The Power of Psst.
Want to know how to drive me crazy? Ok, want to know how to drive me battier than I already am? Just “pssst” me. Seriously, that sound makes me nuts. Probably because it is generally coming from one of my partners at work, and it’s generally not about anything I really give a flying fig leaf about.
This particular partner is, stereotypically speaking, alternately known as The Spy, or Nosy Nellie. I like to call her The Pest…The Psst Pest.
The scenarios generally go something like this:
Me: Working (or slacking depending on the moment) away at my desk, minding my own business, trying to make it through another day in what I affectionately refer to as Juniorkinderhighschoolgarden. Usually, I am deep in thought about something that either affects my paycheck or my personal life when “it” happens: the dreaded noise.
Pest: “Psst”
Me: Doing my best to ignore her.
Pest: “PSSST!”
Me: Swiveling around in my chair to see her pinched little ferret face either popping up over the top of our shared cube wall, or peering at me from around the divider like some kind of deranged gnome. “What?”
Pest: “So and so is leaving at noon for FMLA.”
Me: “And…”
Pest: This is her seventh time this month; she can’t have any sick time left. How do these people pay their bills?
Me: Shrugging, “I don’t know, it’s not my business. Was she scheduled on any of my queues?”
Pest: No
Me: “Oh, ok.” And then I turn back to try and get my mind back on work and off searching for the perfect painting of a Tudor gown to re-create, only to be assaulted again in less than ten minutes.
Pest: “Psst”
Me: Sighing, “What?”
Pest: “Whosie Bottom is pregnant again.”
Me: “Good for old Whoosie.”
Pest: “This is her fourth baby, and she doesn’t know who the father is.”
Me: “Well, Mary didn’t know who Jesus’ father was either. In the long run, nobody cares. I really have to get this project, report, crossword puzzle done, isn’t it time for your break?”
This, is how my day goes; over and over again with the “psst”. Seriously, why can’t she just leave me alone? Why does she think I care? Help me find a weapon against the power of the psst!
This particular partner is, stereotypically speaking, alternately known as The Spy, or Nosy Nellie. I like to call her The Pest…The Psst Pest.
The scenarios generally go something like this:
Me: Working (or slacking depending on the moment) away at my desk, minding my own business, trying to make it through another day in what I affectionately refer to as Juniorkinderhighschoolgarden. Usually, I am deep in thought about something that either affects my paycheck or my personal life when “it” happens: the dreaded noise.
Pest: “Psst”
Me: Doing my best to ignore her.
Pest: “PSSST!”
Me: Swiveling around in my chair to see her pinched little ferret face either popping up over the top of our shared cube wall, or peering at me from around the divider like some kind of deranged gnome. “What?”
Pest: “So and so is leaving at noon for FMLA.”
Me: “And…”
Pest: This is her seventh time this month; she can’t have any sick time left. How do these people pay their bills?
Me: Shrugging, “I don’t know, it’s not my business. Was she scheduled on any of my queues?”
Pest: No
Me: “Oh, ok.” And then I turn back to try and get my mind back on work and off searching for the perfect painting of a Tudor gown to re-create, only to be assaulted again in less than ten minutes.
Pest: “Psst”
Me: Sighing, “What?”
Pest: “Whosie Bottom is pregnant again.”
Me: “Good for old Whoosie.”
Pest: “This is her fourth baby, and she doesn’t know who the father is.”
Me: “Well, Mary didn’t know who Jesus’ father was either. In the long run, nobody cares. I really have to get this project, report, crossword puzzle done, isn’t it time for your break?”
This, is how my day goes; over and over again with the “psst”. Seriously, why can’t she just leave me alone? Why does she think I care? Help me find a weapon against the power of the psst!