I Was So Much Older Then (Updated!)

I'm younger than that now.

I was reminded of that line by Bob Dylan the other day when I had a series of awkward conversations with the new girl at work, who may or may not also work as a stripper as her other job.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.  The Bev doesn't judge.  In fact, when I heard that one of the new advisors (a notorious but unlikely-looking playboy) was thinking of hiring one of his ultra-young paramours as an assistant, I was secretly thrilled.  I hardly socialize with any of the uptight stuffy folks here in my little office, choosing to keep to myself aside from brief, polite exchanges when proximity requires them, so the idea that someone with a little pizazz and a little raunch was coming into the office was exciting.  The fact that my other female coworkers were scandalized just sweetened the deal.  Bring.  It.  On!

Enter the new girl.  It's not clear whether or not she was/is a stripper at all, but she is very young and very pretty.  She's got a lot of tattoos, including the ever-popular upper arm barbed-wire and a tramp stamp.  She wears a lot of make up and perfume but dresses appropriately, if not a little too nicely for our laid-back office.  All of our exchanges had been brief but I helped her learn the ropes quite a bit for her first week.  She was nice but a little... off, somehow.  Socially awkward.  She had a hard time maintaining eye contact, talked very fast, and asked weird questions at weird times.

I quickly decided that she and I would interact just as I do with the rest of the coworkers with whom I have nothing in common; that is to say, only when necessary.  Next thing you know, she keeps coming by my desk awkwardly trying to chat, which is not something that I encourage.  I have work to do and an overly-talkative crazy cat lady coworker to contend with on the best of days.  Plus, I sneak in quite a bit of my own writing (including this blog!) during my down time rather than make idle, forced chit-chat with anyone.  Call me reclusive, I don't care.  I don't come to work to socialize at this point in my life.  I want to do my job, collect my paycheck, and get the heck outta Dodge.

What followed were two extremely bizarre conversations that left me scratching my head and mentally adding her to "THE LIST."

The other day I'm making copies and sending out a fax.  She enters and blurts out, "Are you married?"  I said that I was, and then she proceeded to ask me a series of increasingly personal questions.   I was already edging towards the door as politely as I could when she asked if I have kids.  I said, "Yes, I have two boys.  They are seven and three."  She then said, "Oh, I have two boys too!  But they're rats.  Their names are Collin and Brandon."

I just smiled blankly.  Did she just compare my children to her pet rodents?

I asked her a few cursory questions about the vermin, but she wouldn't let me go just yet.  She asked if I have any pets and I told her we'd just gotten a kitten.  She then launched into a 10 minute tirade about how important it is to spay or neuter your pet, and if I didn't do that then I was practically abusing my kitten.

HELLO?  First of all, I've owned more pets in my lifetime than I can count on both hands, I used to volunteer at the Humane Society, and I guarantee that I've owned pets for longer than this skinny bitch has been alive.  Plus, my kitten is 10 weeks old - far too young to be spayed.  Maybe find out a little something about me as a pet owner before lecturing me for 10 minutes about something that I already agree with, ya' fuckin' weirdo!

I walked away scratching my head and muttering under my breath, but otherwise dismissed the incident as "Okay, the new girl is kind of odd."

The next day she showed up with a bag of stuff "for me."  Turns out, Skanky McSkinny-Bones is an Herbalife consultant on the side, so she oh-so-helpfully brought me in a whole bunch of samples because I've been getting over a cold.  Sounds nice enough, right?  Completely  unwanted, but nice.  Until she hauled out packets of weight loss shakes and thrust them at me.

Oh no she di'nt!

Let's get this straight.  I definitely don't have spare cash to be dropping on overpriced echinacea tablets, nor do I have the desire to starve myself or drink my meals in an effort to be skinny.  I like my curves, even the ones that I'm currently working on paring down after enjoying a little too much BBQ & beer this summer.  More importantly, who does that?  Who just shows up and says, "You must need these weight loss shakes since you're such a cow," after working with someone for less than a week?  Bitch best step off.

Later I saw that she had put a little Herbalife display up in the kitchen, leading everyone who walked in to ask who the fuck was trying to hock their wares in the break room, and IS SHE CALLING US FAT?!

For the first time ever, I actually bonded with my coworkers because of our mutual confusion caused by the crazy new girl.  So there's that.

On the way home from work I was telling Jim all about it and we had a lot of laughs at her expense.  We agreed that she is in that 20-something bubble when you think you know everything and have it all figured out, before the bottom falls out and bad shit happens in your life and you realize that you don't know your ass from your elbow about how life works.

I truly believe that age can bring wisdom, but really we just get wise to the fact that we don't know jack. 

*******UPDATE*******


Guess who was "let-go" this morning, right after I hit Publish on this post?  I'm a little freaked out.  *glancing over shoulder*  Is this place bugged?  


Yikes!  Back to the pole you go, Herb-Girl!