Joe. Reprise. dammit all. . .
Earlier today I thought of writing a brief post noting that I hadn't seen nor heard from Joe since the previous post on the subject. But, seeing as the day was not over, I decided not to. Good choice, it seems.
He came up after lunch this time, accusing me of "running away too quickly at lunch."
Really. "I didn't see you down there."
Says he "Still ran away too quickly."
I glare. "I stopped at the vending machines to get a bag of Cheetos" [*Side note: It's been about a year since I last had Cheetos, but they're still as tasty and delicious as ever. Anyway, back to the vent*]
He pulls out a shiney CD-RW, and flashes it in the flourescent lights.
"That them?" I ask, hating the feeling of deja vu.
"Yup."
"Ah, transferring data to different media. Good skill to have." My tone indicates that I'm not really as impressed as the words might otherwise indicate. I pull out my handy little green book (self-bound!) that I've been using as a notebook/ sketchbook, and start working on my little sketch of Dwaco Mowfoy (which is to say, chibi-fied Draco Malfoy.)
We idly talk about a few things as I sketch and he keeps flashing the DVD. Finally, he breaks.
"You're ignoring me!" He pouts.
"Mmmm,yyyyyyup!" I reply, fixing Dwaco's hair (you know how picky he can get about his hair).
"Why?"
I glare in response, not wishing to utter the words that come to mind, something to the effect of "Because you're an annoying little pissant that needs to get a life."
"You're no fun!"
"Nope, guess not."
"What is that anyway?" he continues, gesturing to my little book, and my twitching hand. I turn the book to show him my cutie, as I look, reconsidering the expression on Dwaco's face--it's not quite innocent and sweet enough.
He reads my little caption. "Dwaco. Is that the bad guy?"
Sigh. "Not so much. He's under the influence of his father, Lucius. Who, though gorgeous, is pretty bad, seeing as he's the chief henchman of the villain."
"Oh, well I haven't read the books," he sneers. My expression must show my opinion of his seeming opinion, as he continues. "Well, look, I just like boring old authors like Lewis and Tolkien!" His opinion is about as subtle as sulfuric acid.
I know my eyes roll involuntarily. I like Lewis and Tolkien, as well as Chesterton, Shakespeare, and even older than that. No, it's the derision in his voice when he talks about Rowling or her Potter. He hasn't even opened the books, he dislikes them on principle, though I'm not sure what principle that is. Besides, I like Potter, I enjoy Rowling, and he's clearly insulting my taste in reading material when he derides some of my favorite books and characters.
However, despite provokation, I don't rise to the bait. If he wants to miss out, too damn bad for him, no skin off my back. So, I start fixing his expression as Joe keeps trying to catch my eye with the CD.
"You haven't said why you're ignoring me." he prods. There's something about that statement that, looking back, is slightly amusing, in a pitiful way. Perhaps I'll figure it out later.
I sigh. "Because your behavior regarding these--" I genture to the CD he's literally dangling like bait before me "--is not . . . earning you any points."
"Being capitalistic?"
Faint, subvocal growl. "You've already said you don't want money, or any thing." I remind him. Money, barter of thing for thing, that's capitalism. That, I don't mind. This, however, is not.
"But you haven't even asked what I want!" he's whining, God help me.
"It's the fact that you're asking for anything, like this." I say. It's the fact that he's being coy, that he wants me to ask him, and won't simply come out and say what he wants. It's the fact that he wants anything at all, when that wasn't mentioned before when I asked if he could make me copies. If he'd said at the beginning "Well, sure, but in return, would you _________?" I could have made a decision then. This is just . . . annoying. And a bit insulting.
He returns to pouting, I return to sketching. I should be working but . . . I dunno. Hard to work in some environments.
The subject changes for just a bit, and then we're back. "Why won't you ask?"
Again, I restrain a sigh. My restrained sighs could likely power Al Gore's house at this point.
I look at the ceiling, trying to put thoughts together. "I'm trying to think of small enough wor--" I stop myself, and restart "of a way of saying this shortly." I stare a bit more. "No, no, because I've already told you. I told you already. Think on what I've said, you're answer's already been given."
Silence.
"Well, I've got to go. . ." he sighs.
"Okay, have a good weekend!" I smile for the first time in our conversation.
"You're not going to ask me?" He seems disappointed.
My smile disappears. "Have a good weekend."
He leaves. I return to working.
He came up after lunch this time, accusing me of "running away too quickly at lunch."
Really. "I didn't see you down there."
Says he "Still ran away too quickly."
I glare. "I stopped at the vending machines to get a bag of Cheetos" [*Side note: It's been about a year since I last had Cheetos, but they're still as tasty and delicious as ever. Anyway, back to the vent*]
He pulls out a shiney CD-RW, and flashes it in the flourescent lights.
"That them?" I ask, hating the feeling of deja vu.
"Yup."
"Ah, transferring data to different media. Good skill to have." My tone indicates that I'm not really as impressed as the words might otherwise indicate. I pull out my handy little green book (self-bound!) that I've been using as a notebook/ sketchbook, and start working on my little sketch of Dwaco Mowfoy (which is to say, chibi-fied Draco Malfoy.)
We idly talk about a few things as I sketch and he keeps flashing the DVD. Finally, he breaks.
"You're ignoring me!" He pouts.
"Mmmm,yyyyyyup!" I reply, fixing Dwaco's hair (you know how picky he can get about his hair).
"Why?"
I glare in response, not wishing to utter the words that come to mind, something to the effect of "Because you're an annoying little pissant that needs to get a life."
"You're no fun!"
"Nope, guess not."
"What is that anyway?" he continues, gesturing to my little book, and my twitching hand. I turn the book to show him my cutie, as I look, reconsidering the expression on Dwaco's face--it's not quite innocent and sweet enough.
He reads my little caption. "Dwaco. Is that the bad guy?"
Sigh. "Not so much. He's under the influence of his father, Lucius. Who, though gorgeous, is pretty bad, seeing as he's the chief henchman of the villain."
"Oh, well I haven't read the books," he sneers. My expression must show my opinion of his seeming opinion, as he continues. "Well, look, I just like boring old authors like Lewis and Tolkien!" His opinion is about as subtle as sulfuric acid.
I know my eyes roll involuntarily. I like Lewis and Tolkien, as well as Chesterton, Shakespeare, and even older than that. No, it's the derision in his voice when he talks about Rowling or her Potter. He hasn't even opened the books, he dislikes them on principle, though I'm not sure what principle that is. Besides, I like Potter, I enjoy Rowling, and he's clearly insulting my taste in reading material when he derides some of my favorite books and characters.
However, despite provokation, I don't rise to the bait. If he wants to miss out, too damn bad for him, no skin off my back. So, I start fixing his expression as Joe keeps trying to catch my eye with the CD.
"You haven't said why you're ignoring me." he prods. There's something about that statement that, looking back, is slightly amusing, in a pitiful way. Perhaps I'll figure it out later.
I sigh. "Because your behavior regarding these--" I genture to the CD he's literally dangling like bait before me "--is not . . . earning you any points."
"Being capitalistic?"
Faint, subvocal growl. "You've already said you don't want money, or any thing." I remind him. Money, barter of thing for thing, that's capitalism. That, I don't mind. This, however, is not.
"But you haven't even asked what I want!" he's whining, God help me.
"It's the fact that you're asking for anything, like this." I say. It's the fact that he's being coy, that he wants me to ask him, and won't simply come out and say what he wants. It's the fact that he wants anything at all, when that wasn't mentioned before when I asked if he could make me copies. If he'd said at the beginning "Well, sure, but in return, would you _________?" I could have made a decision then. This is just . . . annoying. And a bit insulting.
He returns to pouting, I return to sketching. I should be working but . . . I dunno. Hard to work in some environments.
The subject changes for just a bit, and then we're back. "Why won't you ask?"
Again, I restrain a sigh. My restrained sighs could likely power Al Gore's house at this point.
I look at the ceiling, trying to put thoughts together. "I'm trying to think of small enough wor--" I stop myself, and restart "of a way of saying this shortly." I stare a bit more. "No, no, because I've already told you. I told you already. Think on what I've said, you're answer's already been given."
Silence.
"Well, I've got to go. . ." he sighs.
"Okay, have a good weekend!" I smile for the first time in our conversation.
"You're not going to ask me?" He seems disappointed.
My smile disappears. "Have a good weekend."
He leaves. I return to working.