July 17, 2008...12:55 am

Talks-To-Herself-Lady continues to haunt my every working moment

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I should feel bad. I know, I KNOW I should feel bad and only bad for my elderly, needy, slightly insane coworker who talks to herself. And while part of me feels all the compassion I should, there’s a sliver of me that just feels annoyed all. day. long. And that sliver is about to snap.

Today while I was typing away at an Excel spreadsheet, I learned that Talks-To-Herself-Lady was in the mood to cook. Not because she told me, oh no. Because she told everyone: the air, her computer screen, the windows. “I want to cook!” And then for ten minutes I sat in my chair and contemplated what could possess someone to make that announcement to no one in particular while at their desk. I spend many ten minute blocks each day pondering this. There are other forms of wasting time and procrastinating at work that are  far more interesting, and yet I’m stuck having interior monologue with Talks-To-Herself-Lady’s exterior monologue. Because I have no choice

To get away from this one woman show I sometimes slip downstairs for a green tea or a snack, basically anything just to get a few moments of peace. This desire is squashed several times a week if Often-Serenades-Me-Security-Guard is manning the front desk. Our elevators take absolutely forever to come, and while I’m waiting, waiting, waiting, trapped in the hallway with this gigantic, slick-haired fellow, I often wonder if I wasn’t better off just staying put at my desk.

Today it was Frank Sinatra, but no song in particular. In fact, I think it may have been all of his songs mashed together in some sort of side show medley. Luckily I didn’t get to hear the grande finale as the elevator arrived with a ding and I scurried in. There really isn’t a moment of solitude in Manhattan. 

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