Rule 1
If I don't know you, don't touch me. Repeat after me: I don't like to be touched.
Rule 2
When I get into work, I don't like to make any bullshit chit chat for at least 15 minutes. Let me just sit there and drink my morning coffee in peace.
So, I'm on a crowded train, dazed and sort of half-asleep, when I spot the tiny little Filippina at work that everybody thinks is sweet and cute and oh-so-nice. And yes, if you can tell there's a slight trace of sarcasm in there, then you're more astute than a lot of people I know.
First off? Just because someone's older and shorter than you doesn't automatically make her "sweet" and "cute." You're just looking at surface stuff there and making judgments based on nothing.
This woman is inept, clueless, and irritating -- like a pebble in your shoe. She gets in your space with all the inappropriate touching and shuffles when she walks and generally doesn't know what she's doing, so you wind up having to do double the work under the same deadline if you have the misfortune of working with her.
I have no tolerance for stupidity -- no matter what package it's wrapped up in.
But the thing is, it's not like I haven't been raised right. I say hello, turn on the smile, and start making the obligatory small talk appropriate for an early morning. (Ie. "Wow. It's gotten cold!" and "I had to find my hat and gloves this morning!")
I hate small talk. I'd rather not talk. I'd rather get to my desk and sit in anti-social silence for a good 15 minutes before having to face anybody.
But then, she follows me into the break room, where she cheerily comments that we're wearing the same outfit.
I look down at my red shirt and black pants and think, "Oh dear God, we are. We look like the demented version of the Bobsey Twins."
The annoying old woman continues with, "Oh, and you have a button on your back pocket, too!" and then proceeds to pat my ass.
I instantly felt myself clench and this overwhelming sense of violation washed through me. I wanted to take the scalding hot cup of coffee and fling it in her face, actually -- but I didn't. I mean, I'll often go for the most melodramatic scenario in my head, but in reality, I'll fume inwardly...like the other day, when this guy thought he was being all cute and flirty and just totally disrupted the flow of what I was doing? Oh my God. I wanted to stab him through that meaty paw of his with my pen.
Last night, the water faucets in the main washroom started making this weird noise and I thought, "Fuck!"
See, the thing is, I know all that blah blah about how you don't need a man in your life, but the point is, it'd be nice to have one around the house who knew how to fix things.
And flashing back to that 30 Rock episode where Tina Fey tells the lesbian she's been set up with that, in 20 years' time, if they're both single, they should move in together...and while she's not into the whole gay lifestyle, she'd let her "do stuff" to her.
*sigh*
As a divorced friend keeps telling me, "You must wed a tradesmen."
If I don't know you, don't touch me. Repeat after me: I don't like to be touched.
Rule 2
When I get into work, I don't like to make any bullshit chit chat for at least 15 minutes. Let me just sit there and drink my morning coffee in peace.
So, I'm on a crowded train, dazed and sort of half-asleep, when I spot the tiny little Filippina at work that everybody thinks is sweet and cute and oh-so-nice. And yes, if you can tell there's a slight trace of sarcasm in there, then you're more astute than a lot of people I know.
First off? Just because someone's older and shorter than you doesn't automatically make her "sweet" and "cute." You're just looking at surface stuff there and making judgments based on nothing.
This woman is inept, clueless, and irritating -- like a pebble in your shoe. She gets in your space with all the inappropriate touching and shuffles when she walks and generally doesn't know what she's doing, so you wind up having to do double the work under the same deadline if you have the misfortune of working with her.
I have no tolerance for stupidity -- no matter what package it's wrapped up in.
But the thing is, it's not like I haven't been raised right. I say hello, turn on the smile, and start making the obligatory small talk appropriate for an early morning. (Ie. "Wow. It's gotten cold!" and "I had to find my hat and gloves this morning!")
I hate small talk. I'd rather not talk. I'd rather get to my desk and sit in anti-social silence for a good 15 minutes before having to face anybody.
But then, she follows me into the break room, where she cheerily comments that we're wearing the same outfit.
I look down at my red shirt and black pants and think, "Oh dear God, we are. We look like the demented version of the Bobsey Twins."
The annoying old woman continues with, "Oh, and you have a button on your back pocket, too!" and then proceeds to pat my ass.
I instantly felt myself clench and this overwhelming sense of violation washed through me. I wanted to take the scalding hot cup of coffee and fling it in her face, actually -- but I didn't. I mean, I'll often go for the most melodramatic scenario in my head, but in reality, I'll fume inwardly...like the other day, when this guy thought he was being all cute and flirty and just totally disrupted the flow of what I was doing? Oh my God. I wanted to stab him through that meaty paw of his with my pen.
Last night, the water faucets in the main washroom started making this weird noise and I thought, "Fuck!"
See, the thing is, I know all that blah blah about how you don't need a man in your life, but the point is, it'd be nice to have one around the house who knew how to fix things.
And flashing back to that 30 Rock episode where Tina Fey tells the lesbian she's been set up with that, in 20 years' time, if they're both single, they should move in together...and while she's not into the whole gay lifestyle, she'd let her "do stuff" to her.
*sigh*
As a divorced friend keeps telling me, "You must wed a tradesmen."
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