So I’m sitting in the large conference room at work (the same one which still has the human waste cleanup norms I posted years ago) during lunchtime. I chose to take my lunch here because of the reactionary climate control that seems to take place in the office every time the outdoor temperature drops below sixty-five degrees. It’s a sauna in cubeville, and while the individuals who spent the summer shivering in puffy coats and hooded cloaks are finally able to relax, those of us with recessive walrus genes are now irritated and sweaty. The large conference room is currently the last bastion of sub-eighty degree temperatures, as long as no one else is in it. And no one is. The table in the center of the conference room sits about ten, fourteen if you have no respect for personal space. I tend to sit at the head (or foot, depending on which way you roll) of the table in this room, even when I’m not alone, so that’s where I am. I should say that that isn’t because I’m usually in charge, or the boss or anything, because I’m not, gracias a Dios. But I *am* physically larger than everyone here, and it’s probably important for people to remember that *really*, if it came down to it, post-apocalypse, we all know who the warlord would be.
Anyway, I eat the bag of chunk-light tuna that is my lunch (or my *first* lunch, because clearly a bag of tuna isn’t enough for a creature of my stature) and sit down to write a blog post. I was shamed at a recent signing for Rapunzel’s Revenge by some of my wife’s fans, who took me to task for not posting more. So I figured I should do *something,* since eating my three ounces of tuna wasn’t going to take the whole lunch hour. I had intended to poach a story that my four year old son wrote me for my birthday, and I probably still will, at least before he turns five, but I wanted to share a bit of dialogue that just happened.
I’m sitting, as I’ve said, at the head of the table, which has me facing the door to the conference room, when Gary (not his real name, of course, because who would really be named Gary?) speedwalks into the room and, upon seeing me, abruptly stops. I don’t know Gary very well - he’s in a part of my department that I don’t usually work with much, and because I’ve stopped going to the morning “stand-up” meetings, I only ever see him in the hallways (which I frequent) and company parties (which I don’t).
I don’t look up from the computer immediately, expecting him to just leave, but he doesn’t. He stands in the door and doesn’t say anything. Really, it was probably only about five seconds that he stood there silently, but it felt like a long time. Eventually I look up.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh,” he says.
There is a pause where I expect him to tell me what he wants. He has an unposted meeting in this room in five minutes, he wants to do some deep knee bends in privacy, something. Nothing.
“You want some tuna?” I ask, hoping he says no, because there isn’t any left.
He stares.
“Is there a meeting in here?” he finally asks.
“Not until two, as far as I know,” I say.
“Oh,” he says again, still standing there.
Nothing for a minute. I look back at my computer and poke some keys, like I’m actually doing something, but he doesn’t leave.
“I am accepting petitioners until then, however,” I finally say.
“What?” he asks.
“If you have any grievances you’d like redressed, I’m willing to hear them,” I say.
“Um...no,” he says, looking around the room. I think he’s trying to avoid my eyes.
Then he walks out.
It’s a tricky business, nurturing that aura of unapproachability. If you’re cruel or are generally difficult to get along with, you foster hatred, which can actually be a lot more of a hassle than people liking you and wanting to be around you all the time. But having little conversations like the one I just had with our Gary here go a long way toward getting people to leave you alone.
Also, only posting blogs every two months or so tends to keep people away.
Anyway, I eat the bag of chunk-light tuna that is my lunch (or my *first* lunch, because clearly a bag of tuna isn’t enough for a creature of my stature) and sit down to write a blog post. I was shamed at a recent signing for Rapunzel’s Revenge by some of my wife’s fans, who took me to task for not posting more. So I figured I should do *something,* since eating my three ounces of tuna wasn’t going to take the whole lunch hour. I had intended to poach a story that my four year old son wrote me for my birthday, and I probably still will, at least before he turns five, but I wanted to share a bit of dialogue that just happened.
I’m sitting, as I’ve said, at the head of the table, which has me facing the door to the conference room, when Gary (not his real name, of course, because who would really be named Gary?) speedwalks into the room and, upon seeing me, abruptly stops. I don’t know Gary very well - he’s in a part of my department that I don’t usually work with much, and because I’ve stopped going to the morning “stand-up” meetings, I only ever see him in the hallways (which I frequent) and company parties (which I don’t).
I don’t look up from the computer immediately, expecting him to just leave, but he doesn’t. He stands in the door and doesn’t say anything. Really, it was probably only about five seconds that he stood there silently, but it felt like a long time. Eventually I look up.
“Hey,” I say.
“Oh,” he says.
There is a pause where I expect him to tell me what he wants. He has an unposted meeting in this room in five minutes, he wants to do some deep knee bends in privacy, something. Nothing.
“You want some tuna?” I ask, hoping he says no, because there isn’t any left.
He stares.
“Is there a meeting in here?” he finally asks.
“Not until two, as far as I know,” I say.
“Oh,” he says again, still standing there.
Nothing for a minute. I look back at my computer and poke some keys, like I’m actually doing something, but he doesn’t leave.
“I am accepting petitioners until then, however,” I finally say.
“What?” he asks.
“If you have any grievances you’d like redressed, I’m willing to hear them,” I say.
“Um...no,” he says, looking around the room. I think he’s trying to avoid my eyes.
Then he walks out.
It’s a tricky business, nurturing that aura of unapproachability. If you’re cruel or are generally difficult to get along with, you foster hatred, which can actually be a lot more of a hassle than people liking you and wanting to be around you all the time. But having little conversations like the one I just had with our Gary here go a long way toward getting people to leave you alone.
Also, only posting blogs every two months or so tends to keep people away.
Well, at least your loyal stalker-fans are still here. Thanks for mentioning all of us weirdos from the last signing!
And also, I work with a Gary, so... I guess people really are named that.
Posted by: Celes | October 20, 2008 at 05:01 PM
Yay, you posted!
*applauds*
Although I think I ought to make a correction when you say, "some of my wife’s fans" - I for one am most definitely YOUR fan, too.
Just, you know, to clarify.
Posted by: Miss Erin | October 20, 2008 at 05:10 PM
Diddo what Miss Erin said. We are YOUR fans too. And fans of this blog. Thus, we wanted more.
Why do people act so weird?
Posted by: hwalk | October 20, 2008 at 07:05 PM
I'm a fan too, but only out of obligation given our past.
That said, I heartily welcome these infrequent installments and this one gave me a particularly satisfying chuckle on more than one occasion.
Posted by: Carson | October 21, 2008 at 08:20 AM
Now I want tuna.
Posted by: Marcus Aurelius | October 21, 2008 at 09:52 AM
way to not post for like a year...
Posted by: clairedelune | October 21, 2008 at 05:37 PM
You're always good for a chuckle, no matter how infrequent. :)
Posted by: the dragonfly | October 22, 2008 at 02:14 PM
I suspect, as if to project my own reasoning onto him, that he was hoping for a nice private place to pass a lot of gas. And upon discovering that his private location was not at all so, and in the wake of allowing his gaurd down in preparation to release said pressure, he was forced to take a couple of minutes to regain his composure, and will, before reentering public areas in hopes of finding a different room to toxify in solitude.
Just my thoughts.
Posted by: Jeff | October 28, 2008 at 04:43 PM
Gah, temperatures in buildings are horrible! They're never right. I'm always roasting to death; it sucks. My friends wear thick jackets indoors during the winter while I swelter in a thin long sleeved shirt. It's like I'm a werewolf from Twilight or something, no kidding! Luckily my mom is similar, so our house runs (Winter or Summer) at a brisk 67 degrees. Lovely.
BTW, love the Dean Witch Project. The meat was ingenious. My favorite part of it was the end, when you said, "I still have meat in my hand." I laughed a lot.
Posted by: Katie-wa | November 02, 2008 at 08:50 PM
Teehee.
I haven't been to your blog in a long time. I've missed you. :P
Posted by: Maribeth | November 04, 2008 at 07:37 PM