I had an impending meeting this morning with by far the most annoying woman in the company. It’s not that she’s a bitch, or smells funny, or talks loud or anything. She’s just so fucking stupid.
I don’t mean the worst kind of stupid either. You know, the kind where she thinks she’s smart but is really stupid. No, she is the second-worst kind of stupid. The kind that is actually smart, and can figure shit out, but has such incredibly low self-confidence, that they figure if there’s any shadow of a doubt about anything, then they must be wrong, and therefore must not know anything at all. She MAKES herself stupid.
“It’s one thing if you have a question about a page on the web site. I am a web monkey, I built that page, and therefore I understand that you are deferring to me because I am eminently qualified to answer your question. This means I probably don’t need a half-hour dissertation on how you barely know how to turn your fucking computer on.
I understand that your boss is kind of a demanding bitch but, I’ll be honest, I like her a lot more than you, and if she’s got something that requires a little more than normal from you, I’m not going to tell her that it’s unreasonable. I say this knowing full well that I will most likely be in your cube in a half hour, answering your stupid fucking questions that you could have figured out in a millisecond if you had one goddam ounce of wherewithal, and watching you tear up, sniffle, and dab at your eyes. No, I’m not going to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, nor offer comforting words. I’m not a heartless bastard, I DO want to comfort you, but let’s not forget that the last time I attempted to do that, I was being crushed by your Amazonian body in less than 3 seconds. I’m all about a good hug, but you gotta find love somewhere other than the 15-years-your-junior-JuddHole and Suck it Up when your boss is a bitch. Plus, you fucking linebacker, I’m pretty sure you cracked a couple of my ribs.”
I was fully prepared for a “meeting” in my cube to turn into either A) a bitchfest about her boss and a pleading look for a hug, or 2) a “project” that literally involves 8 minutes of my time, yet all of whose details will be gone over for a couple hours.
Since I was feeling rather gassy this morning, I decided to use that to my advantage, and try my best to make her time spent in my cube as short as possible. I pretty much started about 5 minutes before she got here, and continued all through the duration of her visit.
Her extremely brief visit.
When one of my emissions was louder than intended and I completely ignored her mildly horrified look, I realize what an asshole I’ve been the past week or so. I understand that I’m not quite myself lately, and that I’ve been a depressed and somber poop, but here is this poor woman that obviously nobody loves, that probably nobody has ever loved, who stands as tall and stout as me but walks stooped over with her eyes averted like a frightened marmoset, who’s just looking for a friend in me.
And I gassed her.
BOY, did I gas her.
Good Lord, if she’d stayed another 5 minutes, I might’ve killed her.
.
.
.
“What a tragedy. Even though she was annoying, she will be missed. What’d she die of?”
“Methane poisoning.”
“Methane? Isn’t that…?”
“Yes. Someone farted her to death.”
“What a shame. She really should’ve learned to shorten her ‘cube meetings’. Anyone could’ve seen this coming. People get fucking pissed when those go over 15 minutes.”
Let her death serve as a warning…
Abandon All Olfactory Senses, Ye Who Enter Judd’s Cube.