Monday, February 27, 2012
Before I had the youngin's, I had a job working customer service with a bunch of women. We sat in cubicles all day answering calls and giving out the same answers over and over. You tend to learn a lot about people when you work in such close proximity.
On the opposite side of my cubicle wall sat Trina. She was an unattractive woman in her mid 40s. She had undergone a gastric bypass and subsequently dropped about 100 pounds. This left her with a few major problems: 1) a ginormous skin flap under which she would get infections and 2) the side effect of horrendous gas when she ate things she wasn't supposed to. Daily it seemed she'd arrive with a bag from Hardee's and would spend the first part of the morning noshing away on greasy goodness.
In the afternoons, we were all painfully subjected to the effects of her indulging. Flatulence the likes of which no one had ever inhaled before. It was bad enough to peel paint, my hand to God. I didn't really care much for Trina nor did I like that odor she emitted from her ass. I started keeping a can of Febreeze on my desk and when she would let 'em rip, I'd stand up and make quite a scene about spraying the offensive air we all had to breathe. Needless to say, this didn't make us best buds.
One particularly boring day, I decided to entertain myself by drawing on the dry erase board. Of all the coworkers to complain about a smell causing them discomfort, wouldn't you know it'd be her. She loudly expressed her desire for me to cease and desist. However, she had no authority over me and I had no desire to quit. So I kept right on. Five seconds later I felt a smack! She had gotten out of her cubicle and came over to make me stop. I stood there stunned that she had hit me and simply said, "TRASH!"
This seemed to rile her up even more. She hightailed it to our supervisor to tattle! But woe be the rat, she was in for a mighty big surprise. What followed was a trip to the man who ran the whole place. We both went in separately and told our side of the story. Our coworkers backed me up and she was promptly fired and escorted from the building.
Funny thing is this meant she couldn't get that plastic surgery she was hoping would be deemed medically necessary. I saw her a few years later at the Porkly Workly. She'd gained all her weight back and then some. The look she shot me should've left me dead where I stood but I just smiled, waved and walked right out the automatic door.