Tuesday, August 17, 2004

The Ultimate Cure for Smoking

Work is more than stressful enough without crazy people, dontcha think? Well, if yours isn’t, mine is! In fact, it’s so stressful, that I’ve resorted to smoking cigarettes damn near every hour on the hour just to get a break.

The only down side to these much-needed smoke breaks is this crazy middle-aged woman who always manages to interrupt them with rhetoric I didn’t ask for and never needed to hear. Today, however, this woman pulled a story out of her hat that literally floored me and my coworkers…and the story offers a perfect testament as to how “touched” this woman really is. Here’s how it breaks down:

“Hey girls, how ya doin’?” she asks of my coworkers and I.

“We’re doing great…how have you been?” we reply almost in unison. None of us wanted to be bothered.

“I’ve been retro dating lately, so everything’s been great!”

“What’s retro dating?” my friend asks just before the light bulb illuminates in her head. “Oh! You mean you’ve been dating somebody from your past.”

“Yeah, I have,” says the crazy lady. “He’s a nice guy who lives out in Arizona. He never got married, and we recently caught up with each other, and now he’s coming to town next weekend to visit me.”

“Oh wow,” I say. “That’s great!” I’m really not the least bit interested, but what was I supposed to say?

“Yeah, I’m really excited. So, I’m doing everything I can to look my best. My mom told me about some cream that I could put on my face to get rid of my wrinkles. She told me to use a drop the size of a pea, but instead, I used one about the size of a quarter. Last night, it felt like my whole face was on fire!”

“Oh no,” I said, trying to hide the giggles that were coming forth with full force. What I really wanted to say was, Who gives a hot damn! But, I didn’t.

“Yeah, it was terrible. Look at my face!”

Her face was the color of a pale red apple, and the skin was peeling away from her nose and around her eyes. She looked like a clown, but I didn’t want to tell her.

“Wow, that’s too bad,” I say. “Next time, you had better listen to your mom.”

“Yeah, you’re right! But that’s not even the worst part. Now I have the Ronald McDonald Syndrome!”

Oh no, I’m thinking. What the hell is she talking about now? I took the bait anyway. “What’s Ronald McDonald Syndrome?” I ask, regretting the moment I did.

“Well, when my friend comes next weekend, he wants us to sit by the pool at his hotel. That means I have to wear a bathing suit. So, when I was dying my hair last weekend, I thought I could just color my pubic hair, too. That way, I wouldn’t have to worry about shaving as much, because I would have nice blond hair peeking out of the lines of my bathing suit. And that would look fine.”

In what world? Hair coming out of the sides of a bathing suit ain’t cute no matter what color it is! But I keep my mouth shut and let her continue.

“So, when I finished my hair, I had a little dye left over and decided to run it through the hair down there. I know the box says you shouldn’t, but I figured what was the big difference anyway…” Stupid…just stupid…that’s what I’m thinking.

“But after a few minutes, I looked down and all my hair was bright orange! It looked awful! My sister was there, so I ran downstairs and told her, ‘I’ve got Ronald McDonald Syndrome!’ She asked me what I was talking about considering she was a registered nurse and this was a new disease she wasn’t familiar with. So, I threw off my towel and showed her. See, I’ve got Ronald McDonald Syndrome!”

As she said this, she made these nauseating pelvic motions like she was imagining a steamy rodeo encounter with this retro friend of hers. My coworkers and I were disgusted.

Can you imagine some middle-aged, way-too-wrinkled, crazy woman at your job standing in front of your building moving like Elvis on his worst day while talking about her orange public hair? The inevitable vision you get is of nightmarish proportions. Damn lady…some shit you just need to keep to yourself!

So, for those of you who cannot quit smoking…holla at me, and I’ll hook you up with this crazy broad. One 10-minute session of her bullshit, and no smoking patch in the world could cure you faster.

So, on that note…I guess I had better start looking for a new job. I know my 9-5 isn’t going to get any better, but I don’t think I can stomach too many more run-ins with this deranged diva!

Maybe we should get her signed on to the Stand anti-smoking campaign…just a thought…


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