Tmi Thursday with a side of Ranch dressing

I once again pull from the pool (that may soon dwindle) that is known as my former place of employment. It appears I worked at a circus or at least with a bunch of side show freaks. There was a long list of characters. We’ve documented the fact that this place hired quite a bit of the handicapped (of all sorts). I applaud this. I do. I got a long with almost all of them. There really was only one exception. I won’t talk about her, but she was a jerk, and was mean to those not all there mentally.

Anycoworker there was one in particular who was not all there mentally. This post is about her, or rather that something that occurred to me because of her. Her name will be (like any time I post about someone) ever changing. For right now she is Diane. She could get a tad annoying but you know honestly the “intelligent” people there could get way more annoying. Her problem is she liked to ask a lot of questions. That isn’t quite true—she asked the same questions over and over.

It was a constant droning. Which may have been somewhat bearable but she said “huh” or “whaa” after almost every sentence you said no matter if she heard you or not. All too often a conversation would go like this:

Her: How are you doing?
Me: I’m good…how are you?
Her: Huh?
Me: Just fine Meredith. You?
Her: Whaat?
I refuse to respond and continue to go about my business.
Her: Huh? What did you say?

Anysamequestions we’ll fast forward to the end of the line work wise. It seemed like every single day of my last 2 weeks I found myself taking my break at the same time as her. Now I don’t really want to come off too mean here. I liked her. It always pissed me off when people there treated her poorly. They often did and more than a few times I had to tell people off (or at least tell them how I disagreed with what they were doing)

I mean I didn’t have a problem with her but went it came to my break it was a different story. On break I did one of these two things.
1. Read
2. Listen to my mp3 player while working on some writing.

Both activities become very hard to do when she is up there at the same time as me. It doesn’t matter where I sit in the break room she’ll choose the seat right next to me. A couple times I moved and then about two minutes later she moved to where I was sitting. I mean I know I am your ambassador of awesome, your secretary of being too sweet, and your prime minister of pimpin (what?) You get the point. Which if that’s true that makes you gentle reader a weirdo.

But I love you anyway. The problem with her always wanting to sit next to me is she liked to talk.
And talk.
And talk
And then you guessed it talk a whole lot more.

It was similar to the above conversation but lunch was different. It would start like:

Her: I bought a pop.
Me: good.
Her: Huh?
Then she’d try to open it (and every attempt always appeared to be half hearted)
Her: Nuuuuh. Nuuuuh. Nuuuuuuh. I can’t open it.
Silence.
Her: Nuuuuuuh. Nuuuuuuuh nuuuuuuuh. I can’t get it…can you open it…
Open it for her.
Her (to someone else even though nobody else is up there): He is a nice guy. That was nice. Thank you. Thank you. He is such a nice guy. You are such a nice guy.
Me: Thank you Debbie.
Her: Huhh?
I go back to reading.

Now I’m reading and she is next to me and gabbing away about the pop she has and how she wants to eat her candy bar. I sort of to the half turn into my book and turkey sammich and so she gets a bit louder. Mary is all blah blah blah and some more blah for added emphasis. She keeps talking but then a glorious event happen she stopped. There was silence. Glorious and wonderful silence that I imagine you’d have in heaven. I read on.

(Cough cough choke cough squiish slurpt slhiptslapt.)

The other constant of the break room visit with Vivian is how she goes about eating. This also means her inevitable semi choking. She eats similar to someone who is in prison. That is she shovels it in as quickly as possible. So fast that she forgets to chew or doesn’t chew fast enough. So you get loud chews that sound like two really oiled up or wet fatties are having some hot n heavy sexy.

Slap
Slap
Splat
Slurp
Slip-slapht
Gurgle
Choke
Cough
Her: I almost choked.
Me: Yeah be careful.
Her: Huh?
Me: Eat slower.
Her: You don’t want me to choke.
Me: (Oh god I do I really do) Nope.
Her: What did you say?
Silence.
Her: If I did what would happen?

I will just stop here and get on with the rest of it. Now as all of this is happening she is eating. We are on our break after all. So she is eating a big ole salad. She’s covered her salad in about 4 packets of ranch dressing. Covered of course meaning there is a Mount Rushmore of Ranch dressing sitting in the middle of her greens. There is also a good portion of it on her fingers. It appears to cover them no matter how much she slurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrpz sllllllllllllllucks at them.

Anydressing she begins to talk to me again. This time her mouth is full of lettuce and gobs of dressing. You can hear the fat oily people sex chews as she talks and this somehow makes the lisp she generally has worse. It is now a wet slippery worse. Like slapping a fresh outta the water seal in the face with Ron Jeremy’s overly lubed up dong Yeah. I’m doing my best to pretend the only thing that matters is my book. I don’t hear the fat people sex or the Ron Jeremy wet dong slapping. I don’t.
Then a 3 bite chewed piece of lettuce flew across the table.

Oh man.
Slap slap slurppe Thwipt
Missle like glob of ranch dressing shot.
My sandwich here. Glob missle here.

Oh man. Oh man. Shots fired. Shots fired. Full retreat.

She grabs my arm (with her ranch fingers) and now I have ranch elbow. She pulls at me to get my attention because apparently what she has to say is really important. Then she says

“What would you do if I choked?”

The corners of her mouth were coated in dressing and when she spread them it dripped/stuck to them. There is this tiny piece of frightened lettuce (I hope it was lettuce) clinging to her bottom lip. She kept talking and well I stopped listening. I was mesmerized by the lettuce, by the corners of her mouth slick with gross. It was this hesitation that caused all the damage. As I suppose I didn’t answer her question of what I would do after calling 911 for her she decided to get louder. That is when said piece of lettuce and more globs of dressing and lettuce (she was still eating) flew off and landing on my fucking sandwich!

Man down.
Man down.
Oh the humanity. We need a medic!
Of course that glob was the end of Jennymeredithdebbie my sandwich. I went back to reading and tried make sure I didn’t choke her to death.

Oh how I miss work.

Or do I?

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2 Responses to Tmi Thursday with a side of Ranch dressing

  1. Bev says:

    OH EM GEE. This was fabulous! I laughed, I cringed, and I will never eat Ranch dressing again.

    Well done!

  2. spleeness says:

    “man down” !! That is hilarious!!

    This is someone who CLEARLY does not get social cues. Man, that is annoying.

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