It’s Halloween, so I must share a spooky stuper (short for an alarmingly stupid person) tale, only it’s not a tale because it’s completely true. Caution: this is not for the feeble minded.
I currently share an office, as I await a move into a new building. My office-mate and I actually head different charitable-type, organizations. My calls are all of the confidential priest-penitent, shrink-nutcase, child-imaginary friend, privileged sort. But alas, for two freaking hours weekly, I am exposed to a stuper…the bookkeeper, Marian, who not only stops what she’s doing to listen to my conversations, but maintains a running (or should I say tripping and stumbling?) commentary.
“Is that a misdemeanor?” Marian asks after one of my calls. Only in her voice, it sounds like this:
“IIIIIIs thaaaaaat aaaaaa missssdemeeeeeanorrrr?” And don’t forget to add the rise and fall of many octaves and pitches within that one question, and the fact that this is not my bookkeeper. If she was, she would have been fired the moment she opened her mouth. In fact, she never would have been hired.
On my very first day on the job, Marian said, without taking one breath and with the lilt that would make Mother Teresa want to smash a crystal vase over her head (Marian’s head, not the good mother’s, God rest her soul).
“I would not want to be you. Your job is so stressful. Everything’s a mess. This office is a disaster. The sky is falling. Elvis is dead. Are those Prada shoes?”
As you may imagine, I threw back my head, laughed heartily like the lumberjack after hungrily wolfing down the mile high stack of pancakes, and replied, “Yes.”
Fast forward six weeks. Marian’s ramblings continue, and I move into an adjacent office during the Marian hours. I had to. I grew tired of handcuffing myself to the oversize, industrial strength, heavy-duty copy machine (my desk didn’t do the trick) to refrain from beating Marian to a fine pulp. But my move proved fruitless, as determined idiots are not easily put off. While I was on the phone, Marian popped her head in and asked in her slow, drawn out, totally moronic way,
“Don’t you hate it here?”
I stared at her blank, but sincere face, her jack o’lantern smile, and realized she was truly the original road-to-hell paver. I replied,
“I absolutely love it!”
I continued my call, and Marian slinked away.
Marian didn’t show up last week, and I stayed in my office. However, this is not my happy ending. Not yet anyway, because Marian is due back this coming week. Sure I’m considering wearing a red boxing glove with large broken-up brick pieces strategically placed inside, but I think instead, I will continue laughing at Marian. Not with her, but at her, as discourteous as that sounds. I’ve noticed people who appear happy put her in a state of shock for a minimum of three minutes. Three glorious minutes.
I will throw her Look Number 4 whenever I notice her on the verge of formulating a nosy question or worthless comment for me.
Fortunately, my office-mate is usually busy working. By the time she looks up to figure out what’s keeping Marian quiet, I’ll quickly change my expression to Look Number 7.
Works every time.
Don’t let a stuper ruin your day by magnifying obstacles and unpleasantries.