A Quarter Life Crisis

Recently the nosy gnome in my office brought up that her mail continues to get delivered late. Yes I know you need some back story. Here is goes, Mailroom Boy stops by my desk most days, sometimes twice a day. Normally he holds hour long15-20 minute conversations with me about random stuff.

Honestly he's a talker. I don't really know too many men who talk as much as he does but that's beside the point. He brightens an otherwise dull day, such a necessary distraction that I've grown quite accustomed to. Consider Friday sent me into fights of withdrawal when the whole day passed without a sighting. I've conditioned myself to see his lurch-like frame pushing his mail dispensary machine cart. It doesn't hurt that he isn't bad on the eyes. Whatever.

Granted while he's chatting me up he's also delaying mail deliveries. Not to mention he has no reason what so ever to chit-chat with me because I never have any packages. Either way he stops and we hold mostly pointless banter. A smile here a giggle there, some might misconstrue see this flirting and take it out of context. Enter gnome stage left.

First imagine a short, say 5'0" fifty year old woman with long blond hiding gray-black hair in a pony tail with a slight hunch back. Stop laughing, it's not funny! I think she has a hip condition which caused her current upper torso forward walking. Anyway on to the short but irritating as hell conversation. It's almost 4PM AKA close to quitting time. Out of the corner of my right eye I catch the hobbling troll. She approaches my desk with an imp like grin but I continue to listen to my IPOD thinking she is going to hop right by my cube. No such luck.

Gnome: Hey

Me: Hola

Gnome: Well that Mailroom Boy is such a nice guy, isn't he?

Me: Ummm, I guess he seems nice. At this point my antennae are up folks.

Gnome (leaning closer to me so no one else can hear): So.....do you knooooooow him?

Initial thought why doesn't she just ask what she want to know instead of beating this dead horse, it's too late in the day and she's too damn old to play these playground games, ugh!

Me: I'm not following your question, what do you mean by know him. Of course I know him, I was cut off mid statement.

Gnome (giggles a bit): Come on you know it's none of my business really but....do you knooooow him?

Me (the pleasant has left my face at this point): What are you talking about, of course I know him he walks by here every day!

Gnome: No no, well it's none of my business but he stops here and talks to you sooooooo long I just thought maybe you knew him outside of here you know kinda, oh but seriously he's talking to you so long I get my mail late most days, ha ha ha ha.

Me: Yeeeeaaah, no I don't have any dealings with him outside of work. He talks to everyone and if you have an issue with your mail delivery maybe you should speak to him about that. Well I have some things to finish up before I leave, is there something else?

Gnome: Oh...no that was it, I gotta get some work done before I go myself, see you tomorrow.

My ear buds were in before she even started to walk away.

Was I rude?

This mini invasive convo dug into my skin like an underwire breaking loose from an old bra. For the fellas out there think pubes caught in a zipper only you don't have the luxury of scratching your balls in public, cause you know I'm a lady. But I digress.

When she walked away I couldn't concentrate on work and I wanted to prance over to her desk and say what did you expect me to say, yeah from time to time I take Mailroom Boy into the stairwell and touch my ankles.

Oh I forgot, it's not really any of her business.

Yep this conversation was right up there on the list of things that grind my gears. Almost as annoying as when Wander calls me and asks if I'm awake. Hell yeah I'm awake, how else did I answer the phone.

I'm off the soapbox.




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