Bent Words

Bent Words

January 08, 2008

There are simply some people in this world whose mere existence never fails at puzzling me.

Why? Why is this person here on this earth? What purpose does this person serve and how likely would it be that anyone actually notices if this person were to mysteriously disappear without a trace?

Chuck is the very type of person who intimates these questions in my head. He’s a co-worker burdened with the official title of Pot Stirrer and appears to do little else during the day other than litter our back building area with a pack and half worth cigarette butts. That and he does a dandy job of pissing off anyone he comes into contact with.

“I hate women,” he told the new girl who started in sales not long ago, “but you’ll get to know that about me.”

The only thing worth ‘getting to know’ about Chuck would surely be contained in his obituary but, until the sun shines upon that day, I can honestly assert that there is nothing about Chuck worth an ort of interest. His woman hating skills seemed not to deter him from marrying one or rearing one but we try not think about the unfortunate fact that this man actually procreated – rather, we like to think about how handsome he would be without a head.

“I wouldn’t fuck her,” he said of a female customer idly resting on a motorcycle, “without the insurance of having her head hidden under a Sentry grocery bag.”

(At which point, I nearly fell over with laughter.) Have you looked into the mirror lately?! Seriously, Dear Chuck, your odds of obtaining sexual relations with any person of the female persuasion are only slightly above likely if said person currently holds post-mortem status. Guaranteed.

He’s always trying to catch a rise, stir the pot or pick a fight. A couple weeks ago I was working outside, in the cold, showing a unit to a customer with my winter gloves and hat on.

“Laura, you need to get rid of that fucking hat – it does nothing for you.”

“It keeps my fucking ears warm, Chuck, that’s what it does for me.”

“I’m just saying you could do something to make yourself look nice.”

“It’s a wonder you haven’t considered plastic surgery for that exact reason.”

It’s rather amusing, though, his inane professions. I find him completely absurd and so much so that he’s usually worth a good laugh or two throughout the day. He has no merit in his accusations of us females ‘accomplishing shit’ during the day. He hasn’t a leg to stand on when he points a finger at our downtime (while we’re punched out, no less) and then deigns to be about as useful as an anchor in the desert. He serves no real purpose at work other than to claim his high post on the top of the food chain. In fact, for that reason alone, perhaps he fits right in.

Still, there are moments that he gets to me – days when all I really need is another sliver under my skin, another misguided nuisance waiting to trip me, another ridiculous reason to make me wonder what it is I should really be doing with my days besides fending off his unwarranted remarks. He’s just the type of person to make one wonder what the point really is…

Perhaps it’s time to rethink this situation – not because of Chuck but because someone like him can actually thrive in the world which I have chosen to work. And who needs that when there must be something more?

Written at 10:05 p.m.