Usually, I'm inspired to blog after encountering something out there in the wild that gets my panties in a bunch. (See slutty gym girl blog for example.) It's not so much that the masses are getting less annoying, it's that I've been going out less lately. You know what they say: if you can't beat 'em, hide at home eating doughnuts and plotting world domination.
I'm not allowed to talk much about my job, it's sort of top secret and all. I'm totally not kidding, and I have to laugh, because that makes my job sound SO much more exciting than it actually is. But even if I can't talk about the job, I can talk about the people. I work with a very eclectic mix of retirees, former teachers and unemployable holders of liberal arts masters degrees.
I sit in a room with about 100 other losers. I'm lucky enough to sit in the far back corner, so I only have direct contact with one other loser. His name is Ed. Ed is in his 60's and is a former forensic pathologist. He has strong opinions about the FBI. So much so, Ed once sent a fake government letter to his neighbor, an FBI goon, telling him he was going to be investigated for some sort of FBI related monkey business. His neighbor was shitting his pants and Ed was having a good chuckle. Also, Ed keeps a clear bottle on his desk with a bunch of miscellaneous old people pills in it, and he insists on taunting me with Sudoku puzzles that I can't possibly solve. That's Ed.
Ed has also decided, in his quasi-professional opinion, that I am psychotic. I'm not sure how much merit his opinion has since his dealings with human pathology were pretty much restricted to autopsying corpses, and I'm pretty much still alive, and thus out of his scope. Now, let me say, and my friends will attest to this - I have a pretty dry, sarcastic sense of humor. I've been told that Ed has a dry wit as well. That's fine and dandy, but there's a fine line between being dry and being an asshole who gives people shit and then accuses them of not being able to "take a joke". In my expert opinion, Ed is drifting towards the latter.
Ed has decided that I'm psychotic largely based on the intricate drawings* I do when group discussions are going on. I actually do these to keep myself sane when the ramblings of my fellow employees become a little too grating to handle. Despite being a bit offended by his analysis, I decided to play along for a bit. I explained to him that even if I was a psychotic, homicidal maniac, he was safe since serial killers usually stick to their own demographic. His response was a deadpan reference to Aileen Wuornos. I wanted to tell him that sense I was not particularly interested in having sex with him or stealing his car, he was still probably in the clear, but I restrained myself.
So, as you can probably imagine, I'm torn between telling Ed to fuck off, and feeding into his own paranoia by engaging in more and more psychotic rituals in his presence. I'll let you know how it turns out.
* Here is an example of my "psychotic" artwork. Are you scared?
