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The other week we discussed crummy neighbors and my porch
light-like ability to attract them like moths.
I need
to clarify something though. It’s not just at my place of residence that these
pains in the butt seem to circle me. I’ve also had a pretty impressive history
as far as the people who’ve occupied the cubicles around me at work.
I’ve
had two neighbors fired for making up stories rather than actually interviewing
people. Another of my former neighbors quit right before she would have been
fired for being both horrible at her job and for being a complete enigma the
likes of which isn’t often seen outside of Russian hockey players.
Currently,
I’ve got two empty cubes and an aisle around me but it’s not nearly enough.
To my
left is an older lady who is completely and utterly baffled by every form of
technology more advanced than a lead pencil. She’s mostly harmless, though I
know the IT folks who are walking a rut back and forth to her desk to show her
how to use a printer would passionately disagree.
My big
issue with her is her incessant need to inform everyone about her background
working in print journalism. I’ve heard her explain her “just the facts”
background enough times that I probably wouldn’t have much trouble penning her
life story. If she’d let me use anything that high tech to write it, that is.
She
also has an irritating tick where she uses the phrase “you know” as a verbal
period. It’s at the end of every sentence that comes out of her mouth and when
you hear it, you know to be ready as it may be your turn to speak.
But
again, mostly harmless.
Diagonal
from me though, is a girl who is anything, anything but harmless.
She
seems like a pleasant enough person. She’s quick with a “Hi!” and a smile
whenever you cross paths with her in the halls. She’s usually chipper and
approachable.
But she
is also the devil incarnate.
Allow
me to explain.
She is
single-handedly responsible for about 70% of the noise pollution in my
workplace.
This
girl listens to music so loudly at her desk that, despite the fact that she’s
wearing headphones, you can clearly hear whatever piece of empty pop music she’s
enjoying as if those headphones were on your head.
It’s
baffling. Detainees at Guantanamo Bay weren’t forced to listen to music that
loud, so I have no idea how she’s able to do so willingly. Unless, perhaps, she
spent time working as a roadie earlier in her life and her hearing is just
almost completely shot.
It
doesn’t last long. She’ll listen to a song or two at an ear-bleeding level and
then dial it down to a more reasonable volume, where it usually stays. It’s
just every so often she just feels the need to really rock out to a little
Miley Cyrus.
But
where she’s really been earning her keep as public enemy number one (audio
division) has been as a slurper.
I don’t
know what type of beverage it is that she’s been buying on her way to work
lately, but whatever it is, it must be delightful or expensive because she’s determined
not to leave a drop behind.
Sure, we’ve
all slurped a beverage at one time or another. Realistically the longest you
should ever need to slurp a beverage is a couple of minutes.
Her
slurps go on and on and on. Twenty minutes is not an exaggeration.
On
Friday she entered Hall of Fame territory. She slurped at that anonymous drink
all morning, then she went out to lunch. Came back – empty handed – about an
hour later. And then it happened.
The
slurping resumed.
A two-part
slurping.
I’ve never experienced anything
like it. I didn’t know if I should start screaming at her or find a hat to tip
at her commitment to getting her money’s worth. I also briefly considered what
kind of obstacle course must exist inside of that cup. How was it possible for
any moisture whatsoever to find somewhere to hide?
She may
not be pooping all over my lawn like a certain Civil War veteran’s dog who
lives next door, but she is pooping in my ears and I won’t stand for it!
Eww.
Who am I
kidding? Of course I’ll stand for it. Then when I get tired of that, I’ll sit
for it. And then when all else fails, I’ll complain about it on the Internet.
It’s what I do.
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