Well, Let Me Tell You!

I am a regular working stiff. My Monday to Friday is made up of my spending around fifty hours in the office, another eight or so commuting to and from work and, let's say about thirty hours sleeping. All this means that I spend more time with my coworkers than with anyone else in my existence. That's a lot of interaction and leads to various questions about what lines are appropriate to cross in these here relationships.

And as I sit wondering where those lines should be, my coworkers happily dance across them and pull me over with them. I, for instance, know way more about their body functions than anyone who is not their proctologist or gastroenterologist should. There is the coworker who likes to come by to share how much better she feels because she just moved her bowels. She sighs contentedly, while I make a mental note to avoid the bathroom for the next 20 or so minutes. I guess she is being servicey. Others share their stories of post hot-wings intestinal activities. At least the tales entertain, though I feel sorry for the now traumatised third parties who were caught in the crossfire.

From all I know about what is going on with these folk, you would think that I worked in a medical office as some kind of inner-body experience therapist. Hmmm... perhaps it is a niche career calling my name. But then again, that really does sound, literally, like a crappy job.