Last week, day before the long weekend. Possibly the busiest. She loses her apartment keys (attached to her train pass, gym card, everything with her name and address) and abuptly leaves the office (two hours early) to borrow another set from her real estate agency. Did I mention that this was before our long weekend and that we were swamped with work?! And she had taken a two hour lunch, calling every possible person and place who might have found her keys. (She eventually found it in the bushes, when she went back and retraced her steps. Now why were you in the bushes?)
And yesterday, when I was closing up the office and had just switched on the security system and was about to run out, she came slamming in, wailing for her missing cell phone. Which she found her bag.
My patience is wearing thin...
Thursday, March 29, 2007
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Monday, March 26, 2007
My First Sense
My intern's been back for a very long time, and new stories are very much overdue.
Not a day goes by without her annoying me, which means I have no reason not to write. But she always finds a way to irk me, even on days she doesn't come in, through emails and phone calls. So why would I want to spend my spare time writing about her if she isn't that funny any more but just annoying? Really, I don't know why I can't be more tolerant. Maybe it's because there's always something olfactory to remind me of her.
Her perfume. While she was away for two weeks, I noticed our office had somehow retained that unforgettable spice. It's sweet-smelling, but sticky sweet, and green. A fusion of baby wards and old people's homes and a shot of greenhouse. Gardenias gone bad. Shower Fresh soap scum with mildew... And because she's always underdressed, she takes the liberty of adjusting the heating the office to Southeast Asia and steams up our tiny office and leaves me with a throbbing, lingering headache. I think her perfume just doesn't agree with her natural BO.
The odd bit is that she actually asked me once, quite apologetically, if her perfumed bothered me. I stuttered back, uh, no, but the scent is rather... different, isn't it? (...What would have been an appropriate answer? Please advise...)
But the other day, a client came by to drop something off at our office. He's always chatty, fairly good natured, and sometimes can be surprisingly blatant/brutal with his comments about completely irrelevant things.
On his way out that day, he turned around and said,
"It's, uh, really hot and stuffy and 'strong' in here, isn't it?"
...with his eyes on the source of the stench.
I still complain and laugh about her smell, but I secretly note that it's gotten noticeably lighter.
Not a day goes by without her annoying me, which means I have no reason not to write. But she always finds a way to irk me, even on days she doesn't come in, through emails and phone calls. So why would I want to spend my spare time writing about her if she isn't that funny any more but just annoying? Really, I don't know why I can't be more tolerant. Maybe it's because there's always something olfactory to remind me of her.
Her perfume. While she was away for two weeks, I noticed our office had somehow retained that unforgettable spice. It's sweet-smelling, but sticky sweet, and green. A fusion of baby wards and old people's homes and a shot of greenhouse. Gardenias gone bad. Shower Fresh soap scum with mildew... And because she's always underdressed, she takes the liberty of adjusting the heating the office to Southeast Asia and steams up our tiny office and leaves me with a throbbing, lingering headache. I think her perfume just doesn't agree with her natural BO.
The odd bit is that she actually asked me once, quite apologetically, if her perfumed bothered me. I stuttered back, uh, no, but the scent is rather... different, isn't it? (...What would have been an appropriate answer? Please advise...)
But the other day, a client came by to drop something off at our office. He's always chatty, fairly good natured, and sometimes can be surprisingly blatant/brutal with his comments about completely irrelevant things.
On his way out that day, he turned around and said,
"It's, uh, really hot and stuffy and 'strong' in here, isn't it?"
...with his eyes on the source of the stench.
I still complain and laugh about her smell, but I secretly note that it's gotten noticeably lighter.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)