Swingin' From the Rafters

First off, let me start by saying that although Springsteen assures me that plans to hire me full-time permanently are in the works, they haven't done so yet. It's been eight months on August 6, and I am still not getting benefits, vacation time or sick days. And yet, they give me challenging new tasks and responsibilities, so I know my job is secure.

But today, I am starting to wonder if I shouldn't ask the temp agency for another assignment.

You've all read the stories of Teeth and the WalMart Girls. You know they're a unique bunch. In the past, I have found Teeth's neuroses intrusive enough to change my break times in order to socialize with the other pod. Teeth seems to have forgiven me my defection and last Thursday appeared at my cubicle to bond with me over health issues. I applaud her efforts to take care of herself and was quite willing to listen to her recount the success she's had bringing her blood pressure down (here's a hint, my little polo pony: stop worrying about where you park, your ass OR your car) and resolving her digestive issues.

I was less enthusiastic to learn about the diarrhea she had over the weekend, the constipation that followed and her haemmorhoids. Yes, Teeth actually stood there and told me about the varicose veins in her anus.

Fucking awesome.

I wish I could say that this was the most inappropriate thing to happen at the office last week, but I'd be lying. At least Teeth is more or less my peer. It was, in her own warped, controlling and over-sharing way, an attempt to make contact with me (which is essential, because I remain aloof and have stolen her thunder as the "funny one").

But that was nothing compared to the tarot reading I gave to Two Clowns on Friday afternoon.

Two Clowns has told me in the past that her grandmother was married to Bailey (of Barnum and Bailey's Circus) and when he died, gypsies taught her how to read playing cards. And of all her grandchildren, Two Clowns was the only one to inherit "the Gift." (Insert wanking motions here.)

So when she suggested I do a reading for her, I was reluctant, but what the hell, right? It's $40.00 I wouldn't otherwise have and I thought I might glean some comic gold. I even considered calling her on her shit by throwing down the spread and saying, "Well, you're the one with the Gift; go for it. I'll be in my pod if you need me."

But, no, I was professional about it, which is more than I can say for Two Clowns. I can't divulge what her reading was about, but what I can say is that at the end of a tortorous thirty minutes, Two Clowns went off on a tangent about this other biller in my pod.

Now, this biller has never appeared on this blog because, out of all of them, she's probably the most "normal". She hardly ever says things that are retarded. She has never said anything racist. She has what appear to be nice, positive, healthy relationships with her friends and children. She's bright and a good conversationalist. She pulls her weight at work. I rather like her. She invited us to go camping with her and a group of her friends and, had the weather co-operated, we would have gone, which is not something I can say about anyone else in that office.

The only thing out of the ordinary about this biller is that she belongs to a swinger's club. She does not talk about this at work, although it is something well-known about her. But she knows that work is not the place to discuss such things, and so we find other topics. Appropriate, right? Professional. Mature. Adult. Well-adjusted. All things that Two Clowns is not.

Because guess who else frequents this club? Mr. Ex-Two Clowns!!! And although they have been divorced for three years, Two Clowns can't get past it. It's apparently eating her up inside. She went into quite a bit of detail (that I didn't need or want) about how the club is furnished, what happens with whom, right down to various positions.

It is, as far as I'm concerned, grossly inappropriate for a manager to be giving someone like me (not even a permanent employee, a temp!!!) such deeply personal information like this about one of my colleagues (one who I like and respect, even). This is proof that Two Clowns is unhinged in some significant way.

She said to me, "I don't know if you've sensed it, but I can't bear to be in the same room as (the other biller)."

Well, no, Two Clowns, I haven't sensed it, because you still take your breaks with us. When I had an issue with someone, I changed my break time. I think you just like to pick at the scab. And you need to grow up.

So between Two Clowns's revolting display of immaturity, Teeth's haemorrhoids, Princess Anne saying "Paki" all the time, and racist emails going out from one of the other managers (emails that would be deeply embarrassing should one of our Islamic drivers see them), I am considering requesting another assignment.

Because I don't think Springsteen can do anything about Two Clowns (I mean, that woman needs counselling) and I don't really want to put up with too much more of this weirdness. Besides, I can't say anything to Springsteen without violating the confidentiality of the tarot reading.

What do you guys think?

(PS: I had a totally blogworthy weekend and will write about it over the next couple of days, but I need to download the photos first, so stay tuned. I had to get this off my chest first).