Tuesday was my second day at the new job. It’s not my first choice for employment, but it’s a job and I’m happy to have it. I have to work late two nights a week, but I have weekends off, so it does have some great benefits and so far, looks like it may have some potential.
My workday began at 8 AM and I was assigned some chick to sit with for the morning. The supervisor who was doing our training wasn’t coming in until lunchtime and I was supposed to “shadow” her.
I grabbed a chair and sat down next to her cubicle. She looked at me and said, “I’m diabetic, so I have to eat at my desk. You’re not allowed to.” Whatever. She doesn’t sign my paychecks, so she doesn’t tell me what I can and can’t do.
She then proceeded to open her bag and whip out three of those big ass taquito looking things from 7-11. She also had a SoBe drink of some kind. She probably figured because it was low calorie it would offset the three sticks of crap she was inhaling. If so, she was wrong.
She made love to the first one as she was explaining how to turn on a computer and get to the log-in screen. I scooted back so I would avoid having food spilled on me. This chick was a vigorous eater.
She barely came up for air before she started gnawing on the second one. I was trying to ask her questions, but eventually stopped. I couldn’t understand what she was saying. She either had her mouth full or was on the phone. Occasionally she multi-tasked and did both at once. It was classy.
She took a 10 or 15 minute break before the third one and as she finished licking the crumbs off her lips, she announced she was showing me where the fridge is. I told her I knew where it was, but she insisted I follow her. “What the hell,” I thought.
She grabbed a 24 oz bottle of Pepsi Max off the top shelf and made sure she told me the right half of the top shelf is where she keeps her stuff. I’m not going to bother remembering what she told me. Chances are she considers the whole damn thing her property.
We returned to her cubicle and she opened her purse and whipped out a ziploc bag with seven or eight cookies. She somehow avoided eating them right away and about three minutes later, a co-worker walked by and put a Little Debbie snack on her desk. the Diabetic Chick pounced on it like a fumble in the Super Bowl.
She began making sweet love to Little Debbie, so I excused myself to the restroom for a moment. As I urinated, I texted The Muse to tell her about this. I don’t remember exactly what I said, but I do know I used the phrase, “Holy shit. How about she mixes in a carrot once in a while?” She quickly responded, “Diabetic my ass. You don’t eat all that stuff if you’re diabetic.”
She was right. Another few months of this and I’m gonna be dodging one of those rascal scooters at work. I returned from the bathroom to find Little Debbie taken care of and only one cookie left. In just over two hours she ate more than I ate the entire previous day. Holy shit!
The owner bought pizza and wings for the whole office–around 25 people. I was first in line, though I didn’t necessarily intend to be first. All I wanted was to jump in line in front of her. I wanted to make sure I wasn’t fighting with four people over the last three slices and 2 wings.
After lunch it was a short training session, then back out for more shadowing. They put us with new people and I was shown who my new buddy was. I introduced myself and he said I probably should find someone new, because he was sick and didn’t really care about what he was doing today. Lovely. I asked if he had a cold and he replied, with a very straight face, “Malaria.” Fuck it’s gonna be a long afternoon…
Don’t forget to check out the good stuff over at J.R.’s Journey