Hell hath no fury like a working teen scorned
– Fiesty G

The Proof Is In The Butter— Part 1

I always thought a job would’ve been somewhat like school. You get up every morning, bathe, brush your teeth, eat breakfast and zoom out your house to sit at a desk for 8 hours.

However, I never expected the “backstabbing-lying-deceiving” part of school to follow me to the four walls of an office building. It seems that the mantra of “adults wuss than chilrens” is quite accurate.

My cubicle is at the very front of my office building. That means every time someone enters the main work area, they put their concerned (I really mean “fass”) head into my cubicle to maco my business. EVERY Monday morning, as soon as someone enters the office, they love to bawl “Fiesty! How was your weekend? Went to any parties? What yuh drink?”

Not because they are genuinely interested, but because they just love to mind people’s business. One truly raucous individual tends to pull a chair to carry on very long conversations of the macocious type. Her name is Butterball. Now, sometimes you meet individuals who are very persistent.

I’m talking about people whom everyone dislikes, and although they KNOW nobody likes them, they carry on as if the world worships their smelly socks.

Then there are people who are completely oblivious to the fact that they annoy the plasma out of people’s blood. This is Butterball. She has no idea how much I dislike her, and the fact that she loves to mind my business really doesn’t help her case.
Butterball is also a gossip.

One of the only reasons I find her somewhat bearable is that she normally dishes the dirt on EVERYONE in the office. The problem with that is, an office is a very small space, and once one person knows something, so does everyone else.

I’m a very wary person, especially after being backstabbed in school. Therefore, I normally just give Butterball “yes” or “no” answers. But I should have realised how much of a drama-chaser this woman was and that in the hands of a very skilled gossip-inclined person, a “yes” or “no” is all it takes.

This past Monday, the ritual began as usual. Butterball poked her round head into my cubicle, carrying her regular cup of tea with five heaping scoops of sugar… FYI. “Fiesty, how was your weekend?” I surreptitiously rolled my eyes and said, “Fine.”
Butterball went on and on about her weekend, her failing marriage and her son’s football match.

Now please, someone, explain to me why the hell adults feel like we are psychologists? I’m not your friend, but you feel the need to pour your heart and soul out to me. I couldn’t care less if you fart candy canes or if Harry Potter shows up on your front step. To get her out of my hair, I told her I saw a movie with a friend. Mistake number one.

On Tuesday, I enter my supervisor’s office with the work she requested. Before I could rest the paper on her desk, she turns to me and says, “I hear yuh have a special someone in your life.”

Um… what?

“Butters told me that she saw you at MovieTowne with someone on Friday.”

Well, first off, Butters is a liar. And secondly, you should know better than to listen when a handicapped dog barks.

“Young love,” sighs my lovely supervisor, “so sweet.”

I smiled at her, said nothing more and left.

Mistake number 2. I only realised after that that I should have stood up for myself and let my gossip-hungry supervisor know that Butterball was blatantly LYING.

Firstly, I had gone to MT on Saturday, not Friday. Secondly, Butterball had specifically told me that on Saturday, she and her lovely husband had had a huge fight and that he had taken their car and ran away from home.

So unless she had grown wings and flown to MovieTowne to see me, she was more than likely sitting on her butt at home reading People Magazine from March of last year. Pathetic.

I marched straight to Simmy’s desk. Simmy is one of the people at work I trust. She offers good advice and we’ve shared many conversations.

“Should I confront her?” I fumed.

“You mad,” said Simmy. “Butterball doesn’t care about anyone’s feelings. All she cares about is getting a rise out of you. She wants a confrontation… your revenge will have to be a lot more underhanded.”

Maybe Simmy was right; speaking to Butterball wouldn’t have made anything better. She’d probably do the same thing to everyone in the office.

So on Wednesday morning, I walked in with one agenda: to make a fool of Butterball. I know they say you can’t fight fire with fire. Well, guess what? They lie. It works pretty well.

I concocted a beautiful plan to get back at Butterball and her runny mouth. Unfortunately, by Wednesday, most of the office knew about my new “significant other” and the night I had spent in MovieTowne.

Everyone was teasing me about it. But their taunts didn’t bother me that much. I knew that it would make my revenge that much sweeter…

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