The Saga of Morton, the Lazy-Eyed IT Professional
(Okay, so it's not really a saga...and his name isn't really Morton, but the rest of the story is true...)
We have a new IT guy at work. He's generally nice enough, but today was the first time I've ever talked to him one-on-one. He poked his head in to ask who used to sit in the abandoned cube next to me, just to make sure he's disconnecting the right computer. I provide the information he needs, he cracks a joke about someone coming back to find all their stuff gone and thinking they've been fired, we share a laugh, and I turn back to my work...
...only to look up a moment later and realize that he hasn't left. Instead, he's looking over my shoulder, trying to decipher the spreadsheet I have up on my monitor (either that, or he's admiring the bamboo plant on my window sill...kinda hard to tell).
"Whatcha got there?"
"Oh, it's Census data for a neighborhood in Woodinville."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
Apparently, he didn't hear the AOL doorslam noise, so he didn't realize the conversation was over. Now he turns to look out my window and admire the weather, commenting that it's nice to see the sun, but it's too bloody hot. (It was 85 today.) I make a joke about how I moved out here to get away from hot summers, and he asks where from. I tell him, but I refrain from pointing out the Texas A&M license plate frame that's hanging around the name plate on the outside of my cube, currently positioned about 12 inches to his 2 o'clock. Then I wish I hadn't.
"Wow, I would have thought it would be to get away from all the Texans."
Fucker.
And this is how Morton became the 137th person to tell me that I don't sound like a Texan, as though he were paying me the biggest compliment one human being could bestow on another.
Thanks, Morton.
We have a new IT guy at work. He's generally nice enough, but today was the first time I've ever talked to him one-on-one. He poked his head in to ask who used to sit in the abandoned cube next to me, just to make sure he's disconnecting the right computer. I provide the information he needs, he cracks a joke about someone coming back to find all their stuff gone and thinking they've been fired, we share a laugh, and I turn back to my work...
...only to look up a moment later and realize that he hasn't left. Instead, he's looking over my shoulder, trying to decipher the spreadsheet I have up on my monitor (either that, or he's admiring the bamboo plant on my window sill...kinda hard to tell).
"Whatcha got there?"
"Oh, it's Census data for a neighborhood in Woodinville."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah."
Apparently, he didn't hear the AOL doorslam noise, so he didn't realize the conversation was over. Now he turns to look out my window and admire the weather, commenting that it's nice to see the sun, but it's too bloody hot. (It was 85 today.) I make a joke about how I moved out here to get away from hot summers, and he asks where from. I tell him, but I refrain from pointing out the Texas A&M license plate frame that's hanging around the name plate on the outside of my cube, currently positioned about 12 inches to his 2 o'clock. Then I wish I hadn't.
"Wow, I would have thought it would be to get away from all the Texans."
Fucker.
And this is how Morton became the 137th person to tell me that I don't sound like a Texan, as though he were paying me the biggest compliment one human being could bestow on another.
Thanks, Morton.