Your office is just through here. . .
Crystal arrives at our office anywhere between 9 am and 11 am. She has no schedule. She has explained to us that her personal life will not allow her to have a set schedule. In order to keep the peace we all tell her that we understand. In reality we all know that her lack of accountability seems to filter through to every aspect of her life. When I see her white Mercedes (or Infinity, she has two ridiculously overpriced cars) pull into the parking lot I spend the 60 seconds of peace I have remaining attempting to ready myself. The calm before the storm. The quiet before the chaos.
Crystal is a petite 5'2 so she tends to wear large, platformed flip flops with her various mini skirts and tank tops (yes, in the office). This is a mixed blessing. On the one hand I have the benefit of hearing her coming down the hall towards my office. On the other hand, I get the feeling of impending doom upon hearing her come down the hall towards my office. She has an especially fast gait and usually large, noisy jewelry. As soon as I hear the front door open it is usually followed by the rapid "click-clack, click-clack, click-clack" of her gigantic footwear.
Where fashion Meets Oppressive DictatorshipI close my eyes for a brief moment, praying that the sound of those shoes turns left towards her office instead of right towards mine. Once I hear them turn right I know I'm fucked. The madness is going to start early. If I hear them turn left then my morning has the possibility of being slow . . . calm even. This morning she turns right and the "click-clack, click-clack, click-clack, click-clack" stops dead at my door.
Before I can even turn around I hear her shrill voice,
"We. Have. Issues." She says with her over-sized Louis Vutton purse still slung on her forearm.
"Good Morning, Crystal," I retort dully.
"Payroll was a disaster! And my car needed its oil changed! Then my daughter called me cause the Justin Beiber show was almost sold out! So I had to go all the way to her apartment to help her buy tickets!"
For the record I am not one of those annoying people who uses too many exclamation points when writing dialogue. This is literally how the woman speaks. Everything she says can fall into one of three categories: Overwhelmingly upsetting, overwhelmingly exciting or overwhelmingly stressful. These are her only three functions. And this comes across in her speech such that she always sounds like she is yelling. At everyone. All the time.
"HOW ARE YOU DOING TODAY?!!!"I am far passed the stage of my employment where I feel obligated to fake enthusiasm. The honeymoon is over. We all know what we are getting ourselves into here. So instead of even trying for chipper I go straight for bitter calm.
"Sounds horrible" I say in the most monotone manner I can summon.
"It was!" She cries. Her big, permanently lined eyes look me over frantically. A pause settles between us that might signal some that the conversation has ended. However Crystal continues to stand in my doorway, hand on her hip, pumping her chunky sandal on the ground impatiently. The first thought that crosses my mind is that I must have not heard a question she posed to me. I raise an eye brow. She gives me an exasperated gaze and starts tapping her long, manicured nails on my door frame. The silence has moved past uncomfortable to the place where it is palpably strange. She jerks her arm around to check the watch on her wrist. I move to speak just as her cell phone goes off. Her ring tone is something poppy, loud and unforgivable for someone her age.
"Uggghhhh!" She grunts, fishing into her designer duffel bag after the noise. Mercifully she walks back towards her door. I sigh in relief. I survived another assault. Next on the list is Megan. My arch nemesis.
"Sounds horrible" I say in the most monotone manner I can summon.
"It was!" She cries. Her big, permanently lined eyes look me over frantically. A pause settles between us that might signal some that the conversation has ended. However Crystal continues to stand in my doorway, hand on her hip, pumping her chunky sandal on the ground impatiently. The first thought that crosses my mind is that I must have not heard a question she posed to me. I raise an eye brow. She gives me an exasperated gaze and starts tapping her long, manicured nails on my door frame. The silence has moved past uncomfortable to the place where it is palpably strange. She jerks her arm around to check the watch on her wrist. I move to speak just as her cell phone goes off. Her ring tone is something poppy, loud and unforgivable for someone her age.
"Uggghhhh!" She grunts, fishing into her designer duffel bag after the noise. Mercifully she walks back towards her door. I sigh in relief. I survived another assault. Next on the list is Megan. My arch nemesis.
