It’s four in the morning and I’ve been trying to sleep for hours. No dice. That means that I am going to look and feel like shit tomorrow for my clients. I am at an age where a little visine and moisturizer doesn’t disguise it all. I mean, you know you look bad when the clerk at the local bodega says: “You look tired.”
Attention, men: You look tired is a euphemism for You look old. Don’t say that to women! We don’t want to hear that shit!
I’m also freezing my ass off. The radiator heat isn’t coming on, and my only space heater is directed towards the birds.
I also need a man to take my air conditioning unit out of my window and put it on the curb downstairs, but, as usual, there is no man around. I keep telling myself that I need to start dating again, but I get so tired of dealing with men at work that I just cannot bring myself to turn on my OK Stupid profile and start lying to potential boyfriends right out of the gate.
I can’t wait for the semester to start. It helps me keep one foot in the normal world.
But….since I’m not in the normal world this month, let me give you a little dungeon gossip.
The crop of new girls–some of whom have been absorbed from the recent closure of two commercial houses–really sucks. Not all of them…but there are about five who are either irritating, completely oblivious to social boundaries, or possessed of some major character disorder.
Let me tell you about the dumbest one.
This chick is so stupid that I think she is about ten IQ points away from an institution.
I don’t know how he gets up in the morning, puts on pants, and comes to work. I don’t know how she buys groceries or pays her cell phone bill. I don’t know how she completes the most basic daily functions of adult life. I would not trust this woman to make toast.
You know how you go into a room sometimes to get something, and when you get there, you realize that you totally forgot what you came there to get?
She does that all the time. All. The. Time. She bursts into the room or my office, usually when I’m trying to concentrate on something, and looks around with this idiotic smile on her face. Then she walks out.
A few weeks ago, she mentioned that she was studying for a final. I had to bite the insides of my mouth to keep from snarking: What final? You’re in school? For what? An Official Certificate in Basket Weaving?
Now, you can’t blame someone for being stupid. Or at least, I don’t. People have different intellectual gifts. Hell, I teach. I know this.
There is another problem. Two of them, actually.
First, she’s a bitch. I hate to use gendered insults, but I can’t think of anything else to call her. She’s a bitch. She has a very rude, abrasive demeanor. It’s so bad that I can’t be in the same room with her. She ruins my mood. You’ll be having a conversation with someone else, and she’ll break in repeatedly with comments that are not topically relevant.
Two, she’s a thief. Steals other people’s food out of the fridge, even if it has their name on it. She stole my chicken, and when I confronted her about it (SHE WAS EATING IT IN FRONT OF ME!), she just laughed. She steals equipment–I saw it in her locker, but I can’t prove it, because it was just generic black cuffs. She cases other girls’ lockers. She was at the manager’s desk one day, and the till came up short.
I do not trust this dumb bitch not to give a guy a blowjob in one of the rooms for an extra $50. I do not trust her to put a guy in the latex vac bed and not accidentally kill him while she goes through his pockets. I wouldn’t trust this bitch to operate a can opener, much less some of our equipment!
I brought her up in the locker room the other day, and ignited an hour-long rant-fest. Everyone in there had a negative story about her. The tales of her idiocy were legion. We’ve had some unpopular girls there before, but nothing, nothing like this!
We sat down and had a little pow-wow about what we were going to do. I swear to God, if I’d suggested that we all put bars of soap into socks and beat the shit out of her like that scene in Full Metal Jacket when she took a nap, every girl in the room would have gone along with it.
We all reached an agreement. A consensus.
Drive her out.
Make her life a living hell until she leaves.
And starve her–do everything possible to make sure she doesn’t make money (she’s got a plain face, but her body is pretty good, for the next two years anyway, till she hits 25).
Send her to the worst clients, the ones none of us can stand. Send her to Chopin. That other gross dude who always tries to molest you.
Don’t answer her questions. Bite her head off when she tries to speak to you.
I have never in my life–at least to my recollection–bullied another woman. Never. I’ve gotten intellectually aggressive with people in seminar, but that’s different–that blood sport is part of education. I’ve done a few internet flame wars on politics listserves. But bullying…? No. Because I am a Nice Polite Person.
I am going to bully this one, however. I can’t hit her in the stomach with a bar of Ivory in a gym sock…but I can do other things.
My imagination is already at work.
First up: bitch is getting a whole package of chocolate Ex-Lax. I’m not even going to have to sneak it into her food. I’m just going to melt it, put it into my fat-free chocolate milk, and leave it in the fridge with my name on it. She stole my last two bottles.
And then I am going to monopolize the bathroom, like some little 12-year-old girl on the phone.
She will have to use the client bathroom (sorry, guys), which is gross. I mean, it’s clean enough, but it has grody male client germs in it. You don’t want to know who and what that bathroom has seen. Trust me.
Should we start a betting pool? How long will it take a house full of dommes to get rid of her…? A week? A month?
Drive her out.