I was originally gonna dedicate this post to fashionable findings, but this will be postponed. Instead, I’m gonna vent and share one of my daily
experiences frustrations with y’all as I want to enter my weekend zen.
Grab a cup of tea, or a glass of wine or a bottle of beer, whatever floats your boat. ’cause this will be quite the rant. Warning: a lot of GIPHY’s and swearing ahead.
Alright, so there’s this particular individual at work. From now on, I shall refer to him as Timon (later on will be explained why). I thought of him as quite weird as I started at my new job. We started at the same time. I wasn’t really feeling him as he seemed quite…Awkward. Like the old- man that hasn’t been among people or in an office often enough to know how to deal. But you know, we just started. I had to give him the benefit of the doubt as I didn’t want to be judgmental.
However, as we time went by, we were both trying to find our places at the office, getting used to everything and everyone. Still, he wasn’t one of the people I dealt with. Not on purpose, my favorite spot just happened to away from him.
Until I find colleagues with the right kinda energy. When we together, it’s a kiki. We talk loud, we laugh even louder, we sing, we eat. It works…For us.
But there are always partycrashers. In this case, we got Timon. At first it wasn’t noticable. We would talk and he’d casually pitch in. Sure, his comments were awkward and sometimes inappropriate. But like I said, I still didn’t want to judge him. Until his casual pitches became a regular pitch. And at the most inapropriate moments. P.e: if we’re talking about our periods and anti-conceptions…We don’t need your opinion, nor jokes only you laugh about. You don’t have a vagina, nor a uterus. Stay the fuck in your lane.
Now, you might think: “Yeah, but y’all are talking at work, which is a public place and you just mentioned y’all are loud.”
True. But we have our silent moments. However, when Timon notices we lower our volume to chat, his nosy ass will literally get up off his seat to tune into our conversation.
And so Timon was born.
When I started noticing how often he was mixing himself in our conversations, it was strike 1.
Timon got our names mixed up. No big deal, right? I was ready to brush it off and went on jokingly about it when he said: “Y’all just look so much alike.” Mind you, my colleague and I are one of the few black girls in the office. You can practically count us 1 hand. However, she’s cafe con leche and I’m chocolate. We look nothing alike. But his excuse for this ridiculous mix up was: “It’s the hair.”
You have the audacity to generalize us, because we both have boxbraids?
You know what, I can’t even…
The next thing I’m about to tell y’all literally makes my blood boil. Yes, I’m talking in present form. Because, despite that it happened a few days ago it still pisses me off.
So, like I told y’all earlier. When the three of us together, issa party. We bring food and coffee for each other. But it’s an unspoken mutual agreement amongst the three of us. I repeat: the three of us.
Of course Timon who always has his nose in all our businesses had started to notice we was getting food and drinks for each other. Apparently he felt like he was missing out, because one day while I was casually talking to my colleague, he got up:
Him: “Are you going downstairs?”
(The cafetaria is downstairs)
Me: “I’m not sure.”
I didn’t ask any further, because I highkey didn’t care why he asked.
Clearly he felt the need to share that he was in the mood for something to snack on.
To me, saying you’re in the mood for a snack doesn’t equal asking me if I could bring him something from downstairs. We ain’t friends, bruv. You gon’ ask me politely.
But since I didn’t bite, he went on to my colleagues and said he forgot his money at home. I’m not sure if it was true or not…However, a few days later he came at me with that same excuse. And I was like…
You forgot your money once, a few days later you come at me with the saying you want something to eat like I should feed your ass by default. Apparently they didn’t teach you how to properly formulate a fucking question, ’cause your punkass thinks telling me you want something equals a goddamn question. It. Does. Not. Also…
Not only have you generalized me, you have now questioned my fucking intelligence by thinking you could inconspicuously use that same lame excuse. Because if you have indeed forgot your money, why didn’t your ass at least offer to give me the cash back?
I’ll tell you why. Because your ass thinks we’ll baby your muddaskunt! Guess what the fuck we not gon’ do! We not gon’ laugh. We not gon’ talk. We not gonna interact whatsoever, because I need my job and don’t have bail money. It’s a wrap.
As is this post, now that I got out my Friday frustrations. I feel so much better now. I’m gonna sit back, savor my cheap wine and enjoy my weekend.
So tell me, have you ever dealt with a colleague that makes you consider jail time?