fuck this job.com

The new woman can be very sweet, but she’s also really insecure and passive-aggressive. Her desk is five feet from mine, so I get a front row seat to her neuroses. She’s not all bad. She’s got a ton of experience, so I’m not having to explain to her how to use PowerPoint or how to figure out the rate of exchange when her boss gets back from a trip overseas, but I can see I’m going to have to establish some serious boundaries with this one.

Yesterday, she was congratulating herself for being able to leave on time, but then she stopped herself and said, “There’s three minutes left,” and looked at me expectantly. Yeah, my watch said 5:27, too, but she’d already turned off her computer and put on her commutin’ shoes. Why look to me for approval? I didn’t say anything and kept perusing the message board I was reading (hey, it was quittin’ time!). Next thing I know, her face is in my monitor asking, “What time do you have?” Hello, it’s 5:30; fuck off. OK, I didn’t tell her to fuck off, but I did give her time albeit in a very testy tone (and she did fuck off).

Then this morning, I ripped the hem on my pants, so I was hemming them at my desk with my super-teeny sewing kit that I never thought would come in handy yet have kept in my desk drawer for years. I had my back to her to keep my lack of professionalism from public view, but, because I’m such a spaz when it comes to sewing, it took forever to hem the damn things. The curiosity must have been killing her because she said, “Here’s something funny,” and, again, before I know it, she’s walked around my desk to stand in front of me to relate her boss’ confusion over expense accounts. Then she leans over my L-shaped desk to see what I’m doing (the table top must have obstructed her view) and says, “Oh good, you have a sewing kit for when I need it! Ha ha ha! ” Good lord, woman, pretend it’s 5:30 and fuck off.