Babs' Husband

So....... Babs has a husband. And he also works within my organization, and very close to the little shop. Her husband is... um... special. Let's just call him MJ for all intents and purposes. The thing that strikes me about this pair (Babs and MJ) is how similar they are, and how much they resemble each other. MJ is also a short roly-poly white person, with extra stubby hands. Can fingers work properly when they are wider than they are long? The funny thing is that he's actually quite an accomplished musician, playing almost any and every instrument under the sun. I couldn't imagine plucking a guitar, tickling a piano, or banging a drum with nothing but stubs protruding from my hands.

Anyhow, like Babs, MJ is also an inappropriate toucher. I actually haven't been privvy to see any instances of such behavior, but I certainly have heard reports. For example, there used to be a young lady who worked in the building adjacent to the little shop, who was very cute, and lets just say on the big-bosomed side. One day last fall, I ran into this young lady and engaged her in a conversation, and she mentioned to me that MJ cut through her building to go home that day. She's met MJ on quite a few occasions, but what reason would a cute 26 year old have to regularly engage a 60 year old man? She informed me that MJ, on his way out, actually went up to her and gave her a hug! But this was no ordinary hug. This hug lingered, and she said that she could actually feel him rubbing and copping a feel on her assets with his chest. I didn't need to ask how horrible this experience was. A look of dread was all over her face.

There are a few young ladies that work just downstairs from the little shop, who are also in their 20's. They too have described incidences of inappropriate staring, attempts at hugs, and double entendre comments. To think that this is all going on literally 30 feet away from the little shop!! Babs is in here with me and the Director, and her husband, MJ, is out there harassing young women, and attempting to cop feels! Should I actually feel sorry for Babs for these minor infractions of their marriage contract? I think not! She touches me too! Most frightful of all, is the sight of their son. Prince, as I will call him, also works within the organization, he is also short, and he's also on his way to becoming quite roly-poly while only in his early 20's. In my two short years knowing him, I've learned that he's also quite the musician, and that he hasn't had too much luck with the ladies. Will he, too, become an inappropriate toucher in his old age? Only time will tell.

Inappropriate Touching

Have any of you ever been a victim of inappropriate touching? I'm not talking about, you know, when you were a kid, cause that's really really inappropriate. I mean as an adult, when on the train, when out in public, or maybe even amongst friends. Let's take the train example - you know (especially you women out there) how when you get on the train to go to work in the morning and how it's always packed? For some reason, isn't there always that one really unattractive person who seems to get just a little too close to you just to touch you somewhere? That's the kind of inappropriate touching that I'm talking about, and it seems to go on almost daily here in the little shop.

As I explained in a previous post, Babs is an old white, overweight roly-poly pudge of a southern woman, and she often likes to get a little too close to me, especially when I've got a back ache or after I've helped her out with something. On one occasion I came into work after having slept the wrong way the night before. I kept stretching while at work, and Babs came to take notice. Before you know it, she was asking me what had happened, and if I needed some tylenol. I gratefully accepted the tylenol, not knowing that I made an unknowing trade with her. Before I knew it, she was over by my desk with her stubby little hands on my back attempting to give me a massage. I hated the fact that it actually felt kind of good while wanting nothing more than to get her grubby fingers off of me. Sigh, the things I put up with.

We recently upgraded all of our computer in the little shop to go along with our brand spanking new database. Babs has been having her little troubles with the new systems and has seeked my expertise in many areas this past week. This morning, there was something stupidly easy that for some reason she didn't know how to do. So she asked me if I could show her on my computer. Once again, I made a deal with the devil. She waddled over, set up shop right over my shoulder and watched as I showed her how to attach a document to her email. The puzzling thing about this chance encounter was the fact that I felt something pushing into my right arm. It was soft and intrusive. It took me all of a split second for me to notice that it was her belly she was rubbing against my arm! Her fat roly-poly belly was being massaged unknowingly by my right arm! I pulled away immediately, but unwanting to break all contact, Babs put her hand on my shoulder. Maybe I'll get lucky this week, and she'll retire, and we'll hire a hot 22 year old.

Technical Difficulties

Have you ever watched painfully as an older person struggles with a computer? My job, fortunately and unfortunately, is very much computer-driven. When you have to deal with 600-plus applicants to your school, you better have a damn good database and people that know how to use it. And if I may say so myself, I know how to use the damn thing..... Unfortunately, Babs doesn't.

We received a new database program 2 years ago and we both learned its intricacies through a lengthy training session with some guy who came to us all the way from Virginia. Unfortunately, Babs has never been completely comfortable with computers in general. She has always had little problems with really simple operations (hmmmm.... anyone want to come teach a 65 year old how to minimize and maximize windows?), so I guess it should come as no surprise that advanced databasing migh be just a tad bit too much for good ol' Babs.

We recently decided to upgrade our database, which means two fun-filled days away from the little shop for computer training. My hope was that Babs would really buckle down these two days, invoke the spirit of a 5 year old kindergartner and learn how to use a damn computer. I was shocked to see that she was actually able to follow the lessons pretty closely, and dare I say, she seemed to be learning! By 4:30 my brain was swamped with some good information, and I was honestly feeling really good about what this new product could do for our office. I turned to Babs and stated: "I think I'm gonna like this upgrade... the new good stuff seems to really outweigh the stuff they messed up." Babs looked back at me and retorted, "Well, I'm glad you like it! I don't even remember chapter 1 [of our training manual] anymore!"

Brown Workers

Today had looked like it would be another boring day in the the shop with very little to do, but of course no day would be complete without a little drama to brighten our existences here. I don't know how many of you know this, but in small private schools most of the kids and adults are white. These rich white kids come into contact with people of color in the school pretty much only when they get served at lunch and when they wander the halls and see someone cleaning up after them. The maintenance and lunch staff are all Black and latino, they get paid very little, and they get absolutely no respect from the students nor many of the adults that work here. So, when I wandered in today and found 15 televisions sitting in our hallway and was told that they would be raffled away to only the kitchen and maintenance staff, I smiled that the school was actually doing something really nice! They work relentlessly and hardly ever receive any credit or acknowledgment of the great job they do. Additionally, they never get any of the great perks tha the other adults receive!

As soon as Babs found out that we were not eligible to win any of the prizes, guess what she did??? She went fucking bezerk!! "Why can't we get the free TV's too? We don't get any recognition back here!" (Mind you, Babs has a TV at home, and wouldn't actually have a use for one - it's the principalities!) No, Babs, we do get little recognition for our work, but at least we get paid well, at least we get nice perks, and at least we get some semblance of a nice summer. In strolls the director and she asks about all the TV's, so we tell her what the deal is. When Babs starts complaining to the Director that she thinks its unfair that we can't take home a free TV (mind you these are relics of the mid to late 90's - we're not talking about flat-screens here), the Director looks at me and asks what I think about the situation. I look her deep in her eyes and tell her the truth. I don't mind. I continue on to rant that the maintenace and kitchen staff get very little recognition for their work and that its nice that something, ever so little is being done just for them. Babs' old eyes flew open and she looked like a small woodland creature ready to pounce. She screamed "WE DON'T GET ANY RECOGNITION EITHER." That's not the fucking point Babs - We could probably afford to pass up a free 27-inch TV, they can't. The Director looked at me in silent agreement. Me and the Director shared a bond in this moment, and I'm sure we both thought: "They SHOULD get something every once in a while that nobody else gets, it's the principalities...."

Dirty Underwear

After much prodding and poking from my good friend, The Quintessential Negro, I have finally decided to, reluctantly, join the online blogging phenomenon. As you can tell by my name, and the name of this blog, I fashion myself as a man of horror and as a man of humor. While I'm not nearly as scary as the real Stephen King, nor as funny as, say...., Rick Moranis, my working life is full of both humor and horror.

I am currently employed by a very famous school in New York as a member of the Admissions Office. I call my blog the Little Shop of Horrors because we are in many respects a "little shop" in respect to how we function. There are three of us that work in a very secluded region of the school: myself; my boss, the Director; and Babs, my coworker. Over the course of this blog you will hopefully get to know us very well, and you shall all see the horror and humor of our day-to-day functionings.

Today I will start by describing Babs. She is a short older lady in her 60's, somewhat overweight, ok very overweight, and white. She is a nice lady, but she is always running her damn mouth. A typical day at work usually consists of me coming in sometime in the morning, saying good morning to Babs, and then listening to her talk for 8 straight hours to whoever while trying to do some work or procrastinate in between. While listening to her chatter, I have feared for my life, I have been disgusted, but mostly I've looked for someone to tell what crazy shit she had done today.

One normal morning last week, I strolled into the office at 8:30, greeted Babs, and started the day as I usually do - I turned on my computer, I stared off into space for 5 minutes while it booted up, I checked my email, some sports scores, and the news. I was shocked that Babs hadn't lured me from my morning routine by that time, actually to be honest I was ecstatic. Those 15- 20 minutes just when the day is starting is one of the most precious times in my day. It's a time where I can think about nothing, not really worry about work, and just gear up for the day in general. However, I should have known that God wasn't actually smiling down on me this morning. That would have been too good to be true. Something HAD to happen. About 4 minutes into my happiness, Mrs. V rolled into our office. She works with the big big boss of the school. Mrs. V and Babs are pretty friendly with each other, and they often enjoy a good morning laugh once in a while. Anyhow, Mrs. V strikes up a normal conversation with Babs which I, as I always do, tried to ignore. However, in the middle of their conversation, I shifted my focus from espn.com and noticed that Mrs. V and Babs were engaged in a deep whisper! What the hell was going on??? These two old ladies love to gossip, so I just had to know what they were saying.

I turned on the old super hearing and strained to catch a few choice words: "It must have been a joke!"..... "I can't wear that!" and "I bet those girls downstairs do!" And of course there was just endless whispering and laughing. The "girls downstairs" they referred to are the school's development office, which consists of 4 young women in their 20's who I actually really like, and enjoy spending time with. I digress. Before long, I saw Mrs. V whip out a small piece of paper and write something to Babs on it. They broke apart in laughter when Babs read it. The next think I knew, Mrs. V crumpled the piece of paper and threw it into Babs' garbage bin. My eyes lit up as I saw that God had given me the perfect opportunity to employ some detective work.

Mrs. V left the office a few minutes later, and Babs soon went into the Director's office. I saw my chance. I slid over to Babs' desk to look at a calendar, and with the stealth of a cheetah, I peered into the garbage bin and quickly removed a small, slightly stained, crumpled piece of ordinary loose leaf paper. I smiled wickedly and returned to my desk in the corner. I opened up the crumpled paper and in my own whisper I read the words "like dental floss for your butt" scribbled in Mrs. V's handwriting. I lost it right then and there, and almost choked trying to stifle an enormous fit of negro-laughter. It would have been one of those laughs that could have gotten me fired on the spot for reminding everyone that I was indeed a black man that had somehow inflitrated their ranks.

Anyhow, as I mentioned before, God rarely smiles at me in this job. As I returned to my desk from sneaking the crumpled paper to its proper place an aweful picture entered my head. I envisioned both Mrs. V and Babs wearing thongs to work! Oh the horror.