Sometimes contractors sit in rooms with other contractors. Sometimes we even get our own desks! And sometimes, our desks have a few inches of space between ours and the desk of our neighbor’s.
But then there are the other times.
My desk was in the corner of the room up against the wall. I had a beautiful view of the wall, too. Or really a view of the whiteboard someone had hung on the wall. I never understood why, but I thought the person who had the desk before me may have requested it. It had been used a lot at one time because it had smudgy words all over it, which were barely legible now. I thought of it as art. I had to really. That or look for Canadian meds on the Internet.
Another desk was directly behind me in the other corner of the room. A mirror of a set up, but it was unoccupied while I was there.
The third desk originally faced the same wall as mine, but was almost to the door. Our views were exactly the same, just separated by a couple of prime feet of real estate.
Then, he came. He was a traveling IBM Rational Administrator – if you know what that is, god bless, if you don’t, just count your blessings.
He was as pretentious as they come but was from rural Louisiana and said “supposebly” and “enzyne”. (I don’t remember how enzyme came into a conversation – probably an Internet article discussion.). He moved to Northern Indiana when he got out of the military. He had bought a car and, after aimlessly driving for a day or two, ended up at a rest stop in Indiana, ate a sandwich (he literally told threw the sandwich into the story – I didn’t understand its significance, but there it is), looked around and thought it was so beautiful, he decided to stay. Ever been to Northern Indiana? Beautiful doesn’t really capture it, but hey, to each his own.
He eventually married a woman there and has lived there ever since, while traveling the Midwest as a consultant on IT projects. Lucky me that our paths crossed for six grueling weeks in this room.
He moved desk #3 so he could sit with his back to me and face the door. I had to step over his trash can to get to my desk. I didn’t complain because it paled in comparison to the bigger problem.
He moved the desk, which had a left-side opening for his chair, up against the wall. When he sat down, his chair touched the right side of my desk. Touched isn’t the right word (for the chair anyway), because he was actually scrunched between his desk and mine. And mind you, there was nothing in front of his desk to prevent a move forward (and yes, I did ask…many many times).
Well, he was a leaner, so you can imagine where this is headed. I don’t know if he had been hit in the back of the head a lot, but he didn’t seem to have a problem with it. Hitting my desk with his chair was one thing, but hitting his head on my monitor another. Every time he made contact (which was damn near constant), he would jump a little, turn around with a look of surprise and say, “Oh. Sorry!”
E-v-e-r-y- s-i-n-g-l-e t-i-m-e.
While he was leaning, he made phone calls to his wife back at home that were extremely personal. I think they were newly married – older, both been married before. But, she had it tough. She couldn’t do much on her own and called crying a lot. She would also pick fights with him, but it sounded to me like they were just more opportunities to end up in a possible cry. He’d say, “I don’t know what to do. Please stop crying. I miss you too, so very much. I love you with all my heart.” And she’d be fine for thirty minutes or so.
He typed emails to her all the time (remember his monitor is almost as close to me as mine). Did I read them? Hell, yeah, I read them. You put it in my face, I’m going to read it. Besides, he used a font taller than he was.
And they always started with “My Heart” and talked about his role as spiritual guide in the family and how he must make sacrifices as Christ did and how he strived to be a teacher and example to her every day.
Yea, he’s the example. Here’s a thought, you freak: USE A SMALLER FONT.
Okay, all this aside. Here it comes. The worst part was when these phone calls turned sexual. This one sticks in my head to this day:
“Really? You should’ve woken me up”. “I can’t wait to come home and hold you in my arms”. “I miss you so much, but we only have three hours.” “I know! The poor dog last night.”
Ga’ROSS, right? But, here’s the kicker, after these types of talks, he went to the bathroom.
E-v-e-r-y- s-i-n-g-l-e t-i-m-e.
Him, water pistol cocked, racing to climb over his own chair, with hands on his desk and mine to balance himself, to exit lickety split. Then repeating the process when he returned so he could shoot off an email to her about what she’d done to him.
The thought of it now still gives me the willies.
Posted by Sunny Disposition 
