Friday, January 27, 2006
And Then the Vulture Eats You
There's this guy at work that's just not working out. My problem in the whole mess is I just can't stand him. It's nothing against his quality, which is strong. He's too nice. He's fake nice. I just can't listen to it anymore. I can't even look at him. It's beyond Fred Rogers nice. It's stranger offering the kids candy from his car nice.
I don't even fake it well anymore. I just look straight ahead, answer the questions as best I can, and get busy with something else. The levy broke last week when he told me he was going to teach his future children English, Spanish, French, Russian, and like five other languages; he was going to teach these kids who don't yet exist how to fire a gun, take apart and reassemble a gun, live on their own in the wild, how to kill, cook and eat their own meat, and blah, blah, blah, blah.
I turned to him and said, "I'm just trying to get my kid to go to sleep at night, so best of luck with that whole Oxford University-Unabomber thing."
I don't even fake it well anymore. I just look straight ahead, answer the questions as best I can, and get busy with something else. The levy broke last week when he told me he was going to teach his future children English, Spanish, French, Russian, and like five other languages; he was going to teach these kids who don't yet exist how to fire a gun, take apart and reassemble a gun, live on their own in the wild, how to kill, cook and eat their own meat, and blah, blah, blah, blah.
I turned to him and said, "I'm just trying to get my kid to go to sleep at night, so best of luck with that whole Oxford University-Unabomber thing."
