Dear New Co-Worker,
Last week I caught you checking out Jackie’s ass as she walked past us to the copy machine. There’s nothing inherently wrong with being bewitched by the female form, but unfortunately for you, it was the nail in the coffin I’ve been building for you since the day you started.
It didn’t help that you were essentially hired to replace someone that I thought was crazy cool. He was bizarre, grizzly and walked like he had far too much bravado, but he had a two year old daughter that he couldn’t stop talking about so it made him adorable. He beat on the desk and shook the whole table but on his last day he said he was happy he finally got to see my personality. When he left I silently rejoiced that although I wished he hadn’t left, I now would have no one sitting next to me and could cruise on facebook all day without fear of judgment. But then I showed up from my long weekend of moving in with The Pumpkin to find you in the seat beside mine. You’re British, which I thought meant I was genetically predetermined to love you, but apparently you’re the exception.
I could get rude very easily, talk about how you look like a sniveling weasel who strives for mediocrity. A snitch, if you will. But that’s baseless, so I’ll be totally honest: I just don’t like you. It’s striking even to me how much I don’t like you because I am Queen of Redemption and Empathy. I love people, and letting them be who they are even if I couldn’t do what they do. But something about you makes my lip curl and I can’t find it in me cozy up to you.
Maybe it’s because I’m naturally drawn to the quirks and the outliers, and people who seem pervasively “normal” give me THE FUCKING CREEPS. But the longer I think about it, the more I think there’s actually something wrong with you. There has never been an instance in my life where I’ve taken an immediate dislike to someone and they haven’t proven later on to be every bit worth my disdain. From teachers who intentionally stunt their students growth to whorish and lewd womanizers who pretend to have more substance, their facades have all dropped to reveal someone who doesn’t deserve the respect I was so hesitant to give.
It’s true that all the things building your coffin have been superficial. It’s true that you haven’t done or said an unkind thing to me. It’s true that I think you dress like you’re trying to be a part of the wallpaper of life. It’s true that I’m going to need you to control your train of thought a bit more and not stare at a girls ass while giving me direction on the competitive presentation.