journalman's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nutshell Overfloweth An understudy came into the office and played the role of �front desk charmer�. A friend of mine, she is, and she pulled it off brilliantly. The �little-menial� tasks at a company, particular a small business, are the lifeblood of an organization. Tramp/Sparkle (I deliberately call her both of those things) is a girl, the girl, who hurt me. She�s positively brilliant, and extremely manipulative to a fault. Her game is life, she plays them. She�s burned me out to them... I don�t speak that language anymore. I didn�t answer her calls. This is the first time I avoided her when not locked in the heat of some mini-battle. Maybe I will remain as her friend and see her, as she would say, �once in a blue.� However now I�m glad that dust is settled between us, and that I�m smart enough to avoid aversive stimulus where I see it. Petbuddy and I planned a mini-trip in Brooklyn. We made the trip, except the woman would not let me talk. It was unbearable. With everything I said, there was a �but... I just, like...�. As if those words are a free pass to break my flow of consciousness. She doesn�t mean harm by it, it just causes a lot of harm. She called from the train and insisted I leave immediately meet her near the station with my car. I ran outside, locked up, and drove around the block to meet her, after which she announced that she needed to use my bathroom. After all that. She didn�t let me talk about a potential trip to Peru, about Ms Bower, and seemed to get annoyed at my use of the words �login and password�. After waiting 10 minutes for her in the bathroom, she didn�t let me speak for 60 seconds before interrupting to say �please summarize�. Further in her criticism of my monologue, she said that people who don�t work where I work get bored hearing about �work stuff�. I only said it once, however in her critique, she said �login and password� three times. Kvetching, as they say. I was very annoyed. On the ride home, and even after hearing about my car�s need for coddling after a burn-hole incident, she apparently caused additional burning SOMEWHERE in my car. We don�t know exactly where, because it happened as I was coming off the Brooklyn Bridge and onto the FDR Drive. We smelled burning and she nervously asked me to pull over in a place where there is no shoulder lane... for 3 miles. In the rain and in considerable traffic, I scooted through cars up to Houston Street and pulled over by the exit ramp. She resisted me tooth and nail even then. I said �get out of the seat� as I raced around the car to check, and she didn�t. After I wet my hands in a puddle and wiped thoroughly everywhere. I�m a disgrace to such a nice car. I want to sell it. My apologies if I�m rambling. I have to get to bed because ML the Friday-assistant re-joins us tomorrow. She�s just a complete airhead, but I like her. A senior undergrad Arch student, ML came to us as a sponge, ready to learn. She�s never been late, and not once did she call in sick all summer. I happen to trust her. I told her during her interview for a summer job that by the time it�s August, two things will happen: 1) She�ll live, breathe, and swear by Excel, and 2) She will know how to run a small business. She called me a week into her vacation and told me I was right and that she wanted to come back. Because of her work ethic, her tremendously classy demeanor, her ability to make small work seem small, and impressive footwear/pocketbook combinations, ML will always have a place at the company. And now I have to sleep. I know two things: she won�t be late, and she doesn�t know the keypad combination to get in. 1:56 a.m. - 2006-09-15 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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