Random... Completely Random.

Okay, while my co-workers might not be as wierd/dumb/random as Sv's, I have to share with you a couple of my recent interactions with her and I'll let you decide. Honestly, she's so random that it's to the point where I don't even respond to her right away, I just sort of look at her dumbfounded until she clarifies her earlier comment, or at least gives me some more information. It's getting to the point where I can't take it anymore!

-- Out of nowhere, while I'm at the copy machine, she goes, "Colin (her son) ate breakfast with a bumble bee this morning." WTF? No, seriously. WTF? Is that a thing that I should know, like "Colin watched 'Seasame Street' this morning? After my look, she finally started explaining that her husband caught a bumble bee in the house, put it in a jar and then put the jar on the table next to the kid while he ate breakfast. In a zillion years, would you have made that connection?

-- She walks in my office, holding a piece of paper (which I cannot see the front of and has nothing on the back) and says, "So, what am I supposed to do with this?" Please note that she does not hand me said piece of paper, or even make a move like she is going to do so. Um, what the F do I know? If you want me to give you instructions, you're going to have to give me more than a blank piece of paper to work with. I do not have x-ray vision. Duh.

-- As I'm faxing, (and trying to mind my own damn business) she was like, "What are you supposed to cook meat to?" (That's not even a sentence!!) I just sort of looked at her and, she says, "You know, what temperature?" So, I started explaining to her that it depends on how she wants it done, and it's a range between 145 and 160 (medium rare to medium). She's like, "Well, I made steak for dinner last night and I just cooked it to 190 to make sure it was done." I go, "I bet it looked and tasted like a hockey puck." She goes, "Yeah, I wasn't sure what to do, so I just cooked it for 45 minutes on our George Foreman grill." Um, yeah, steak on a Foreman grill cooks in even less time than on an actual grill, since it's cooking on the top and bottom. A quick check of my handy-dandy Betty Crocker cookbook tells us that it's 7 minutes on a Foreman. 7 minutes, not 45, Freakshow. I tried to explain this to her, but I'm pretty sure it fell on deaf ears.

-- Yesterday, she started in about her son's daycare (the story is best saved for a day where I have the energy to tell it, but in a nutshell- she is pulling her kid out of daycare and made a formal complaint to the State because they served sugar cereal as a snack... Yep, you read that correctly), and I must have made some face that showed my disdain (one of my more endearing/damning traits is that I have trouble masking emotions with polite facial expressions... I just can't do it). When she called me on it, I made up something about being crabby because I hadn't had any coffee, but I have seriously had it.

The only good thing in the scenario is that she's like 7 1/2 months preggo, so hopefully, she'll have that kid early and I won't have to deal with her for a while. Keep your fingers crossed for me, OK?

-ry

Song of the day (not dedicated to the aforementioned co-worker): Don't Go Away- Oasis.