*Today, write a post focusing on one — or more — of the people that have recently entered your life, and tell us how your narratives intersected.*
The prompt asked about who I met in 2014, but I don’t have an answer for that. However, I CAN give you a group of people I met in 2013 that rolled over to 2014, the lovely cast of characters I grouped together as #SoBeOffice.
How I ended up in this job was a bizarre twist of fate that makes me fully believe that God sometimes trolls me. It was a daily exercise in “am I really here?”
“Are these people for real?”
“How can I get “Bravo Andy” to be interested in filming these shenanigans?”
and “you can bring the cameras out now, because surely I’m on a show”
I didn’t know such slackness and unprofessional behavior existed, but then again people will do what you let them get away with, right?
The stories got more and more ridiculous to the point that I started Tweeting about it daily.
There was a cast of characters the likes of which I’ve never seen. Fancy Scot, Beautiful Dominican, Talkative, Boss, etc. Each one had their traits that just made working at this office increasingly tragic. People loved the stories tho, I had something new to tweet about daily and they bordered on the incredible.
Fancy Scot had no qualms about telling me who she was sleeping with/had slept with, but couldn’t tell me where to find an extra stapler. She was the type to name drop all the people/dj’s she knew (had slept with) as if that would impress me. *blank stare* But no, let’s have a meeting about dress code, but not talk about the $15,000 you had to refund because the Boss was partying with the tenants and wrecked someone’s house. (This really happened)
Beautiful Dominican was indeed lovely, but when she’d use the bathroom, let’s just say you could always tell she’d been in there. And I’m not talking about hair on the floor.
Talkative was just that, talkative. She wanted to talk about everything, everyday, all at once. Within 30 minutes of meeting her, I knew about her boyfriend, that he’d run away again and she couldn’t find him, he was a recovering addict and wouldn’t go to AA. Oh, and she wanted to be a lawyer and if he couldn’t get himself together she was gonna have to leave him. ( ._.) “I’m sorry, what’s your name again?” And my headphones seemed to be an indication that I wanted to be spoken to.
The wanna be DJ and the young one would pump techno music through the office. Lemme tell you what’s not professional, “boots and pants and boots and pants” being the soundtrack to your job.
However, when Fancy Scot was in a good mood, she would blast Ursher-baby WITHOUT headphones. Mind you, her ringtone was “There Goes My Baby” and she never had her phone on silent. It was never required for you to act professional because odds are when the boss DID come into the office, he was high. Or I had to navigate around the pile of sweaty clothes in the corner because he took a shower. Or navigate around the palette in the supply closet because he had his ex sleeping at the office. Or….
should I really continue…
It was a lesson in patience.
However, it was precisely the scene that reminded me why I don’t like South Beach.
I’m so glad I’m gone, but considering now I have no more stories, I might be the only one..
Talk to you later, Nick