupid questions about me that I don't feel like answering to someone like her. She one of those that you know is constantly plotting. She read that book The Rules and you know she follows it.

It's like that.

A long-winded way of saying my life here is very strange.

Back to Harry Potter, then. Cheerio. Carry on.