That Woman in the Office

Everyone knows That Woman. She's overweight, she dresses like she's in the 1990s in rural West Virginia, no one knows quite what she does, and she drives a scooter around the office. Every office has her, right? I felt a great need to write about That Woman because I just passed by her office and through her cracked door (adorned with an uplifting comic and a sickeningly sweet picture of a dog and a kitten getting along way too well) I see her, head down on the desk, sleeping. I don't think this would be an acceptable practice in any other office except for mine. What really irks me is that she is bold enough to keep her door cracked, daring you to catch her, taunting you with her ability to nap under the fluorescent lights and on a desk full of plaques with quirky quotes and bobble head cats. Do I despise her or, dare I say, admire her? I would also like to point out that my organization recently made some pretty drastic layoffs in the past month. How did she make this cut? Better question, what were these other people doing that did not make the cut? I get it, with budget cuts and what not there is not a lot of work going around the office. I've watched every episode of Downton Abbey (even the unreleased second season). Trust me. I get it. But sleeping? SLEEPING? And getting PAID? I come in at 10:00 AM and no one notices. There are better places to sleep. At least, for Pete's sake, close the door so I don't have to be reminded that when I am laid off, you will still be here, scootering into your office with your giant translucent frame 1983 glasses and blatantly sleeping on your desk contributing nothing more to this company than your snide comments about the "slutty" attire of the office females (true story). I wore an over-sized sweater and giant scarf today, thank you very much. I'm sorry I don't own elastic waisted denim. I'll get on that right after I finish these 2 episodes of 30 Rock, catch up on the latest posts on Facebook and watch 3 more versions of Sh*t People Say. Sleeping and getting paid... terrible.

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Beer Me a Kleenex.

Being sick at work may be God's way of reminding us that we have sinned. It may be worse than water boarding, but I really can't say. Maybe we should subject suspected terrorists to the swine flu then have them sit at a desk with nothing to do but look at an Inbox with no new messages and chug Emergen-C in the hope that the vitamin attack will make them feel better, but it won't, it just won't. Then maybe they'll tell their secrets. Or just tickle the secrets out of them. Who likes being tickled? No one.

Anyway, I hate being sick in the office. Everyone looks at me and thinks "Does she know that her glasses are incredibly crooked? And why is her face so blotchy? Why is she mouth breathing so aggressively? She is a disgusting human being." They're all thinking that I know it. And yes, I know my glasses are crooked. I sat on them. Thanks for reminding me. I want to talk to no one, yet I'm constantly waiting for someone to come and talk to me. And when they do, all I want is for them to leave. And when they leave, I want them back. Apparently, not only are my sinuses off kilter, so are my emotions. Not even my favorite YouTube videos can make this hazy feeling and awkward sweaty coldness go away: drinking out of cups just makes me feel more confused; grape lady makes my head (and feet?) pound; The slow Loris just makes me want to go back to bed. IS THERE NO MERCY?? US enemies would never be able to survive these conditions.

I find solace only in the knowledge that I did not have to pay for these tissues I'm rifling through and the fact that in a mere 2 hours I will be able to leave this place of misery and crawl into my bed with a box of stolen tissues and dream of a day when I can breathe through my nose again. America: the land where dreams come true.
Amen.