Nobody likes you Debbie Downer. If you don’t know why, and your name hasn’t given you a hint, allow me to fill you in. You piss in peoples’ cornflakes, you poop on parties and you’re a general drag. Not to mention the fact that you’re rather unsanitary. Seriously, just find a bathroom because this girl, prefers her cornflakes without the tang of your pity-party urine.
We’ve all had a ‘Debbie Downer’ or ‘Eeyore’ in our lives at some point. If we’re sagacious, we’ve uprooted their toxic little roots and thrown them on the compost pile. That’s easy enough to do with would-be-friends but what can be done about a co-worker?
So there’s this girl at work:
There’s this girl at ‘work’ whom nobody likes. I put work in quotations because it’s a part-time catering job that I work at 1-2 days a week. There are hundreds of employees, so it’s unlikely that you’ll see the same people more than once per month. It’s unlikely but still there’s a chance, and the off-chance of working with this drag of a girl, is enough to tie your stomach in to knots.
This girl sees every blue sky as an impending storm, sees every lovely wedding as a long road of litigation and quite possibly, sees every fluffy puppy in a bow tie (#weddingtrends2014) as a potential child mauler.
Last year, I had the fortune of working with this girl (yay! me). We’re often allowed to take flowers home after events and I’m always up for bringing free bouquets home. This night was different because it was just after my birthday. I opted out and casually mentioned that I already had a Bday bouquet at home. Her response was: ‘nobody’s ever bought me flowers’. I smiled through cheshire teeth and thought: “That’s probably because you’re a miserable ****”. Hint-rhymes with bundt but is definitely devoid of the sweetness of the latter word-cake. Men are not allowed to use this word, and women must use it sparingly.
In the months to come, word spread that Debbie Downer had taken a full time job and would no longer be working for the company. Somewhere over the rainbow, the lollipop guild cried in unison: “Ding dong, the witch is dead”.
In this community of readers and writers, we all know that ‘dead means nothing’ until the last page.
It’s alive! It’s alive!
I catered two events this past weekend, which both ended at close to two a.m. I’m small in stature but have the reputation of being a workhorse. I’m like a ‘My Little Pony’ with a plow attached. I like that about me because I know how to get shit done, and want to get said ‘shit’ done in a timely manner.
My feet throbbed with each step, and my toes completely seized up, in boycott of the new fancy work shoes I was trying to break in. I winced with pain, and sought comfort in the sweet release of my feet just going numb. I’m happy to report that the bids on the torture devices I purchased for $4.99 are now up to $80. Buy low sell high. Somebody else can break them in!
Anyway…As the second grueling event of the weekend came to a close, I was once again, face to face with Debbie Downer. I had roughly 50 pounds of rental chairs hefted on to my back when I saw her. It was 1:40 a.m and I was scheduled out at 1:30. We were sent to the loading dock and I was practically sprinting. She whined: ‘Why are you walking so fast?’ and I replied: ‘I’m motivated to get home’. The next hour dragged on as she belly-ached and refused to do the labor that’s intrinsic to the job.
Her dour attitude added at least a half hour to my seemingly never-ending night, and I was pissed.
I was pissed and restless in to the morning. Then I woke up, made french toast and bacon and later picked out a pumpkin for carving. My imperfect life has it’s bonuses.
Playing Devil’s advocate, I thought: ‘Maybe Debbie Downer just needs to get laid’. I will leave that work to the professionals and ‘good luck’ matching this girl up.
I’m pretty proud of my pumpkin though:
The one with the hearts is mine.