Over the course of my…career, we’ll say, I’ve had the pleasure of working with some rather entertaining individuals. I worked with one woman who once ate bat with the King of Tonga and shot her ex with a crossbow. Not on the same day, I should imagine.
I was reminded today of an ex-co-worker who was, shall we say, one of the more entertaining individuals I’ve ever met, let alone worked with. She’s long since left the company for (hopefully) greener pastures. I realize that I’m going to sound like I’m poking fun as I write – I’m not – I actually did like this woman a lot. But she was a strange duck.
To give you a quick mental image, this woman was in her mid-sixties, wore big, round dark glasses everywhere, and had long, wild gray hair. She was also, to put it as politely as I can, an extremely large woman. The day I was informed that I was to be sharing a cube with her, I knew her by reputation only – she was described as whip-smart, which she was, and eccentric, which she was in spades. “Eccentric” might have been a kind euphemism for “weird as hell.”
For starters, she might have been A.D.D. and not on anything for it. She was in constant motion. She twiddled, she twitched, she hummed, she sang under her breath, she fidgeted, she jiggled her knees. It was like sitting next to an enormous hummingbird. She also, on occasion, would whirl around in her chair and exclaim “Wheeeeeee!” I’m not kidding. On my first day with her, we had the following conversation:
Her: (abruptly, out of nowhere) “Do you believe in yogurt?”
Me: (confused, after a long pause) “Do you mean, do I believe that yogurt exists, or do I believe that yogurt is a viable food product? Because yes on the first, no on the second.”
Her: (sucking yogurt from a tube) “So you don’t want a yogurt tube, then? I think these are clever.”
Me: “No, thank you.”
Side note: If you ever catch me eating any food product from a tube, just kill me. Humans shouldn’t voluntarily eat from tubes. There may be exceptions to this rule, but I can’t think of any right now.
Anyway, you can see what this woman was like. Highly entertaining. This is a woman who got her nipple pierced in San Francisco on her 60th birthday. Thankfully, I was not a witness to this event, or the proof thereof. She was merely content to TELL me about it. The following conversation, however, put the icing on the cake as far as her level of batshit-insane went, and quite possibly may have warped me for life. I’m sitting there one day, minding my business, when she asks me if I have any tattoos. A fair question, albeit perhaps not appropriate for work.
Me: “Yeah, I have two on my back.”
Her: “What are they of?”
Me: “One is a big neon blue dead fish with boxing gloves on, and one is a big star.” (For those of you who are punk fans, the fish is the Hagfish logo.)
Her: “Coooool. I have a tattoo too. I got it on my birthday recently.” (I have no idea which birthday. 62? 65?)
Me: “Oh yeah? Of what?”
Her: “I’ll show you!”
At this point, I am filled with a sense of impending dread. I was praying that the tattoo was on her ankle or something. Don’t forget, this is an extremely large person we’re talking about. Much to my deepening horror, she partially unbuttons her blouse, to reveal, on the top of her left breast, a tattoo. Of an eye. A giant, creepy, leering eyeball. I have NO idea what to say at this point.
Me: “It’s…an eye.”
Her: (indignant) “It’s Christopher Walken’s eye, I’ll have you know!”
Yeah, YOU try getting that image out of your head. Let me know how that goes for you.
|Like this. Only just the eye. On an old lady boob.|