Define "Promotion"

Overshare: I’m getting a promotion.
Anonymous: You are??
Overshare: Yep.
Anonymous: Wow. Congratulations.
Overshare: Well, technically I haven’t gotten it yet.
Anonymous: What do you mean?
Overshare: Well, I applied for the new position they created in Separate Department.
Anonymous: I didn’t realize you were interested in doing what Separate Department does.
Overshare: Oh, well… I’m not really. [Giggles.] I just don’t want to work for Tyrannical Sorority Sister anymore.

Separate Department is a highly specialized area of my company. It’s hard to explain without giving away some of my oh-so-precious anonymity, so I’ll just leave it at: it takes a very, very particular type of person to fulfill the job function. Some of the requisite character traits include: class, sophistication, and diplomacy.

Notice that “trashy”, “crude”, or “talks too much” are not on that list.

The absolute best part of this career change that Overshare is endeavoring to make is Separate Department’s boss. She is the antithesis of TSS. I shall call her Ultimate Class.

Ultimate Class is this incredibly refined, polished, elegant older woman, who has been doing her job for a QUARTER CENTURY. That is not a typo. 25 years.

Now while Separate Department is, as the name indicates, separate from my department we often find ourselves working very closely together. As such, Separate Department’s workers are often invited to my department’s social events, such as birthdays, happy hours, etc. At one such event, Ultimate Class achieved what I think all of Overshare’s victims hope to one day achieve: silencing her, while managing to both convey the inappropriateness of her chosen subject matter and maintaining her high level of class. The conversation went something like this:

[Scene: 20ish coworkers are all jammed into a little office for a surprise birthday rendezvous, complete with cake. Everyone is talking and laughing.]
Overshare, talking loudly in an attempt to be heard over the crowd: So last night, CTF and I tried this new toy…
Ultimate Class: Overshare, how did you like the movie I saw you at the other night?
Overshare: It was ok… but this new toy…
Ultimate Class, softly: Shhh. We don’t need to know.

I had to leave the office because I was completely incapable of reining in a belly laugh at the look on Overshare’s face.

So now, Overshare is attempting to work directly for Ultimate Class. We all know this is only going to happen if God himself steps down and fills out the HR paperwork.

Anonymous: Have you been told when your interview will be?
Overshare: Why would they need to interview me? I could start next week!

He Said, She Said

If there’s one thing I can thank Overshare for (and trust me, it has taken me about two years to come up with this one thing) it’s that she’s made me more aware of how I sound to other people, especially in the area of story telling. I’m very careful now to change things up, because Overshare sure as hell never does.

I swear to you all right here, right now: if Overshare tells the tale of yet another fight with CTF in the “And then he said… and then I said… and he was like…and I was like…” genre I’m going, as one reader suggested, to fake my own death and move to Mexico.

Now that I’ve got you good and prepped, I present yet another CTF and Overshare fight. Enjoy the insanity. The inanity. The sheer “Duh!” factor.

Overshare: CTF and I got into a fight last night.
Anonymous: You’re kidding.
Overshare: No. Why would I be kidding?

Sidenote #1: I wish Overshare would at least make these experiences somewhat enjoyable for me. Like, you know, picking up on my sarcasm. But she doesn’t.

Overshare: Anyway… I went to Skank Bar and there was this new girl there, Anonymous.
Anonymous: Wait… a NEW girl?
Overshare: See what I mean? You can’t believe it either!
Anonymous: A different girl from Swedish Nanny?
Overshare: YES! That’s what I’m saying!

Sidenote #2: Do we live in Bizarro World? Cause seriously. I know that most of you have not seen CTF and can’t really picture what he looks like… some of you have though. I will say this, and I hope you’ll take me at my word on this. CTF is IN NO WAY attractive. He’s not “fine” in a burly bouncer kind of way. He’s not “cute” in that pedophile kind of way.** He’s not even “oh, he has a great personality.” He’s just… gross. Gross, I tell you.

Why in the WORLD does he have women licking the soles of his feet to be with him? We’re talking “I’d rather date Steve Buscemi”, here people.

Because at least Steve Buscemi is a kick-ass actor.

Anonymous: So… let me guess. You and CTF fought about the New Girl.
Overshare, actually sounding chipper about it: Of course!
Anonymous: [Silence. I don’t need to persuade her to share… this story is coming whether I say something or not.]
Overshare: So I said, “Who the HELL is this?” and he said, “New Girl. New Girl, meet Overshare.”
Anonymous: [Silence.]
Overshare: So the New Girl had the audacity to say, “Who the HELL is this??” and I turned to her and said… guess, what I said.
Anonymous: I’m afraid I could never do it justice.
Overshare: I said, “Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just the ex-girlfriend, current best-friend, basically your worst nightmare.” Isn’t that an awesome thing to say?

Sidenote #3: I don’t know what breaks my heart more… the fact that she’s obviously practiced what she would say should this conversation ever take place, the fact that she’s so frickin’ proud of her own wittiness, or the fact that she cares so much about such a loser that she can’t see the pathetic-ness of her so-called "witty" comment.

Anonymous: Hmmm.
Overshare: So then I said, “CTF, just get your new ho into the bar so we can talk.” And he said, “Ok.”
Anonymous: HE SAID “OK?????”
Overshare: Isn’t that awesome?!?
Anonymous: Not if you’re New Girl, it’s not.
Overshare: Whatever. So then I said, “What’s with the New Girl?” and he said, “Oh, she’s just filler. Since you won’t date me still.” Isn’t that sweet?
Anonymous, whispering to herself: On Bizarro World, maybe.
Overshare: Huh? Whatever. So then I said, “Just face it. We’re never going to date again. Ever. For now. Until Swedish Nanny leaves the country.”

Never. Ever. For Now. Until Swedish Nanny leaves the country.

Oh. My. Damn.

** Please, please, please tell me you caught the sarcasm.

Family Security

One day, I walked into the office kitchen and came face to face with the security guard that sits in the office lobby. This is, by no means, an every day occurrence.

Neither one of us said anything. She continued making her coffee (even using someone's half-and-half from the office fridge) while I put my lunch in the freezer and moved on to my office.

A short while later, Security Guard walked by my office, coffee in hand, and entered Tyrannical Sorority Sister's office. A moment later, I heard her door shut... and a few minutes after that, I heard them hysterically laughing through our thin walls.

TSS had made a friend.

Interesting, indeed... and I found myself wondering if Security Guard was solicited to buy some candles, too. But overall, this situation isn't necessarily blog-worthy, is it?

Except for the fact that later on that very same day, Overshare would get called into TSS's office for a lecture about meeting CTF for lunch. As in, TSS didn't think it was very "appropriate" to meet for lunch with a non-coworker. Even if said lunch was off of company property.

Apparently, it's perfectly ok though to give Security Guard free reign of the office, coffee maker, and some poor Marketing Intern's creamer.

Later that week, TSS entered my office:

TSS: I'm selling raffle tickets.
Anonymous: Oh.
TSS: Want to buy some?
Anonymous: Well, you know, it's in-between paychecks...
TSS, turning on a sickeningly sweet voice: It's for a good cause.
Anonymous: I'm sure it is...
TSS: Security Guard's family picnic.
Anonymous: Security Guard's family picnic? Are you related?
TSS: No.

We paused for a moment here. Call me crazy, but I was kind of waiting for some explanation, some connection to Security Guard that would explain why TSS was peddling raffle tickets (and, by the way, who sells raffle tickets to complete strangers for a family picnic??) for her. No such explanation ever came.

Anonymous: I just don't think I can swing it right now.
TSS: I must say I'm disappointed. I thought you considered yourself a supporter of innercity kids. I have them until close of business tomorrow. You just let me know if you decide you can spare a dollar or two for some poor urban families.

Help!

Oh dear internet friends, I have a problem. I have a Barnacle.

Definition of a Barnacle, you ask? A Barnacle is someone who attaches onto you when you stop being vigilant. Next thing you know, you take a look and find out that this creature has latched onto your side and refuses to let go without a fair amount of force.

My Barnacle has a first name, it's O-v-e-r-s-h-a-r-e.

Somewhere along the line, I stopped being careful. And now, Overshare thinks we're BFF For Life.

It started out, as these things do, when I let an obsession for a certain American Idol creep up unchecked. You see, I love Elliott Yamin. I'm a Yaminion. I admit it.

And I know what you're thinking... but, Anonymous, isn't Overshare stalking Taylor Hicks? How does her obsession and your obsession coincide? Elliott and Taylor... there's no real middle ground here.

Well, one day, Overshare came into my office and informed me that she had changed her mind, that she was now a full-blown Yaminion too. That should have been my first red flag, my first warning that a barnacle was about to attach. But I wasn't paying attention, just happy to have another person aboard the E-Train.

Soon, every Tuesday we'd discuss the show... and Wednesday we'd discuss the results. Harmless, really. And then one Thursday... we started talking about what Elliott should sing... and then Friday... and Monday....

And then, it happened. The fatal mistake.

I had a work function one Tuesday night, and I was going to miss the performances, but was going to be out in time to vote. I lamented this to Overshare, wondering how I would find out what number E had been... when she offered to text message me the info. In the haze of my fixation, I gave her my cell phone number. Hell, I even thanked her profusely.

Now, she calls. Every night. When Elliott was voted off this week, she called before the show was over to cry with me. She texts all the time.

I must admit, after the pain of losing Elliott in the competition faded... a small part of my soul was looking forward to having this tie to Overshare cut. Little did I know she had turned into a full-fledged Barnacle.

I had an Unfortunate Incident this past weekend, of which I'll spare you the details, suffice it to say that there was a small amount of bodily harm inflicted on me by strangers. When Overshare found out, she called someone.... that person not being me.... care to guess?

CTF. He's offered me his protection. He wants to buy me mace.

And it's not just that. She calls every day. She offers to eat lunch together every day. She pleads with me to go to happy hours. She switches place cards at work dinners so we sit next to each other.

Fan-frickin-tastic. What have I done, dear readers??

More importantly, what shall I do?

Ground Rules

Anonymous: So, what play did you crazy kids see this weekend?
Overshare: We didn’t.
Anonymous: Oh… so you’re seeing one soon?
Overshare: No, we’re not.
Anonymous: Okay…
Overshare: Here’s the thing. I went over to his house on Saturday to pick him up. We had tickets to go see Wicked.
Anonymous: You had tickets but didn’t go?
Overshare: Yep.
Anonymous: Why?
Overshare: I had wanted to grab some dinner first, but when I brought it up he said he didn’t want me to pick him up too early because he had promised his mom he would do some stuff around the house.
Anonymous: Ok.
Overshare: But I thought something was up, so I went over early anyway.
Anonymous: Uhoh.
Overshare: Uhoh is right!! She was there.
Anonymous: Swedish Nanny?
Overshare: YES! Can you even believe that?
Anonymous: Well, kind of, yes.
Overshare, ignoring me: So, Anonymous… I completely lost it.
Anonymous: Lost it how?
Overshare: I snapped. I walked in the front door of his house (read: his parent’s house) and found them on the couch in the living room, making out. I just completely snapped.
Anonymous: Snapped how, exactly?
Overshare: I started throwing stuff.
Anonymous: Throwing stuff?
Overshare: Oh, not at CTF. At Swedish Nanny.
Anonymous: Oh, well then…
Overshare: And that little witch actually ran from me. She ran down to CTF’s room in the basement and locked herself in down there. So I just started yelling and screaming at CTF. His parents came down from upstairs and tried to get me to calm down, but I wasn’t having any of it. I can’t even believe that he was with her instead of having dinner with me before the show.
Anonymous, thinking that this could be the end of CTF: How did things end?
Overshare: Well, when I finally calmed down enough, I laid down some ground rules.
Anonymous: Ground rules? You mean you’re giving him another chance?
Overshare: Well, yeah. Of course! He loves me; it’s just that Swedish Nanny won’t let him go.
Anonymous: Of course.
Overshare: So the rules are: 1. Swedish Nanny is not to be seen. I don’t want to be anywhere near where she is, ever. 2. No more of the two-dates-in-one-day thing. If he sees her, he won’t see me until the next day. 3. If he sleeps with Swedish Nanny, then he’s not to sleep with me for at least two days.
Anonymous: So you just left it at that?
Overshare: Yeah, I went home and he went downstairs to calm down Swedish Nanny.
Anonymous: And the tickets?
Overshare: I gave them to his parents.

Just Like A Pearl

Overshare: You know what I love about CTF the most?
Anonymous: Ugh. No.
Overshare: He’s so cultured.

It’s ok. I know you need to read it again, so I’ll just wait here.

Ready? Just so we’re on the same page:

Cultured, defined: Civilized; marked by refinement in taste and manners; "cultivated speech"; "cultured tastes"; "a genteel old lady"; "polite society".

Anonymous: Cultured?
Overshare: Yeah. I asked him what he wanted to do this weekend and he got all quiet… like he had something to say but didn’t know how to say it, so I had to prod him a bit and he finally said… Guess.
Anonymous: Guess?
Overshare: Yeah, guess what he said.
Anonymous: Er… to see a movie?
Overshare: That’s what I thought too! But he’s so cultured… he wants to go see a play instead.
Anonymous: That’s cool. What play?
Overshare: Oh, he said he didn’t have an opinion, as long as it doesn’t suck and he's home in time to watch wrestling on TV.

Cultured, like she said.

Excel-lent

Have you ever had a coworker slam your door shut? I have.

Overshare.

It’s embarrassing let me tell you.

Door slamming, in general, is rather childish. Not to say I haven’t slammed a door or two in my day, but at work? Never. Not my style, I suppose.

So imagine my surprise when Overshare sneak-attacks, marching into my office and slamming the door behind her.

My first thought? Well, because I’m rather self-absorbed this way, my first thought was along the lines of “Great, now everyone thinks I’m pissed off. I know what everyone will be talking about at lunch…” But see, since Overshare is a cubicle bee in the office hive, she has no door. So apparently the only way she knows to blow off steam at Tyrannical Sorority Sister is to slam my door.

Fantastic. Especially since my door is two doors down from TSS’s.

Overshare, screaming: I HATE HER!!!
Anonymous: Now, Overshare, it’s ok…
Overshare: I HATE HER!!!
Anonymous: Sit down… here, have some chocolate.
Overshare, mumbling: Thanks.

We paused here for a good long while. Overshare was violently ripping out some spare threads from the hem of her pants. I typed up a quick email to Witty Comeback to try and get her to spread the word that it wasn’t me that was so upset.

Overshare: She wrote me up.
Anonymous, gasping: For what??

I should probably interject here that I’ve worked for my company for several years now, and I’ve never heard of someone getting written up. Ever. And there have been more than a few people worthy of it. It’s just not done.

Overshare: Ready for this?
Anonymous: Uh, sure.
Overshare: Because that report I sent out this morning didn’t have gridlines.

Gridlines.

I kid you not.

We’re having an international situation because of gridlines, people. GRIDLINES.

And apparently, the very word "gridlines" causes Overshare to lose her temper, because she starts yelling again.

Overshare: GRIDLINES!! GOD DAMN GRIDLINES!! FOR A REPORT THAT SHE DOESN’T EVEN PRINT OUT, WHICH MEANS SHE CAN SEE THE F*%KING GRIDLINES IN EXCEL WHEN SHE OPENS IT!
Anonymous: Ok, breathe… she’s right down the hall, you know, and the walls are thin.
Overshare: GRIDLINES, ANONYMOUS! GRID! LINES!
Anonymous: I know, I know…

And then, the unthinkable. There’s a knock at my door.

[knock, knock]
Anonymous: Yes?
[Door opens]
Tyrannical Sorority Sister: I’m sorry to interrupt, Anonymous, but I just wanted you to know that if you print out that report that Overshare sent this morning, it won’t have gridlines. You’ll have to go into the excel file and select them yourself. I know it's a big inconveniece. I’ve already discussed this with her; it won’t happen again.

And then, the Stare-Down of All Time commences.

TSS and Overshare lock gazes. Neither is looking away any time soon.

Anonymous, clearing her throat: Uh, thanks, TSS.

More staring.

Anonymous: Overshare and I were just…

And there, I’ve backed myself into a corner. TSS knows what Overshare and I were just “discussing”. There is no way in hell she didn’t hear Overshare yelling. And I know for a fact that that is the only reason she told me about the God-forsaken gridlines, because I, in no way, ever use the report in question.

Anonymous, under her breath: Well, this is awkward.

Staring competition enters minute two.

Anonymous: I really need to go downstairs for a meeting.

More staring.

Anonymous: I’ll just leave you two to it, then.

And so I left them there. Staring. When I came back an hour later, they were gone. TSS left for the day, and Overshare sat in her cubicle, fuming.

Nary a Hair

Overshare: I had my pap smear this morning.
Anonymous: Er...
Overshare: Nothing to worry about, apparently. I was a little scared because CTF was pretty rough last night, but the doctor didn't say anything about it.
Anonymous: [stomach turns]
Overshare: He gave me the nicest compliment too...
Anonymous, who needs to learn to not ask questions: The doctor or CTF?
Overshare: The doctor. He said I'm really well groomed down there. Maybe the cleanest he's ever seen.
Anonymous: Uh...
Overshare: So I told him all about my waxer. I swear, she's my best friend. She's SO thorough.
Anonymous: Er...
Overshare: Seriously. There's nary a hair down there! Want her number?

The epitome of class and sophistication, folks.

Introducing Tyrannical Sorority Sister

Finally. I have been wracking my brains for weeks attempting to come up with that nickname. They usually come so easily, but this one was giving me fits. [Huge sigh of relief.]

On to the story.

It has come to my attention that I have neglected a certain aspect of Overshare’s life here in this crazy overshare world. For this oversight, I apologize, dear readers. Allow me to remedy that immediately.

You see, Overshare has a direct supervisor: Tyrannical Sorority Sister, or TSS for short.

My company doesn’t exactly have the most, how shall we say… efficient hiring processes. (Witty Comeback: Understatement, much?) It turns out that both TSS’s position and Overshare’s were empty at the same time… and instead of using some common sense HR decided to go ahead and hire Overshare, without a supervisor in place. They obviously did not anticipate the difficulty they had in hiring someone. It turned out that Overshare was in her position, without a direct supervisor, for a good six months before TSS was hired. And in that time, management had regulated a lot of TSS’s future duties to Overshare.

This, of course, led to the unfortunate and awkward situation of Overshare having to train her own supervisor. Unfortunate and awkward enough in any case, but when you have Overshare teaching anything… mixed with the fact that TSS turned out to the be the kind of employee that you pray every day will quit… let’s just say it led to some hilarity in its own right.

Now, to answer some questions I’m sure you have.

1. TSS is, in fact, a sorority sister. To this day. As in, she’s treasurer.
2. TSS is not, in fact, in college.
3. TSS is an older woman, with several adult children.
4. TSS lives in a separate city from the one in which our office resides. Her commute tops an hour each way.
5. TSS has never held a management position before.

You’ll see why she earned the “T” in her name in the next few entries. And just to round out this post, I’ll tell of the conversation TSS and I had that first led me to believe that something may be off. Keep in mind that she had been working in my office for a grand total of one week at this point.

Tyrannical Sorority Sister, waving a catalog at me: Buy some candles.
Anonymous Coworker: Candles?
TSS: Buy some candles.
Anonymous: Why are you selling candles?
TSS: For my sorority. Buy some.
Anonymous: Well, I don’t know.
TSS: It’s for a good cause.
Anonymous: Your sorority?
TSS: Yeah. We’re having our conference in Orlando this year.
Anonymous: And the candles…
TSS: Go towards our plane tickets.
Anonymous: Ah…
TSS: Buy some.
Anonymous: Well, it's just that I'm already committed to supporting several charities...
TSS: What, you have a problem with me or something? Buy. Some. Candles.