Stuff It

Moral indignation is jealously with a halo.

-H.G. Wells

 

“I just think Selena Gomez could be a little edgier that’s all,” my office mate Brit explained to me as we sat in the conference room stuffing gift bags for one of Mr. G’s events last week.  I pretended to know who Selena Gomez was for the sake of the conversation.  When I googled her later that afternoon, I realized I graduated from high school the same year this girl was born.  

“She’s so boring. Her songs are just so Splenda to me,” Brit continued.  

“I’m sorry they’re what?” I asked.

“Splenda!” Brit purred.  Yeah, she purred.

“I think you mean saccharin.” I said and continued with the bags.

“Whatevs,” she said and looked at her Blackberry for the umpteenth time.  

“How old is this Selena woman?” I asked.

“I don’t know, maybe 15 or 16?” she said without taking her eyes off her phone.

She then suddenly looked up at me as if the knowledge gods had face-banged “the smart” into her.  

 

“I know!  Maybe a good old fashioned sex tape would get her into superstar status.  That’s how I’d play it if she were my client,” she proclaimed.

“With ideas like that, you’re going to have your own publicity empire Brit,” I said and actually meant it. 

“I see her as a plain Jane.  I think maybe she needs to go out more and wear less clothes,” she said. 

Oh my god, she’s actually serious. 

“I’m just saying…” she said and trailed off not finishing her thought.

“You’re just saying WHAT exactly?” I asked annoyed.  “Nevermind,” I added in for posterity.

I think my ears are bleeding. 

 

I nearly completed all the gift bags and Brit continued to text and email.  Ugh.

I sighed loudly to let Brit know how completely annoyed by her I was.  Take that! 

“Seriously?” Brit said without lifting her eyes. 

“What?” I asked. 

“Come on, don’t play the passive- aggressive card with me.  I know that strategy better than anyone, and let me tell you it only gets you so far,” she snipped.

“Passive-aggressive?  I’m not being passive-aggressive.  I have plans later and I want to get the hell out of here.”

“Oh really? What gay bar are you going to tonight?” she said and rolled her eyes.  I secretly think Brit was jealous of my big gay boy posse.  She could use some gay boys in her life.

Therapy, actually.”

“How appropriate,” she said. 

I shrugged and went back to stuffing the remaining bags. 

“That’s what I’m talking about right there. Passive! You could stand to learn a few things from me,” she yelped.

You?  “Like what?”  

“Like how to grow a backbone for starters,” she said. 

“I think I’m doing just fine, thank you,” I said proudly. 

“Right, that’s why you’re stuffing bags with me.  I’m sorry, but how much longer have you been working here than me?” 

The next thing I knew, without warning, Brit violently SWEPT everything she owned off the conference table onto the floor in one fair swoop. 

“What the hell was that?” I gasped. Brit picked up a notebook, slammed it down on the table causing a giant BANG! 

“JESUS CHRIST!” she screamed. She reminded me of Anna Faris as the Samantha James character from the movie Just Friends at the exact moment.  She grabbed a cell phone from her bag and smashed it into pieces.  I literally stood up and was ready to make a break for the door.

Then she screamed:

 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME?  It’s just so goddamn sad, I could take a gun to my head.” 

 

Had I been smart and been recording this via my cell phone, this could undoubtedly would have been the next YouTube sensation.

“What are you doing?” I shouted.   

 

“Did you forget to take your meds?” I continued. 

 

Brit recomposed herself and sat down gracefully. 

“What the hell was that?” I asked horrified at what had just occurred.  

And as if I was asking her the time, she simply said, “I was trying to show you how to win by completely losing it.  I took a course from the Learning Annex called “The Successful Tantrum.” 

“Are you serious? You threw everything on the floor. You smashed your cell phone into bits, all to show me how to throw a tantrum? “

Brit smirked and said, “Actually, I didn’t throw any of your stuff on the floor.  It was all mine.”  Then as if she was giving me a play by play, she continued: “I had to hit something that would make a big splash without breaking anything.  Otherwise I’d be in the company’s debt or worse a physical confrontation. And let’s face it, you’re about twenty pounds larger than me and I don’t want to mess with that.”  Twenty? No way. Ten at the most.  Fine, maybe fifteen.

“And the cell phone?” I asked ignoring her bitchy comment. 

“I keep a spare deactivated one in my purse for these types of things.  When I get a new phone, I keep the old ones and save them for these types of occasions,” she said proudly. 

I was speechless until finally I blurted:

You’re a friggin’ nut job. 

 

“Thank you so much!” she said and packed up her purse.  “And I do believe we are done here,” she said looking at the completed gift bags.  “Now I’m off to get drunk, and have sex with my incredibly hot boyfriend.”

“Bye,” I said and opened the conference room door.

“Have fun with the gay guys,” she said and left the office.

I walked back to my desk and plopped down in my chair.  As much as I was loathe to admit it, she was right on a lot of levels.  I was passive with my feelings.  I don’t say how I truly feel to my friends or to anyone for that matter.  I’m quick with some banter, but when pushed I’m paralyzed when it comes to actual emotion.  I’m not saying that Brit’s suggestion of throwing a bitch-fit is the answer, but the way things were going in my life something had to change or I was destined to be the single friend in couplesland forever.

I thought about calling Ryan, Daniel, Michael or even Christopher. They would definitely be there for me and could offer the support I needed.  I grabbed a sample size of Absolut that sat on my desk, left over from yet another gift bag.  I downed it in one shot.  

I stared at my computer screen and then picked up the phone and dialed.

“Hello?” he said.  

I took a deep breath, not sure whether or not I was ready for this conversation.  Things had been awkward, to say the least, the last time we’d seen each other.

“Justin?  Hi. I’m not sure if you remember me or not, but we met on the subway a couple weeks ago…” 

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4 Comments

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4 responses to “Stuff It

  1. manshil misra

    Wonderful!
    Glad to hear you finally called!
    Though sorry that you had to witness that disturbing spectacle courtesy of your cuckoo work colleague. But it was amusing to read to say the least.

  2. Nikki

    Nooooo, she’s frickin BANANAS!
    She’s lucky you didn’t grab her and slap her like Joan Collins! She wants to have a Dynasty moment give her one for real. I bet they didn’t tell her about THAT at TLA.
    I want to know how Justin went…he sounds a little creepy. Watch your back.
    ( I HATE to agree with Brit on this)

  3. about time you called Justin!!

  4. DOT

    YOU GO GIRL! AND THE DRAMA…TELL HER TO SAVE THAT FOR HER MAMA!

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